Darcy watched her leave, his brow furrowing slightly before he turned back to Elizabeth. “I apologize for arriving unannounced.”
Elizabeth swallowed, willing her voice not to shake. “It is quite unexpected. What brings you to London, Mr. Darcy?”
He hesitated, as though choosing his words carefully. “A number of things, but perhaps first of my concerns is my sister. She is staying with our aunt and uncle for the season. I came to escort her to Netherfield.”
Elizabeth’s brow arched. “Your aunt and uncle—the Earl and Countess of Matlock?”
“Yes,” Darcy said, a note of confusion in his voice. “Why do you ask?”
Elizabeth’s pulse hammered in her ears. “No reason,” she said tightly, her thoughts spinning. So, this was the uncle in the House of Lords, the one Colonel Fitzwilliam had implied would play a role in Darcy’s supposed ambitions. And Darcy had come to town expressly to call at their home.
Darcy went on, his tone casual. “I expect an… interesting conversation with my uncle when I see him. Matters should be settled soon enough. And I had some other arrangements to see to—some of which, I had hoped to discuss with you.”
Elizabeth’s hands clenched at her sides. Rage and hurt surged through her, sharp and unrelenting. So, it was true. Darcydidmean to exploit Netherfield’s residents for his political gain. Fitzwilliam’s hints had been no exaggeration. And worse, he wantedherto be a party to it all!
Her throat felt tight, but she forced her words out. “I am sorry to hear I shall miss the Christmas party. I am sure it will go splendidly.”
Darcy’s brows drew together in confusion. “Miss it? You cannot mean—”
“I shall be staying in London,” Elizabeth interrupted, her voice brittle. “I… expect I shall see you at the wedding.”
Darcy’s face hardened, dismay flickering briefly before it gave way to something sharper. “The wedding? If you mean your sister’s supposed ‘engagement’ to Bingley, I must correct you. At the time she said it, it was untrue.”
Elizabeth stared at him. “‘At the time’?”
Darcy’s lips pressed into a thin line. “It may not remain untrue for long. I would not be surprised if Bingley proposes any day now. But Miss Bennet only said what she did in the hope of encouraging you toward your own happiness.”
Elizabeth’s heart gave a great pang, her anger mingling with something more complicated—something she did not want to name. Darcy’s gaze pinned her in place, and for a moment, she thought she might drown in the intensity of it.
“I…” she stammered, searching for something, anything, to say. But all that came was a whispered, “Why?”
His expression softened, the harsh edges of his features melting into something achingly sincere. “Because, Miss Elizabeth, your happiness matters.”
Her breath faltered, his words piercing through the guarded thoughts she clung to. His gaze held hers with a quiet force, as if he were reaching out to touch something deeper within her—something that had broken that night at dinner, over Colonel Fitzwilliam’s boasts.
She turned away abruptly, her hands trembling. “I… wish you success with the party, Mr. Darcy. And with all your other… endeavors. Now, if you will excuse me.”
“So…” She heard him sigh so deeply that she could almost swear the buttons on his waistcoat were straining. “You will say nothing? No acknowledgment, no recriminations? We were friends, I thought.”
Elizabeth squeezed her eyes shut until a tear leaked out. “Yes,” she whispered.
“And was I imagining it, or could we have been… something more?”
Her throat ached, and her chest trembled. She dared not speak—she could only clap a hand to her mouth as her head bowed and her shoulders quaked.
“I see.” Another heavy sigh. “May I ask, Miss Elizabeth, what has changed? Have I offended you somehow? Please, tell me so that I may put it right.”
She opened her mouth and had to force the sound out. “I—I would not have you alter… anything, sir. You must do as you feel fitting, and I must do the same.”
There was a pause, during which Elizabeth could no longer avoid looking at him. She risked a glance over her shoulder, and his face… it was stricken. Ghostly and agonized, with tears glittering just at the corners of his eyes. She looked swiftly away.
“I… I do not understand. Elizabeth, please, I—”
She turned back, pasting a smile on her face. “You should go, sir. I would hate for you to miss your appointment with the Earl of Matlock.”
Darcy said nothing for a long moment. Then, softly, “Of course. Good day, Miss Elizabeth.”
She did not look back as he left, but the sound of his retreating footsteps echoed long after he had gone.
