Page 36 of Look on the Heart (Darcy and Elizabeth Variations #10)

Chapter Nineteen

Scarcely a moment too late! Darcy groaned, frustration nearly choking him as he made his way back to Darcy House.

Elizabeth had been walking with another—her sister, Miss Mary, he believed.

Their hurried pace suggested they had seen him and deliberately avoided any greeting.

He could hardly blame them. He had wounded Elizabeth in the worst possible way.

I shall set it to rights on the morrow—if she will allow me to speak—to grovel…

Yet he could not deny the grim truth: his own folly might have cost him the one woman who would have completed him.

He passed the night in restless torment.

Dreams—nightmares, rather—of Elizabeth refusing him haunted his sleep.

He woke several times, and at last, near dawn, he rose.

Remaining abed would serve no purpose. One glance into the looking glass confirmed the toll the night—and the past months had taken.

He looked rather dreadful. Dark circles shadowed his eyes, and his entire bearing reflected fatigue.

Oh well, he thought, tracing the edge of the port-colored stain that still appeared on his countenance.

It is not as though my appearance could be made worse.

He grimaced, knowing his mother would have scolded him for such self-deprecation.

Once dressed for the day, he went to his study, and gave his attention to his correspondence.

Several business matters required his decision before departing for Rosings at the end of the month.

Richard’s leave would not begin until the twenty-third of March, and they intended to leave that morning.

If I can make amends with Elizabeth, Darcy vowed , he will go without me .

I will not leave her again, not if she will forgive me.

Aunt Catherine would be displeased, but he would not be moved.

Besides, he had no desire to endure his aunt’s pronouncements that he and Anne must marry.

Neither he nor his cousin had ever wished for such a union, and now that he knew love, Darcy could not settle for anything less.

The morning crept by. At last, Darcy ordered the carriage readied. Dressed for the weather, he instructed the coachman, and with the Gardiners’ direction tucked securely in his pocket, he boarded the vehicle.

The drive proved interminable, and he tapped his foot in agitation as delays mounted.

It felt as though Providence itself taunted him as they were forced away from the direct route due to overturned wagons blocking various streets.

I deserve this, he admitted. It is fitting punishment for my rashness and pride last autumn.

Resigned, he folded his arms and waited for the journey’s end.

At long last, the carriage pulled to a stop before a handsome house on a well-kept row.

Warehouses could be seen in one direction, while in the other, rows of tidy houses stretched onward.

The Gardiners’ residence stood out with its red-painted door and a large pot of flowers gracing the step.

Early spring blooms offered a cheerful welcome.

Clearing his throat nervously, he stepped forward and knocked.

The door opened to reveal a butler with a stern expression, who gave him a cursory—and unmistakably disapproving—glance.

“Yes?”

“Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy, to see Miss Elizabeth Bennet.” He extended his card and silently prayed the door would not be closed in his face.

“Wait here.” The door did shut, but not with finality, and he clung to the hope that it would reopen to admit him. After what felt like the longest five minutes of his life, the butler reappeared.

“The ladies will see you.” He stepped aside, accepting Darcy’s greatcoat and hat before leading him through a short hall into the drawing room.

It was bright, tastefully appointed, and furnished in a subdued, fashionable style.

Darcy’s eyes quickly found its occupants: Miss Mary Bennet, seated primly, and a woman he did not know.

“Mr. Darcy. I am Mrs. Madeline Gardiner. Welcome. You are already acquainted with my niece.” The lady’s bearing was graceful and genteel; no one unfamiliar with her husband’s profession would ever suspect that she belonged to trade.

She did not flinch at the sight of his countenance, as so many new acquaintances did, and for that, he was quietly grateful.

“Yes. I am pleased to see Miss Mary again, of course. Is Miss Elizabeth also at home?” He looked about with hope, striving to remain composed.

“No.” Miss Mary's answer came swiftly and with unmistakable sharpness—her single word cutting him like a knife. “My sister left this morning.”

Mrs. Gardiner gestured for Darcy to be seated.

“Did she return to Hertfordshire?” He would follow her to the ends of the earth if needs be.

“Forgive me, sir, but I fail to understand why you care.” Miss Mary’s glare made it plain—she knew everything, and clearly, her opinion was far from favorable.

