And walked to the door.
Chapter Thirty-Four
“Portugal—somebusinessorotherfor the Foreign Office. He said he would be away for some years, perhaps. I am afraid it shall be forever,” Georgiana whispered, her voice thin with grief.
Elizabeth blinked hard, trying to focus. The walls tilted, ever so slightly. Her teacup clinked sharply against the saucer as she set it down with trembling fingers.
“Elizabeth?” Lady Julia’s voice held a note of alarm now. “You look quite pale. Shall I call for salts?”
“No,” Elizabeth breathed. “No, I—” She pressed her fingers to her temple. “It is only... the heat.”
It was not. It was the world collapsing inward. The air was thick and impossible. Her stays too tight. She had come here to find out if he was well, to discover where he had gone—and instead she had learned he was leaving the country. Leaving England. Leavingher.
“He cannot,” she murmured.
“Elizabeth?” Lady Julia stepped closer. “Do you—”
From the corridor beyond the door came a familiar cadence: footsteps, booted and brisk, and low voices in conversation. Georgiana’s head snapped up.
“That is Richard,” she said, rising from the seat. “And—oh!”
Lady Julia turned sharply toward the door. “Is that Mr. Darcy with him?”
Elizabeth rose unsteadily. Her heart had already leaped a thousand times in an instant. She knew that voice. She had replayed it in her mind too many nights to mistake it now.Fitzwilliam.
The door had not yet opened, but she was already moving. Her blood simmered. Her limbs, moments ago heavy as stone, were carried now by something else entirely.
There were words just outside—the colonel’s voice, chiding him over something. “—I told you it was idiotic, but do you listen? No, of course not. You are going to Portugal, and for what? To avoid—”
Darcy’s voice cut him off. “I have come to see Miss Darcy,” he said to the footman outside.
Elizabeth was already surging forward, already fixed on the door.
“Yes, sir. She is in the drawing room with Lady Julia. I am afraid they do have a caller—”
“Georgiana is entertaining callers?” the colonel’s voice echoed outside. “Darcy, perhaps we should—”
“Forgive me, but I prefer not to tarry long enough to be detained by the earl. I will ask her to step out for a word.”
The door opened. The footman stepped aside, halfway through a proper announcement. But Elizabeth was already there, already waiting to intercept him, chin high and back straight.
Darcy entered, and for a moment, a smile of greeting flashed on his face. Then he halted mid-stride. His eyes jumped past his sister and cousin—straight to her.
She did not wait for pleasantries. “Portugal?Why the devil are you running away to Portugal?”
Darcy’s mouth opened, but no sound emerged. He appeared entirely at a loss, his usual stoicism faltering.
Richard stepped between them. “I told him it was idiotic,” he said helpfully. “But he never listens.” He turned to Elizabeth with a quick bow. “Lady Elizabeth, always a pleasure.”
Lady Julia’s mouth was hanging open, and she was gasping like a fish. “You… you are...acquainted?”
Elizabeth ignored her. “Well?” she pressed, taking a step closer to Darcy. “Have you nothing to say for yourself?”
Darcy’s throat bobbed as he swallowed, his gaze dropping momentarily before meeting hers once more. “I... I did not think it would be of interest to you,” he managed.
Elizabeth’s eyes flashed with a mix of hurt and indignation. “‘Not of interest?’” she echoed. “You believe I would not care to know that you intend to exile yourself to the far reaches of Europe?”
The colonel cleared his throat. “Yes, yes, Darcy is an idiot. On that, we can all agree. Perhaps we should all sit down,” he suggested, though no one moved.
