Page 33 of Raising the Stakes (First Impressions)

Chapter Thirty-Three

The carriage had barely rolled to a stop before the front door of Longbourn burst open, and four excited voices filled the air.

“Lizzy! Oh, Lizzy!”

Elizabeth hardly had time to step down before Lydia threw herself at her, nearly knocking her bonnet askew in her enthusiasm. Kitty was right behind her, hands clasped eagerly as she bounced on her toes. Mary stood slightly apart, her expression still rigidly composed but unmistakably curious, and Jane—sweet Jane—waited just behind them, a warm, welcoming presence, smiling as though she had been holding her breath for weeks and could finally exhale.

Mrs. Bennet’s voice soared over them all, fluttering hands and breathless exclamations accompanying her words. “My dearest, dearest girl! Home at last! And looking so well—oh, tell me everything! Did you see any of the royal family? Were there many grand balls? I heard rumors, Lizzy! I have heard all sorts of things—”

Elizabeth felt herself being swept inside before she could even offer more than a token protest. She barely had time to remove her gloves before she was deposited onto the well-worn settee in the drawing room, her family clustering around her as though she had returned from some great expedition to a foreign land.

“Did you have many dances, Lizzy?” Kitty asked eagerly. “You must have! I heard that there were ever so many gentlemen in town this year!”

“Oh! But she had better ones than ordinary gentlemen,” Lydia interjected, plopping herself onto the arm of the sofa and grinning wildly. “Lizzy, we have heard everything! You were on the arm of a man with ten thousand a year!”

Elizabeth barely had time to react before Mrs. Bennet nearly swooned at the reminder.

“Oh, my poor nerves! My dear girl, how could you return before it was all settled?” Mrs. Bennet cried, pressing a hand to her bosom. “Mr. Bennet, do you hear this? She was seen on the arm of Mr. Darcy himself! You could have had Pemberley, Lizzy! I hear it is the finest estate in all of Derbyshire. And you came home!”

Elizabeth let out a long breath, glancing toward her father, who had just entered the room with a bemused expression. He was, as ever, a study in amusement and mild exasperation.

“I did hear it, my dear,” Mr. Bennet replied, settling into his chair. “And I suspect I shall continue to hear it for the next several days, at least.” His eyes twinkled with quiet humor as he turned toward Elizabeth. “You are, of course, very cruel for returning before your mother could parade you before the entire neighborhood as an engaged woman.”

“I fear I have been the source of great disappointment,” Elizabeth agreed, lips curving wryly. “I have returned unwed, unbetrothed, and entirely without the vast fortune you would all so dearly like me to have secured.”

Mrs. Bennet made a scandalized sound in her throat. “But why?” she wailed. “Oh, Lizzy! Did you refuse him?”

“There was nothing to refuse.”

Elizabeth’s words silenced the room. For a moment, even Mrs. Bennet was speechless.

Jane stepped forward then, laying a gentle hand on Elizabeth’s arm. “Come upstairs, Lizzy. You must be tired.”

Elizabeth hesitated, glancing around at her expectant sisters and her mother’s pinched, desperate expression. In seconds, they were in the hall, moving toward the stairs. She knew exactly what Jane was doing—rescuing her from this, from all of it. And she was grateful. But…

She had delayed too many things already.

“Jane, pray, stop. I need to speak with Papa.”

Jane’s eyes widened slightly, but she only nodded, her grip on Elizabeth’s arm tightening briefly. “That sounds serious, Lizzy.”

“I am afraid it is.”

Jane swallowed. “Very well. I will keep the others occupied,” she murmured. “You know how Lydia likes to listen at the door.”

Elizabeth squeezed her sister’s hand in thanks before turning back toward the drawing room. And she found her father already standing behind her, waiting at the door. His face was creased with curiosity, but he merely gestured toward his study.

Elizabeth followed him inside, then shut the door behind them and turned to face her father .

He studied her for a moment, before arching a brow. “Well, this looks very serious, indeed. I suppose I had better fortify myself.” He walked to the sideboard and poured himself a glass of brandy, eyeing her all the while. “Now then,” he said, taking a seat and gesturing for her to do the same. “Tell me, Lizzy—what have you been up to?”

