Elizabeth’s throat tightened, and she glanced once more at the empty space on the shelf. “I did not lose as much as you think,” she said, though the lie tasted bitter.
Mary seemed unconvinced but said nothing more. Elizabeth rose abruptly, unable to bear the tension. Crossing the room, she paused by the window, staring out at the frost-covered garden. The cold, stark landscape felt like a reflection of her own heart—silent, empty, and unyielding.
I cannot stay here.
The thought came suddenly, sharp and clear, and for the first time in weeks, Elizabeth felt a spark of something other than despair. She turned away from the window, her steps purposeful as she crossed to the small writing desk by the wall. Sitting down, she reached for a sheet of paper and dipped her pen into the ink.
“Lizzy?” Mary’s voice was hesitant. “What are you doing?”
Elizabeth didn’t look up. “I am writing to Aunt Gardiner.”
Mary frowned. “Aunt Gardiner?”
“Yes. I am going to ask if I may visit her in London.”
Mary’s brow furrowed. “London? But why—”
“Because I cannot stay here, Mary,” Elizabeth said, her voice breaking slightly. She set the pen down, pressing her fingers to her temples as she tried to steady herself. “Every day, I feel asthough I am suffocating. I need to get away. To think. To…” She trailed off, her eyes closing briefly. “To find out if there is still hope.”
Mary was silent for a moment, then ventured timidly, “Hope for what?”
Elizabeth opened her eyes, her gaze distant. “Hope that I might not have ruined everything.”
The words hung heavily in the air, and Mary had no reply. Elizabeth picked up the pen again, her hand moving steadily across the paper as she addressed her aunt. She did not know how she would cross paths with Darcy again—if it was even possible—but London at least offered a chance, however slim. Here at Longbourn, there was nothing but regret and the knowledge that she had let him slip away.
When she finished, Elizabeth folded the letter carefully and set it aside to be sent. For the first time in weeks, the weight in her chest lifted slightly. It was not much, but it was a start.
The snow fell inthick, swirling flakes, blanketing the road ahead and muffling the steady clatter of the carriage wheels. Darcy sat stiffly in his seat, his eyes fixed on the frosted glass of the window as the landscape passed by in shades of white and gray. Despite the warmth of the carriage, he felt cold, a chill that came from within and had plagued him for weeks.
He was nearing Meryton now, the town that had become synonymous with frustration and heartache. Darcy’s grip on his gloves tightened as he thought of Elizabeth Bennet, her fierce eyes and sharp tongue, her laughter that had once felt like sunlight piercing his carefully constructed walls. Shehad haunted him every day since their parting, her image an unwelcome but relentless companion.
And yet, here he was, traveling the same snowy roads he had sworn never to tread again. Logic had abandoned him entirely, leaving only the raw, unrelenting need to see her—to speak to her, even if it meant risking further humiliation. He could not rest until he knew the truth, no matter how painful it might be.
The carriage jolted slightly, drawing his attention back to the road. Darcy leaned forward, his gaze narrowing as he saw another carriage approaching from the opposite direction. It was an unremarkable vehicle, small and plainly outfitted, but something about it caught his eye. He squinted, his breath catching as the carriage drew closer.
Then he saw her.
Elizabeth.
His heart lurched, disbelief crashing over him like a wave. He blinked, certain for a moment that he was imagining her—that the snow, the strain of the journey, and his own fevered thoughts had conjured her apparition. But no. It was Elizabeth.
She leaned slightly out of the carriage window, her dark hair escaping in soft, wind-tossed tendrils, dusted with snow. Her cheeks were flushed from the cold, her eyes wide and unguarded, fixed on him with a look that mirrored his own: shock mingled with something raw and vulnerable.
“Stop the carriage!”
The driver obeyed immediately, pulling the horses to an abrupt halt. Across the way, Elizabeth’s carriage slowed as well, coming to a jerking stop just yards from his own. For a moment, the road was silent save for the snorts of the horses and the faint rustle of snowflakes falling all around them.
Darcy threw the door open, the cold air biting at his face as he stepped down into the snow. Elizabeth emerged from her carriage almost in tandem, her movements hurried andunsteady as she stepped into the snow. Her cloak swirled around her, the dark fabric in sharp contrast to the stark white of their surroundings. For a moment, she stood frozen, her expression a mixture of astonishment and disbelief.
Her lips parted slightly, as though she were about to speak, but no words came. She simply stared at him, and Darcy was struck—painfully, powerfully—by the sight of her. She looked so achingly familiar, yet seeing her here, so unexpectedly, was like seeing her for the first time.
He stopped a few paces from her, his chest tight, his pulse thundering in his ears. He could not tell whether the cold or her presence was stealing the air from his lungs. “Miss Bennet,” he said finally, his voice low and rough with the effort to contain his emotions. “What are you doing here?”
Elizabeth blinked, as if startled by the question. Then, with a faint shake of her head, she replied, “I could ask you the same, Mr. Darcy.”
The sound of her voice—familiar yet distant, as though it belonged to a dream—sent a pang through him. He struggled to find the right words, his thoughts a tangled mess. “I—” He hesitated, exhaling sharply, his breath visible in the cold. “I was traveling to Longbourn.”
“To Longbourn?” Elizabeth echoed, her brow furrowing. She took a half-step forward, her eyes scanning his face. “Why?”
