Page 35 of Look on the Heart (Darcy and Elizabeth Variations #10)

“I know! There is no excuse for it. Even explanations seem hollow. I was weak—I allowed my mortifications and self-doubt to overtake my judgment. After months of spending time with Miss Elizabeth, I ought to have trusted her character—”

“Once more, I tell you—save it for Miss Elizabeth,” Bingley repeated.

“She is in London, staying with her aunt and uncle on Gracechurch Street. “’Tis already too late to call today, even if you depart now, but at least you would be in the same city. I cannot guess how she will respond. Jane, forgiving creature that she is, still speaks of your departure with disappointment. Her sister, however, owns a more forceful nature. I doubt she will forgive without some true sign of contrition.”

Yes, Elizabeth was never shy when expressing her sentiments. Unlike those who had always judged him based on his looks, she had seemed fair-minded and slow to judge. But he had betrayed her trust. What will she say to me? Anxiety surged anew.

“If you will excuse me, Bingley, I shall take my leave. Thank you for…preparing me for what I may expect.”

Bingley rose with him. “Miss Elizabeth was not herself all winter. She left for London in January, directly after Miss Lucas married Mr. Collins.” Giving Darcy a friendly pat on the back, he continued playfully: “Godspeed, my friend. I suggest you proceed humbly. If she agrees to hear you, I shall count it a miracle.”

Darcy bowed and left for London in haste. As he boarded his carriage, the full force of Bingley’s words struck him. Miss Lucas married Mr. Collins? Cold dread settled over him.

I have made the most egregious error .

He now understood the conversation he had overheard had not concerned him—they discussed Mr. Collins. She was not speaking of me. Every last doubt that lingered after speaking with Richard, and now Bingley, vanished.

I have wronged Elizabeth so grievously—how shall I ever atone for it?

With a start, he realized he had not even asked Bingley for Elizabeth’s direction on Gracechurch Street. With a grimace of embarrassment, he returned to the house and made the inquiry. Bingley laughed, and offered him a slip of paper.

“Farewell, Darcy. I wish you all success in your suit—you will require every advantage.”

Once more aboard the carriage, Darcy spent the hours to London in deep reflection.

How was he to make amends? Was it even possible?

Others might bring flowers, sweets, or trinkets—but such trifles would not impress Elizabeth.

And would there be time? Though it was only early March, he and Richard were expected at Rosings Park in a matter of weeks for their annual visit.

Hang Kent, he thought bitterly. My future happiness depends on winning Elizabeth’s hand. My aunt can wait.

With renewed determination, he settled into the plush squabs of the carriage, plotting his next steps. Hours later, he arrived at Darcy House. Tomorrow was the fifth of March. He would call at Gracechurch Street and see Elizabeth.

For now, he desperately wished to stretch his legs. It was a little past three o’clock—time enough for a brisk walk before dinner.

Elizabeth

Hyde Park was one of her favorite excursions.

She and Mary were often given the use of their uncle’s carriage.

He did not object—it was frequently at their disposal, as his warehouses lay at an easy distance.

Mr. Gardiner did not hold to ordering his conveyance when his destination stood within sight of his home.

Thus, she and her sister made daily use of it, embarking on small adventures with their aunt, from Bond Street to the museum.

Each diversion helped her forget, if only for an afternoon, the man who had won her heart and then left her behind.

That afternoon, spring was burgeoning in the air. Leaves budded upon the trees, and early blossoms were beginning to unfurl. She breathed deeply, inhaling the scent of snowdrops, crocuses, and primroses. “I love it when the earth comes alive again,” she told Mary.

“Indeed,” her sister replied, as they walked arm in arm.

Mary carried herself with a quiet confidence that grew with each passing day.

Elizabeth found it remarkable. For too long, the middle Bennet sister had been overlooked.

Freed from their mother’s harsh judgments, she had begun to flourish.

Her features might still be considered plain, but with their aunt’s guidance, she had learned how to show her best features to advantage.

The overall effect was pleasing. At present, Mary enjoyed the attentions of one of their uncle’s associates, a prosperous importer named Marcus Finch.

Elizabeth hoped they would suit. It would be most diverting to witness Mrs. Bennet’s astonishment upon learning her least-favored daughter—at least when it came to beauty—would be the first Bennet to marry.

But Jane was now engaged, and so it might not come to pass.

Their elder sister had written only the day before, announcing that Mr. Bingley had proposed—and she had accepted.

