Darcy hesitated. He gave a curt nod. “Yes.”
Benedict bowed his head, but his silence spoke of more understanding than Darcy was willing to acknowledge.
Darcy exhaled. “Call for Mrs. Tate. And…” He glanced out at the street, where his horses were already starting to drive away from the kerb. “Have the carriage wait.”
The butler did not ask why. He only inclined his head. “At once, sir.”
Elizabeth could not read.She could not sew. She could not even pretend to listen to her mother’s prattle without feeling the urge to scream.
Why did everything—everything—feel so… intolerable today?
Kitty and Lydia had been shrieking with laughter all morning over ribbons and officers, their voices grating her ears as they flitted about the house like restless sparrows. Mary had retreated behind a book, clearing her throat meaningfully every few minutes as though waiting for someone to ask her opinion on whatever moralizing passage she had just read. And Jane—sweet, patient Jane—had given Elizabeth several quiet, sympathetic glances—toosympathetic. As though she knew, as though she understood, though she never could. As though Elizabeth were some fragile thing in need of pity and patience. And somehow, that was worse than anything.
Even their father had abandoned her. He had taken refuge in his study before breakfast and had yet to emerge, no doubt hoping to avoid whatever fresh absurdity was unfolding in the house. Elizabeth wished she could do the same.
She stood from the sofa so abruptly that Jane looked up from her embroidery. “Lizzy?”
“I need air.”
“Would you like me to—”
But Elizabeth was already halfway to the hall, reaching for her cloak. She had no desire for conversation, even with Jane. “No, dearest,” she said quickly, fastening her cape beneath her chin. “Stay warm and dry. Heaven knows, Mama will fret if you take ill again. I will not be long.”
Shedid not wait for a reply. A moment later, she was outside, the late autumn wind biting against her cheeks, the crisp air sharp and clean in her lungs.
Oakham Mount. That was where she needed to go.
Her boots found the familiar path as she climbed, each step a release of the restless energy that had coiled inside her all morning. The air smelled of damp earth and distant woodsmoke, a scent that should have been comforting, familiar, for it was home. It was not.
Why could she not simply…be?Why did she feel as though she had been set adrift, unmoored from everything that had once made her feel like herself?
She had been home for over a week now, and yet Longbourn did not feel like home. It was too loud, too small, too unchanged—too full of the same conversations and preoccupations that had occupied the Bennet household since the day she was born. Everything was the same.
Except her.
Except that she no longer cared about the gossip of Meryton or the arrival of the militia or whether the officers looked well in their uniforms. She had seen London society. She had moved in circles of power. She had stood beside a man who commanded influence with a single look, and she had matched wits with lords and politicians.
And now…
Now she was supposed to sit in the parlor and pretend that none of it had happened.
She tightened her cloak around her shoulders, pushing forward as the incline grew steeper.
And why—why—was it that her thoughts kept returning tohim?
He should be nothing to her now. He had never been anything to her, not really. What had passed between them had been a ruse, a carefully orchestrated deception, meant only to serve his ambitions and her protection. She had played her part; he had played his. It was done.
She had done her duty. She had helped him become what he was meant to be.
But the election was not over.
She exhaled roughly, adjusting her scarf against the wind. Was that why she was so unsettled? Because she did not know? Because she was still waiting for word of the outcome?
Or was it because, for all the effort she had spent convincing herself that she was merely a useful tool to him, she still wished— desperately wished—that she had been more?
She reached the crest of the hill, her pulse still high from the climb, and turned toward the view.
Below, the countryside stretched in every direction, a patchwork of golden fields and hedgerows, dotted with the first hints of autumn’s descent. The sky was vast, its pale blue washed with streaks of gray, promising an early evening chill.
