“I do not recall asking your opinion! You would do well to remember your place!”
“Yes, sir,” O’Donnell answered meekly.
“See to that man I brought, and have the steward waiting. I shall return with Miss Bennet directly.”
Darcy was off like a shot, his long legs nearly breaking into a run. This was all better than he had dared to dream! This first meeting with Elizabeth would be no stiff greeting in a sitting room, a dozen others all about, but a private moment he would cherish all his life. He could almost see her already, wandering and distraught, longing for a few moments to herself. Did she think of him? Grieve for him?
He nearly staggered as he hurried toward her. O’Donnell had said she walked the gardens, but did not know which gardens. Perhaps it was ridiculous, blundering out in the dark, searching for a lone woman among hundreds of acres, but his feet seemed unerringly pulled toward the open fields. Elizabeth could very well enjoy the pleasure gardens during the day, but if it was solitude she had sought—yes, she would have taken herself to the peace of the meadows that reminded her of her home.
What would her eyes hold when she turned and saw him at last? Would she cry out in relief and joy? Would she run to him in tears, as she had in his imagination? Or, perhaps even better yet, would she smile and tease him for being late? That realistic possibility might be the best of all, for he did not think he could bear witnessing deep grief and regrets just now. Her laughter was what he craved the most, the balm that could cheer his anxious heart.
Crashing through the stand of trees, he surged forward. Had she gone this way? This was nearly the very spot where he had stumbled upon her last summer, his shirt dripping wet and his hair disheveled. How those fine eyes of hers had sparkled with amusement, though in manner she had been just as discomposed as he! That image of her—the sun soft upon her shoulders, her nose faintly dusted with freckles, and her guard lowered, he had carried as his talisman these many months. An expectant smile warmed his face, wondering what new vision of her was to replace it.
He emerged from the little grove and his heart lifted. There she was! Elizabeth, his Elizabeth, real and alive and not thirty paces before him. It was no dream—not this time! He could hear the whisper of her feet over the ground, count the rhythm of her breaths, and he never could have imagined that rich cloak she wore, for he had never before seen it.
Even unaware of his presence, she captivated him. Her steps were quick and light, her course in the dark unflagging. No other was so bold, so free and unaffected. But he must call out to her now, he must draw her attention, if his fantasies were to be realised. All his hopes trembled in his chest. “Elizabeth?” he called softly, his voice barely above a whisper.
Her shoulders drew back, her steps halted, and she glanced to her left. She seemed to have heard him, then appeared to shake off the feeling. She hesitated another moment, glancing out to her right, and then walked two or three more steps away from him. She looked to be peering ahead, as though she were searching for someone. Perhaps she had even fancied him there, just as he felt he would have sensed her presence anywhere.
Her steps now straightened with determination, her eyes fixed solemnly before her, as though she had found what she sought. Did she not know that he was just behind her? He clenched a fist over his heart, joy breaking forth upon his face, and for the first time in months, a word flowed easily from his mouth. “Elizabeth!”
Her body shook violently, then grew very still. Slowly, she turned, her skirts gathered in her free hand. She was looking at the ground, as if fearful to raise her eyes and fail to see what she longed for.
“Elizabeth!” he cried again, then remembered that she had never heard him speak thus. Perhaps it was too much, this intimacy, when their last real meeting had been of such a different nature. How could she know that she had been his constant companion, the voice in his heart, these many months? “Miss Bennet,” he amended gently, “do you not know me?”
Her eyes were upon him now, shining in a way he had never known. Her mouth moved, but no sound emerged—no, she was smiling widely, nearly laughing with that jubilance only she possessed. She took a step toward him, and he hastened to reciprocate. Would she come and nestle in his arms, where she belonged?
An instant later she froze, an expression of horror crossing her features. He halted in confusion as she turned to look back over her shoulder. Her body seemed to cringe now, shrinking from whatever dread lay behind her. She looked back to him, her eyes full of pleading and remorse, and then he heard the even tapping of hooves.
“Well, Darcy! I see you have managed to find your way home. Jolly good, old boy! I say, bygones and all that, what say we have a civilised little chat in the drawing room?”
His eyes never left Elizabeth. There was no need to look at the horseman who now stood behind her, for the voice—and her miserable expression—told it all.Wickham!
His lips were curling into an unconscious snarl, his fists balling. Elizabeth, the light of his life, plotting a clandestine meeting with one of the men who had conspired to betray him! Bile surged into his mouth, and it was all he could do to stand erect. His teeth clenched and his breath quivered with baffled rage, racking his entire body in uncontrollable spasms.
“Mr Darcy,” Elizabeth spoke hesitantly, extending a hand. She was nearly close enough to touch, close enough to clasp to his breast and drag away from Wickham. She drew yet another step nearer. “Please, sir….”
“Do not!” he roared. “Do not approach me, madam, for I shall not vouch for my temper!”
“Oh, come, Darcy, is that any way to speak to a lady—and my sister, lest you forget! Be reasonable, old chap, and let her speak.” Wickham sat smugly atop his mount, his face barely visible from Elizabeth’s lantern, but Darcy could hear the sneer in his voice.
“I shall hear not a word!” He clenched and unclenched his fists, staring at Elizabeth—daring her to deny what he saw.
She said nothing. Her eyes were cast to the ground, silver beads dropping from her cheeks. Her shoulders were hunched, trembling under her cloak.
He glared another moment, but she did not lift those glorious eyes to him again. “Get off my property!” he hissed. Then he turned and marched back to the house.
Chapter forty
Fitzwilliamleanedforwardinthe saddle. The rider must have gained the house, for he could see the silhouette against the light from the open front door. A guest? His father, or someone less welcome—the solicitor perhaps? His pulse beat thickly with unease for Georgiana. So long he had left her with little protection—Darcy would never forgive him if he did return!
He urged his horse to pick up pace again, thinking he must investigate this irregularity about Pemberley. As he drew closer, he could now clearly make out the form of the riderless horse being led away to the stables. Several persons milled frantically about the door, all proceeding inward toward the house. This late arrival must be welcome, and apparently someone of import, given the number of footmen.Darcy?Oh, why was the blasted drive so slick? Richard pulled his horse to the turf at the side of the drive and spurred him yet faster.
Before he could close the distance enough to recognise anyone, someone had rushed again from the door and down the steps into the darkness. Richard paid him no mind, thinking it likely that a message was being carried to the stables or elsewhere. Another moment, and he himself was panting at the bottom of the step, scarcely even waiting for someone to take his horse before he mounted the stairs two at a time.
“Colonel!” the footman greeted as Richard raced by him into the house. “Sir, it is a right good thing you are returned. Sir—Mr Darcy has just arrived!”
Richard whirled. “Darcy! So, it is true! Thank heaven! Has he gone to Miss Darcy already?” He started for the stair himself, heedless of his dripping coat, hat, and gloves.
