Page 47 of Look on the Heart (Darcy and Elizabeth Variations #10)
Lady Catherine’s mouth opened, then closed—apparently at a loss for words. The silence stretched long and heavy with unspoken challenges, until at last she turned on her heel. Her skirts swept behind her as she muttered, “This is not to be borne. Not to be borne.”
She stormed from the room.
For a moment, no one spoke. Then Colonel Fitzwilliam released a low whistle and turned to Anne, who had remained motionless throughout, her cheeks tinged pink, her eyes bright.
“Well, my dear,” he murmured, “shall we take a turn about the garden? I believe we have much to discuss regarding our future.”
Anne smiled—the first true, unfettered smile she had shown in years—and took his arm.
Darcy turned to Elizabeth, his eyes shining with unguarded emotion. “Miss Elizabeth…I find myself overwhelmed with gratitude.”
“I merely spoke the truth, Mr. Darcy.”
And for the first time in all their acquaintance, Fitzwilliam Darcy could find no words at all.
Mr. Darcy’s carriage, though large, felt snug with its five occupants settled upon finely upholstered seats.
The arrangement was comfortable, yet the intimacy of the journey to London could not be denied.
Maria sat beside her, already nodding off, while across from them, Colonel Fitzwilliam and Miss de Bourgh were quietly engaged in their own conversation.
And on Elizabeth’s other side—so near that his sleeve brushed hers—sat Mr. Darcy.
Elizabeth doubted the travel arrangements were as coincidental as Mr. Collins had claimed.
“It would be wholly unnecessary to send a maid,” he had declared with placid assurance.
“Neither of your suitors will behave with impropriety, and Miss Lucas shall accompany you. It would be no different than if Miss Mary or one of your younger sisters served as chaperone. Yes, I believe all is in order.”
Elizabeth had not missed the smug look on Charlotte’s face as Mr. Collins spoke, nor the way her friend had carefully avoided meeting her eyes.
No, this arrangement had not come about by happenstance—it was Charlotte’s doing.
With a word here and a well-timed suggestion there, she had guided her husband’s will to serve her own, ensuring the journey would proceed with little interference and abundant felicity.
Elizabeth would have to thank her for it later.
Colonel Fitzwilliam recounted more of Lady Catherine’s objections after the Collins party had taken their leave the night before.
“She returned to the drawing room—still furious—threatening to speak with ‘her brother the earl’ about upstart youth and their pretentious behavior. I informed her that the future— her future—would depend upon her behavior henceforth. I warned her plainly: if she persisted in opposing my engagement to Anne, she would find herself living out her days alone in the dower house. She blustered and protested but did not prevent my betrothed from leaving Rosings at my side. I do not believe she has truly yielded, however. Even now, I suspect she is scheming her revenge.”
The others laughed, but Darcy met his cousin’s eye with a look of gravity, and Elizabeth understood—there was truth beneath the humor.
The first leg of their journey passed in easy companionship, but as the carriage rolled steadily along the well-worn road to London, the natural fatigue of travel began to take hold.
Maria gradually slumped lower, her head resting against Elizabeth’s shoulder, her breath soft and steady in sleep.
Across from them, Anne and the colonel spoke in hushed tones, their words too quiet to discern, but their meaning was plain.
Newly possessed of her inheritance, Anne spoke of the improvements she hoped to make at Rosings, and the colonel listened with an attentiveness that bespoke deep affection.
Elizabeth watched them with quiet satisfaction. It was a gentle kind of happiness—the sort that asked for no fanfare, yet was no less profound for it. Miss Anne de Bourgh, once wan and subdued, now had a light in her eyes, and the colonel, though he did not speak it, was utterly devoted to her.
A shifting movement beside her drew Elizabeth’s attention. Mr. Darcy, seated close, was watching her.
She did not turn her head to meet his gaze, yet she was acutely aware of it. She could feel the weight of his regard—not heavy nor oppressive, but warm and steady. It unsettled her—not from discomfort, but from the realization of how accustomed she had become to his presence.
Elizabeth’s gaze drifted to the landscape beyond the window. The green fields stretched wide, the trees budding with the promise of spring. The rhythm of the carriage wheels against the road was steady, lulling—and for a moment, she allowed herself to simply exist in the quiet peace of it all.
Then came a call from the driver.
“Bromley ahead! We’ll be stoppin’ to change the ’orses.”
Anne and the colonel stirred first, eager to take the fresh air. As he, Anne, and Maria alighted, Darcy hesitated, appearing to weigh a decision. When he spoke, his timbre was low and careful, as if reluctant to disturb the quiet that had settled between them.
“Miss Bennet,” he said, “might I call upon you tomorrow? At Gracechurch Street?”
Elizabeth’s breath caught slightly at the question. He seemed calm and composed, but meeting his eyes, she sensed that something more lingered beneath the surface—a fragile hope tempered by uncertainty. It is as if he scarcely dares believe my affection is truly his to claim.
She did not hesitate. “Yes, sir. I shall be very pleased to receive you.”
A tension she had not realized he bore seemed to ease at once with her reply, and she watched him closely as the corner of his mouth lifted just slightly. “Thank you,” he murmured.
The moment was fleeting, yet it settled something within her.
The door stood open, and Darcy stepped out and extended his hand.
She placed her hand in his, and he helped her descend the carriage.
The air was crisp, scented with fresh hay and distant rain, yet it was not the change in weather that made her feel breathless.
It was the realization that something had shifted.
Their course was now set, not by grand declarations, but by a simple question, a quiet answer, and the trust that tomorrow would come.
By late afternoon, they reached London. The carriage drew up before Gracechurch Street, and Maria, blinking sleep from her eyes, roused herself enough to climb down from the carriage.
When Elizabeth reached the door of her uncle’s home, she turned for one last glance at Darcy, whose eyes had never left her. No further words need be spoken—there was no need. The promise had already been made.
Tomorrow .