She exhaled, pressing her hands together in her lap. “More than I ever meant to be.”

“Ah, so a rather different season in London than you had expected?”

“That would be an understatement.” And then, she told him everything.

About the arrangement with the Earl of Matlock. About the real reason she had appeared on Mr. Darcy’s arm, about the smuggling operation under Uncle Gardiner’s nose. About the letter and the key.

But she stopped short of telling him about being abducted… frightened for her life, wounded and alone… about how the only man to put things right had been the one that could never be hers.

Mr. Bennet listened in silence, his gaze never leaving hers. His fingers steepled beneath his chin, his brows occasionally twitching as she relayed the details. But he did not interrupt.

Then she told him about the money.

“Fifteen thousand pounds?”

Elizabeth nodded. “Already deposited at the bank in my name. It is mine to do with as I wish.”

Mr. Bennet let out a slow breath and leaned back in his chair, his expression thoughtful. “And what do you mean to do with it?”

“I had thought to divide it among my sisters,” she admitted. “Three thousand each, so that they may all have a respectable dowry.”

He blinked, then chuckled. “Very noble of you. But what of yourself?”

Elizabeth hesitated. “I—” She swallowed. “I have little need of a dowry, Father. I mean to keep enough to make my own way comfortably, should it come to that, but I need very little.”

Her father tilted his head slightly. “And the man the earl suggested?”

A flicker of something cold curled in her stomach. “He shall be disappointed to discover I am not so wealthy as he was led to believe. Honestly, he is probably a popinjay, anyway.”

Her father chuckled. “You do make it difficult for a man to plot your future.” He studied her a moment longer before his gaze softened. “You have had a difficult time of it, Lizzy.”

She lowered her gaze to her hands. “It is over now.”

“Is it?”

She looked up, startled by the question.

Mr. Bennet’s keen eyes studied her with that same quiet wisdom that had unsettled her since childhood. He did not press further, only lifted his glass and said, “Well, I shall drink to that.”

And she—though her heart twisted painfully—forced herself to nod.

Darcy had never imagined himself standing on this particular doorstep again, least of all with this particular empty sensation in his chest.

Yet here he was.

Even now, as he rapped on the Gardiners’ door, he had no real plan. He only knew that he needed to see her.

The door opened, and the familiar manservant greeted him with a polite bow. “Mr. Darcy.”

Darcy cleared his throat, adjusting the set of his coat. “Good afternoon. I—” He exhaled. “I should like to speak with Miss Elizabeth, if she is receiving.”

The man hesitated.

Not a good sign.

“One moment, if you please, sir. Would you like to come inside?”

“Thank you.” Darcy stepped inside, removed his hat, and watched as the servant disappeared down the corridor. He took a steadying breath, forcing his nerves into submission. What in Heaven’s name was the matter with him? He had spent weeks navigating political games, legal threats, and the ever-present scrutiny of London’s elite. And yet, this—this simple visit, this simple request—unraveled him.

The man returned. “If you would wait in the sitting room, sir. ”

Darcy nodded and followed him in, already unsettled by the feeling that something was amiss. He did not have to wait long. The rustle of skirts in the hallway sent his heart into his throat—but instead of Elizabeth, it was Mrs. Gardiner who entered the room.

Darcy rose to his feet instinctively, confusion twitching his eyes to the door and pushing the boundaries of good manners. He had hardly acknowledged the lady before him, but all he could do was search for another—

Mrs. Gardiner’s expression was one of gentle sympathy. “Mr. Darcy, sir. How very kind of you to call, but I am afraid you have just missed her.”

Darcy’s pulse roared in his ears. “Missed her?”

“Yes, sir. She left for Longbourn early this morning. I expect she is already home.”

Something inside him went still.

Longbourn. Gone.

Not at home. Not in London. Not where he could see her.

He could not comprehend it at first. He simply stood there, blank, as the reality crashed over him. He had been so certain that seeing her would provide clarity, that speaking to her—hearing her—would offer him some kind of resolution. And now…

Now, she was gone.

