“Reckless? No, Lady Matlock. It is deliberate, and not without cause for hope.”
The silence stretched until Georgiana returned, two footmen trailing behind with a heavily laden trunk. Darcy stood, fixing his aunt with a calm but unyielding gaze. “Thank you for your hospitality, Aunt. Please extend my regards to Uncle. I will not be troubling him in his study today.”
Her mouth opened, no doubt to launch another protest, but Darcy’s resolve was set. He took Georgiana’s arm and led her toward the door, their footsteps echoing in the grand hall.
An icy wind was now bristling its way through the London streets, but it was a welcome reprieve from the oppressive stuffiness of Matlock House. He helped Georgiana into the carriage, her fingers trembling lightly against his. Once she was seated, he turned to direct the footman to secure the trunk before climbing in beside her.
He should have spoken to Lord Matlock. Any other day, he would have, but today, he had no words for his uncle. No heart for arguments. All he wanted now was to finish his remaining tasks in London and return to Netherfield. To put things right, if it were even possible.
But as the carriage rolled away, Darcy could not shake the hollow ache that followed him. Without Elizabeth waiting for him when he got back, even his greatest efforts felt incomplete—like the hollow shell of a dream that might never be whole.
Elizabeth fumbled with theteapot, the lid slipping from her fingers and clattering onto the tray. She hissed under her breath, quickly righting it before any tea spilled. Her hands trembled slightly as she reached for her cup, but even that small motion felt futile. She sank back into the chair by the window, her fingers gripping the fabric of her skirt as if anchoring herself to something solid. Beyond the narrow street below, the world moved on without her, but she could barely make sense of it. Her throat ached, tight with the tears she refused to let fall.
She had barely slept the last two days. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw Mr. Darcy standing in the Gardiners’ parlor, his expression so open, so wounded, as though her coldness had struck him like a blow. Could she have been so mistaken in him? Her mind churned. She had always prided herself on her ability to read people, to discern their true natures, but with Darcy…
It did not add up. Everything about his demeanor, his words, his actions—they had all seemed so genuine. And yet… how could a man so accustomed to power and privilege truly understand the feelings of those less fortunate? The temptation of using and manipulating—it had to be second nature to someone like him, as natural as breathing. A man who had never lacked for anything might not even realize how his actions could harm others.
That had to be it. His charm, his gentleness—they were merely tools of a man who always got what he wanted.
But her heart rebelled against her reasoning, whispering that Darcy was different. He had shown her consideration, vulnerability, and even respect. Her! A country girl of small dowry with a family that was sometimes… embarrassing… and an uncle in trade. Most gentlemen of wealth and connections would never even bother to learn her name, but Darcy had sought her out. Seemed to have permitted himself to develop feelings for her.
And now… she might never see him again.
A tear slipped free before she could catch it, and she dashed it away hastily as her aunt entered the room.
Mrs. Gardiner stopped short, her perceptive eyes narrowing as she took in Elizabeth’s forlorn posture. “Lizzy,” she said gently, crossing the room to sit beside her. “What is the matter? Are you unwell?”
Elizabeth shook her head quickly. “No, Aunt. I am quite well.”
Mrs. Gardiner tilted her head, her tone softening. “This would not have anything to do with Mr. Darcy, would it?”
Elizabeth’s breath caught, but she looked away, attempting a laugh. “Mr. Darcy? Why, do I look angry?”
Her aunt reached out, laying a hand over Elizabeth’s. “You cannot fool me, Lizzy. I saw the way he looked at you when he was here. And I saw the way you looked at him. Did something happen?”
Elizabeth shook her head again, this time more forcefully, though her voice trembled. “Sometimes people… they simply change their minds. That is all.”
Mrs. Gardiner regarded her for a long moment, her brows knitting together, but when it became clear Elizabeth would not say more, she sighed and straightened. “Speaking of changing minds…” She hesitated, then added, “Your uncle and I have decided not to host our Christmas party after all.”
Elizabeth turned to her in dismay. “What? Why not?”
Mrs. Gardiner folded her hands in her lap. “Several of Mr. Gardiner’s business partners sent their regrets just yesterday. They have suddenly decided on journeying to the country rather than remaining in London. Without them, the party would feel quite diminished.”
Elizabeth bit her lip. She had been relying on the party as a distraction, something to fill the gaping void in her thoughts where Mr. Darcy had firmly lodged himself. “I see.”
Her aunt gave her a small, apologetic smile. “Do not fret. We have another invitation that promises to be even more festive.”
Elizabeth frowned slightly. “Another invitation?”
Mrs. Gardiner nodded. “A gentleman from the North, a Mr. Broadmere, is presently in London and hosting a ball. Rather suddenly, or so it seems. Your uncle only received the invitation yesterday.”
“Mr. Broadmere?” Elizabeth repeated slowly. “Who is he?”
“His name is familiar, but I confess I do not know him,” her aunt admitted. “I believe he is running as MP for Derbyshire.”
Elizabeth’s heart gave a sudden, uncomfortable flip. “For Derbyshire? Does he mean to challenge Mr. Darcy?”
Mrs. Gardiner blinked in surprise. “Mr. Darcy? Was he planning to run for MP?”
