Elizabeth
Iwatchedthebustleof preparations for Uncle Gardiner’s departure with a knot in my stomach. He was to return to London while Aunt remained here with Jane to assist the Westings. I had avoided being alone with my uncle, unable to meet his too-perceptive eyes. But as I handed his small business case to the coachman, a gentle hand closed on my wrist.
“A moment please, Lizzy, dear. Take a turn in the garden with me?”
I swallowed hard but allowed him to tuck my hand in the crook of his arm and steer us down the path between the roses. Their delicate scent filled the summer air but did nothing to slow the rapid pounding of my heart.
“You have seemed quiet since arriving here,” Uncle began. “Not quite yourself. Tell me, has it been agreeable for you to revisit childhood haunts?”
I forced a lightness to my voice that sounded strained even to me. “Oh yes! It is just as lovely as I remember. I’ve enjoyed rambling the countryside again with Jane.”
His searching gaze did not waver. “And yet I’ve observed a kind of... wistful eagerness in your expression of late. As though anticipating something just out of sight around the next corner.”
My face warmed. Was I such an open book? Still, evasion came naturally to my tongue. “Do not all wanderers long for the next vista, the next undiscovered delight over the rise?”
His frown told me the blithe metaphor did not satisfy. We walked on in silence until he halted suddenly and turned me to face him.
“Lizzy, I know that being so near to Pemberley again must stir old memories and unanswered questions. But promise me you will not seek out—”
“Why!” My simmering frustration suddenly boiled over, preventing him from completing the thought. I flung my hand up, forcing distance between us. “Why must I avoid people who were once closer than family to me? Why are they forbidden to me now?”
Uncle Gardiner waited patiently until my outburst faded. Then he captured my restless hand lightly in his own and led me gently to a stone bench in a sunny patch of garden. We sat without speaking. At length, he asked in a tender voice, “You still trust me, do you not, Lizzy?”
I dashed a betraying tear from my cheek, my heart aching at even the possibility that he could doubt it after seven years of unreserved affection. “Of course I do. You are as dear as if you were my own father.”
He tilted my chin up until I met his warm brown eyes. “And do you also trust that Mr. Darcy had only your well-being at heart when he sent you to us?”
A lump formed in my throat at the unexpected question. But I could only nod. “I always used to.”
He sighed. “Then, believe me when I say it is best you remain in ignorance about certain things for now.” His fingers brushed my cheek with paternal tenderness. “I wish I could explain, for no one deserves answers more. But I am bound by a promise that I pray you never have cause to regret.”
His solemn import struck an uneasy chord. But as I searched his face and saw only loving concern, the fight slowly drained from my defiant posture. My shoulders sagged under the resignation his cryptic words compelled. “Very well, Uncle. You have never guided me wrongly. I will respect your counsel in this, though my heart rails against it.”
He drew me into a close embrace. “You have ever been as a daughter to me. I only want your happiness.”
I hugged him tightly, his familiar scent of spice and leather enveloping me in safety once more. “I know. My true family is right here. What need have I to go digging up the past?” I attempted a teasing tone.
A glint of moisture shone in his eyes as he pulled back, hands braced on my shoulders. “That’s my good girl.” But his smile faded as quickly as it had come. “Still and all, I think perhaps I ought not to leave you and Jane here unprotected with the Darcys so near...”
I waved my hand airily. “Oh, think nothing of that! What opportunity shall I have to encounter any of them?”
His expression grew graver still. “Lizzy, when we were in Lambton, I was having a drink with Westing in the inn when Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy came in to attend to his custom. He spoke some words of business with the innkeeper, and then I watched out the window as he walked toward the cobbler’s shop. Where you and Jane were waiting.”
I swallowed, my gaze low. “I see.”
Uncle touched my chin to make me look at him. “Did he speak to you?”
I forced a light smile. “Fitzwilliam Darcy, speak to a lady in the boot shop? You must be thinking of George to imagine such impropriety. Why, I do not believe he even recognized me. Likely, he has long since forgotten that awkward girl who used to trail after him and George.” The admission brought an unexpected twist of sadness I swiftly buried.
“All the same, you understand my concern. You see how easy it would be for you to stumble upon them if you are not prudent.”
“You may leave with an easy heart. I shall keep my promise.”
The creases lining Uncle’s forehead relaxed at this assurance. He patted my hand warmly and escorted me back toward the bustling carriages, his natural cheerfulness returning. “Well, then! I will return for you all in September. Do remind your aunt and Jane daily of my fondest love. And Lizzy—” His momentarily sober eyes sought mine, “—take care, my dear.”
I stood, blinking back hot tears as his coach rumbled down the drive. Whatever secrets and unanswered questions lingered in my past, I must find contentment in the present joys all around me. With Jane’s sweet companionship and country rambles yet ahead, how could I repine? Smoothing my hair, I turned resolutely back toward the house. The future awaited somewhere up that sunlit garden path. No sense dwelling on faded dreams from long ago.
Nine