Mrs. Gardiner waited, her gaze soft with understanding.

Darcy forced himself to move, to respond, to function like a rational man rather than a hollowed-out shell. He cleared his throat, struggling for words. “I see. I—” He exhaled sharply. “That is… unexpected.”

Mrs. Gardiner offered him a small smile. “I suppose it ought not to be. Elizabeth has been away from her family for quite some time. She wished to be home.”

“Yes.” Darcy nodded stiffly. “Of course. It is only natural.”

It felt anything but natural.

Mrs. Gardiner took a step closer. “Mr. Darcy, I hope you know how very much my husband and I appreciate all you have done. It has been… a trying time, to say the least. Mr. Gardiner has spent every waking moment working to repair what damage was done, and your efforts—yours and your uncle’s—have been of incalculable worth to us.”

He barely heard her.

His head was spinning.

Elizabeth was not here. She had left, and she had not even written to him .

Well, why should she have? Their arrangement was over. She had done her part, and he had done his. That was all. She owed him nothing—not a farewell, not a note, not even a second thought.

Mrs. Gardiner was still speaking, her voice gentle. “…the earl has been quite generous in smoothing over many of the lost contracts. We are, of course, indebted to him, as we are to you.”

Darcy forced himself to nod. “Ahem. Ah… Truly, you owe me nothing, madam. I only did what was right.”

Her eyes gleamed with something knowing. “Even so.”

He bowed slightly. “Excuse me, Mrs. Gardiner. I will not trouble you further.”

He turned to go, eager to be outside, anywhere but here—

“Mr. Darcy?”

He stopped.

“If you will wait but a moment, sir.” Mrs. Gardiner crossed to a small writing desk, opened a drawer, and pulled out a slip of paper to write something on it. She returned to him, pressing it lightly into his hand.

“With everything still so unsettled,” she said delicately, “it might be… convenient to know her direction. Should you or the earl have any further questions about what transpired.”

Darcy’s fingers curled around the note before he even thought about what he was doing. He looked down.

Miss Elizabeth Bennet Longbourn, near Meryton Hertfordshire

A ridiculous thing—her name and direction written out so plainly, so formally, as though she were a stranger whose whereabouts he required for mere business. But it might be all he would ever have of her.

Slowly, carefully, he folded the paper and placed it in his breast pocket. “Thank you,” he murmured.

Mrs. Gardiner nodded, smiling ever so slightly. “Safe travels, Mr. Darcy.”

He did not respond.

He could barely think.

With a final bow, he turned and walked out.

The crisp October air struck him like a slap as he stepped onto the street, cool and stinging against his skin. It should have cleared his thoughts, should have brought him back to reason—but it did not.

His eyes found his carriage waiting at the kerb, the crest on the door gleaming dully in the afternoon light. His driver shifted expectantly, awaiting instruction.

But Darcy had none to give.

His hands hung loosely at his sides, useless. His mind, so accustomed to careful strategy and decisive action, felt like an empty slate. For weeks, he had moved with purpose, driven by duty, by necessity. Every step had led him forward, toward something.

Then, all this with Georgiana—the doubt that he had ever been on the right path, the fear that he had done entirely wrong in heeding… any of this! His sister nearly lost to him, his home to be nearly a stranger to him for… several years, at least… as he mired himself in the troubles of others. The only good to come of this whole blasted exercise was… was her.

And now…

Now, there was nothing.

Elizabeth was gone.

Not just to Longbourn, but from his world, from the part of his life where she had somehow woven herself so seamlessly.

He had no reason to follow. No claim to make. No right to pursue her.

His fingers twitched at his sides, as if they had only just realized they were empty. The ache that settled in his chest was unfamiliar—worse than frustration, worse than anger. It was an absence, a void he had no idea how to fill.

The driver cleared his throat. “Shall I take you home, sir?”

Darcy did not answer at first. His throat worked, but no sound came.

Home.

His house, his study, his ledgers, his responsibilities—all exactly as they had been before Elizabeth Bennet turned his world on its axis. The thought of returning to it—alone—felt intolerable.

And that, more than anything… terrified him.