She tightened her lips into an apologetic smile. “I am afraid I am quite the nuisance with my wardrobe. I understand I have already ruined four petticoats beyond any hope of proper restoration.”
“Five, after today. I shall be certain to send my cousin the launderer’s bill... the earl, that is,” he clarified when her brow creased faintly. “Truly, I am in jest, Mrs Fitzwilliam.”
“I should hope so,” was her tart response, “for I expect you will earn such an earful from your valet that my transgressions will pale in comparison.”
Darcy glanced down at his trousers, then allowed a boyish grin as he looked back to her. “Do you know, it was worth it.”
She answered him with a look of warmth, then turned quickly away, wetting her lips. “I expect we should hurry.” She stiffened her spine, and a moment later, her horse was galloping away from him.
Darcy had thought at first to walk sedately back, enjoying the leisurely amble to the house with one whose company was becoming a greater pleasure than he dared confess, but… perhaps it was better this way. Her still-crooked veil flapped in the breeze, and her figure was bent forward, hands light on the reins as her mount ripped up the sod before him. A curious thrill spiralled through his chest—a free-spirited whim, a playful fancy. Surely, it could do no harm.
He hissed to his horse and gave chase.
Elizabethhaddashedtoher room as quickly as her legs could carry her, heedless of Jane’s pleas for decorum or Margaret’s startled yelp when she jerked wide the door. With one look at Elizabeth’s attire, Margaret wordlessly left to order a hot bath. Elizabeth watched her go, expecting that after so many ruined garments the maid would be sending a seamstress to measure her next. She frowned and set to stripping away her soiled apparel.
“Lizzy, what in heaven’s name have you been doing?” Jane wondered. She gasped when she came near enough to smell Elizabeth’s clothing. “Oh, Lizzy, you didn’t… tell me you were not doctoring some cow!”
“Very well. I was not.” Elizabeth shook out the ruined skirt and tossed it aside. “Do you suppose these boots will shine again?”
Jane shook her head. “Even if they do, you will never rid them of the odour.”
Elizabeth kicked the boots out of her way as she bent to step out of the petticoat. “Well, it doesn’t matter. We are leaving anyway.”
“Leaving! Whatever for? Has there been some news? Oh, please tell me you have not offended Miss Darcy!”
“Miss Darcy? I am sure I have, but she is not the cause. It is… Jane, can you reach that button?”
Jane complied, but with a snort of exasperation. “Will you please tell me what happened?”
“What happened—” Elizabeth arched her back and clawed at her chemise until it gave way with a ripping sound. “Never mind what happened. It is whatcouldhappen… whatishappening. Perhaps I should simply say that I am dreadfully homesick. Will that satisfy?”
“Lizzy, you know you cannot go back. Please, you wouldn’t consider it!” Jane had gone pale, her voice scarcely above a horrified whisper.
“Not back home, but perhaps New York. No one would look for me there, and particularly not if Mama spread the word that I went to England. I can assume a different name, find work—”
“Lizzy!” Jane grasped her shoulders and shook—hard. “I demand that you tell me what happened! I thought you were just out for a ride. Why are you suddenly talking about going away?”
Elizabeth set her jaw and turned to the cavernous wardrobe, filled with clothes purchased for her at Mr Darcy’s expense. She ripped down the simplest and humblest of gowns—just enough for her to look like a respectable lady when she travelled. “You needn’t follow me if you do not wish. I am sure Billy could find you a position as a tutor to the countess’ daughter if you asked. New York will not be… will not be like this.”
Jane blocked Elizabeth’s path from the wardrobe, her arms crossed, and her features hard. “Then why are you so determined to go? Is Richard… have you heard, is he…?”
Elizabeth sagged wearily. “No, I don’t know about Richard. All I know is that I cannot stay here in Mr Darcy’s house another week. Not even a day.”
Jane’s eyebrow twitched. “Mr Darcy is to blame? But he is not even here.”
“Oh—” Elizabeth chortled bitterly. “He is, indeed, here. Very, very much here. And I must not be.”
“But I thought you were getting on with him better. You said you were—you said—”
“Jane…” Elizabeth held up a pleading hand. “I beg you, leave me for a while. I… I need to write to Papa.”
Jane softened only fractionally. “Do. And will you promise to do nothing hasty until he answers?”
“Do you mean in a month when I finally get his letter, if he even bothers to send one? Jane, I am not so rattled that I cannot see your pitiful excuse for a delay. Please, let me take that bath Margaret has ordered and cloister myself in my room for the rest of the evening.”
“The bath, I will not deny you.” Jane’s nose wrinkled as she stepped back. “But if Mr Darcy has returned, that might mean Miss de Bourgh will come to dinner, and the countess, too. You cannot refuse to come down. You would not embarrass me, would you?”
Elizabeth gave a reluctant promise, mostly to appease Jane into leaving the room. When Margaret at last informed her that the bath was ready, she sank into it and submerged her head for several seconds of clarity. She could do it… shecould. Purchase a ticket and find an elderly couple on the ship who would not mind her company… Perhaps there was a school or an orphanage in New York where she could work.