“Mary, be kind to our guest,” her aunt interjected gently, though her tone held a trace of coolness. Her manner, like Miss Mary’s, betrayed no fondness for him. So, Darcy thought grimly, she knows, too.

“I wished to speak with her…of everything.” He did not know what else he could say. It was evident the two ladies before him knew precisely what had occurred, and neither approved. “Pray, will you tell me where she has gone?”

“My sister’s affairs are her own.” Miss Mary folded her arms, her glower unwavering.

Perspiration rose along Darcy’s brow. He had expected a cool welcome, but this reception tested even his resolve. Still, he could not give up.

“Mrs. Gardiner, Miss Mary,” he said earnestly.

“I am very aware of how badly I have conducted myself. I can offer no acceptable excuse and must blame a diminished sense of my own consequence—an affliction I have carried since boyhood. All I wish is for an opportunity to apologize to Miss Elizabeth. I cannot do so in writing; we have no formal understanding, and she would be within her rights to disregard my letter. If, after hearing me, she still wishes nothing to do with me, I shall accept her decision without protest. But pray, will you help me?”

The ladies exchanged a glance. Some unspoken understanding passed between them, and Miss Mary gave a barely perceptible nod before turning back to him. A mischievous glint brightened her countenance. “She is in Kent,” she said, amusement coloring her tone. “Hunsford, to be precise.”

He blinked. “Are you in earnest?” It seemed too fortuitous to believe. “My aunt—”

“Yes, my cousin, Mr. Collins, is your aunt’s parson. Do not you recall?” Miss Mary smirked again. “Elizabeth is visiting Mrs. Collins. ”

Color rose to his cheeks. “Mr. Bingley mentioned Miss Lucas had married,” he mumbled. Clearly, they had puzzled out much of his reason for quitting Hertfordshire. At the very least, they suspected as much.

“Oh, so you passed through Hertfordshire before coming to London?” He must have said something to recommend himself, for Miss Mary’s manner grew noticeably warmer. They conversed comfortably for another quarter hour before he rose to depart.

“I fear I must take my leave,” he said. “I am pleased to come to know you better, Mrs. Gardiner, and to see you, too, Miss Mary. Now, it appears I have pressing business if I am to set out for Kent on the morrow.”

His horses should by now be well rested after the trip from Hertfordshire; if not, he could change them at Bromley. His valet might object, as his trunk would need to be repacked.

The ladies offered farewells, and he left the house.

The drive back to Darcy House brought with it a different sort of anxiety.

He had, by all appearances, gained the approval—and perhaps even the forgiveness—of the ladies at Gracechurch Street.

But he knew full well: winning Elizabeth’s would not come so easily.

Elizabeth

Sir William and Maria Lucas arrived to collect Elizabeth at nine o’clock.

It was early, but they meant to reach Kent by tea time.

Mrs. Gardiner sent her with a basket of victuals: a crusty brown loaf, cheese, and some dried fruit.

A few biscuits, wrapped neatly in a square of linen, were also included.

The Lucases brought their own hamper, well filled, and they agreed to stop only if necessary.

The roads were good and the weather fair.

Sir William’s well-sprung carriage made for a comfortable journey.

Elizabeth sat gazing out the window, admiring the landscape.

The country was showing all the signs of spring.

Leaves had begun to green, and the fields and hedgerows were just beginning to bloom.

Even the roadside verges were dotted with early wildflowers, adding to the charm of the landscape.

Conversation flowed easily, with Sir William and Maria keeping the mood light.

Before long, Elizabeth found her thoughts no longer lingered on Mr. Darcy, nor did it feel as though she had fled London to escape him.

“My Charlotte has written of the parsonage at length,” Sir William declared proudly. “She enjoys her parish duties, too, and writes that she keeps chickens and pigs.” He beamed. “I have every hope for her felicity as Mrs. Collins.”

“I could not be more delighted by my friend’s contented state.

” Elizabeth spoke sincerely, though she still wondered how her dearest friend would fare with a husband so entirely devoted to the opinions of another lady of consequence.

“Charlotte is the most deserving of women. I cannot tell you how eager I am to see her again. It has been an age. Why, I do not believe we have been parted so long since my come-out.”

Maria nodded in agreement. “I feel very much the same, Lizzy. She is my only sister, you know. Now I am trapped in a house full of gentlemen with only my mother for company.” She pulled a face.