They would marry in May. Their Mama was, of course, exultant.

Jane wrote that she had visited every neighbor, lording her daughter’s good fortune over one and all.

Plans were underway for a lavish affair—not at all to Jane’s taste.

Yet their sister did not object; rather, she declared herself delighted to bring such happiness to her family.

“You are to depart for Kent tomorrow,” Mary observed. “Are you prepared?”

Elizabeth nodded. “I am eager to see Charlotte again. Sir William wrote to our aunt—he and Maria are lodging at an inn this evening and will collect me from Gracechurch Street tomorrow morning. If I recall aright, ’tis a journey of many hours.”

Charlotte had been married nearly two months, and Elizabeth could not help wondering how she fared with Mr. Collins.

Her letters spoke of contentment and well-ordered days.

Elizabeth was glad her friend had found satisfaction in her new life, though she knew she could never be so sanguine had she herself married Mr. Collins.

As for Mary, well, she had not hesitated to voice her relief once they were away from Longbourn.

“I am pleased someone could find joy with Mr. Collins,” Mary said, as though privy to Elizabeth’s thoughts. “He did not suit me —not as Mr. Finch does.” Mary’s cheeks flushed, and she bit her lower lip.

Elizabeth, her brow arched and a knowing smile upon her lips, leaned closer. “Have you something to tell me?” she asked. “Come, you must not allow me to go to Kent without knowing all!”

They laughed together, and Mary’s eyes sparkled as she obliged her sister’s curiosity.

“Mr. Finch—Marcus—has asked to approach our uncle. He is not a gentleman, but I should live quite comfortably as his wife. He owns a house in town, very near our aunt and uncle’s residence, and it is large enough to accommodate a family.

Oh, Lizzy, he does not mind that I lack beauty—or that my dowry is small.

He says I am beautiful to him, and that true worth lies in a woman’s mind and heart.

He even calls my eyes ‘striking,’ though Mama always said they were too sharp.

We share many of the same interests, too. I am very happy!”

“That is all I wished to hear. Heaven knows, I do not care if he is a tradesman. It is a man’s character that truly matters. ‘Look on the heart,’ our father always says. Mr. Finch is the best of men. You and Jane will both be deliriously content.”

Mary sobered. “What of you?” she asked. “Have you…that is, do you feel any better?”

Elizabeth fell silent. “I am unsure,” she admitted.

“I cannot forget him easily, though I wish I could. And yet…” Her attention was suddenly arrested by a figure ahead; something— someone— had drawn her gaze.

Mr. Darcy strolled along the path walking perpendicular to their course, hands clasped behind his back, head bowed.

His hat was drawn low and his collar turned up, no doubt to obscure his features.

She stopped short, her words fading. Mary followed her gaze, her expression hardening as she recognized the gentleman.

“Let us go at once,” she said, tugging on her sister’s arm. Elizabeth did not resist, and they turned and hastened down the path, away from Mr. Darcy. A twig cracked beneath her foot with sharp snap.

“Miss Elizabeth!” He called out, but she did not pause, nor did she turn.

As though they had not heard, she and Mary left the park and boarded their uncle’s awaiting carriage.

In a trice, they were gone. Elizabeth’s heart beat wildly and tears sprang to her eyes.

Oh, how I have missed him! His image lingered as she closed her eyes, willing back the tears.

“Are you well?” Mary asked. “I suppose seeing him was bound to happen eventually—”

“I am well,” she insisted. “Perhaps I ought to have greeted him…” She shook her head. “I was a coward, Mary. I ran. What if he had meant to explain why he left?”

“He has had months to offer an explanation.” Mary folded her arms. “I suppose, now that he knows we are in town, he will rush to seek you out.”

Sighing, Elizabeth leaned back against the squabs.

“I shall leave for Kent on the morrow,” she murmured.

“Our meeting will be delayed, though I dare say he will not mind.” They lapsed into silence, and Mary left her sister to her thoughts for the remainder of the journey to Gracechurch Street.

Before they went inside, Mary took Elizabeth’s hand.

“Will you hear him if he tries to explain?” Elizabeth struggled to keep her countenance composed, revealing neither disapproval nor encouragement.

“I hardly know,” Elizabeth replied. “I suppose I shall decide if the moment comes.”

Mary nodded, and together they entered the house. Elizabeth dismissed the incident as best she could, determined to enjoy the evening before her departure for Kent.