“A month? Do you suppose matters will keep for so long?”
“It does not matter, for my assistance is not wanted. I will bid you a good day, Miss Bennet.” He rapped the top of the carriage, and it started to roll. Gazing down at Elizabeth, his eyes full of regret, he raised a hand in farewell.
Elizabeth watched the carriage as it rolled out of sight, then turned around to see Darcy himself lurching to a halt in the doorway. His eyes were fixed on the empty drive, and his mouth opened as if to cry out, but he was disappointed. A moment later he saw her hesitating on the stair below him, and gave a start. Again, he looked as if he desired to speak, his whole body drawing up for the effort, then his courage failed and he sagged.
He looked back into the house, then down to her once more. If he could not find words, his eyes spoke deeply and simply of his remorse. Elizabeth ascended slowly, until she stood only one step below the landing.
His fingers twitched at his sides. “He is gone, is he not?”
She nodded.
He was staring down, seemingly at her hands, when his eyes cautiously lifted. “Elizabeth… have I offended you, as well?”
“Oh, William,” she breathed, rising to the last step. “I… I was hurt, I will confess, but my affections are not the work of a day, and I shall not be easily turned aside.”
He looked down at the marble steps, swallowing hard. His eyes were blinking rapidly, but he could not seem to find the words he wished for.
“William?”
“Elizabeth,” he said abruptly, “will you take a walk with me? I do not care to be indoors, and I have been for too long today.”
She turned wordlessly, facing back down the steps and tilting an inviting smile back to him. He seemed at a loss, but a bashful smile quivered in answer beneath his beard. Haltingly, he extended his elbow, hope shining in soft brown eyes.
Gingerly, she reached to pass her arm through his, studying his expression. Their first, precipitous moment of reconciliation seemed to have shattered some measure of his reserve, at least with her, but he had been terribly shy of everyone else, and looked apprehensive about touching even her with others watching.
Once secured of her arm, she could feel some of the tension drain from him. His eyes more often on her face than on the steps, he slowly led her down. Not more than halfway, however, Georgiana’s voice halted them. Elizabeth sensed him bracing himself, and together they turned.
“Fitzwilliam, has Richard truly gone? I was not able to say good-bye! Oh, Fitzwilliam, why has he gone? Was he recalled to his regiment?”
Darcy flashed a helpless look to Elizabeth. Understanding, she ventured an answer on his behalf. “The colonel expressed his desire to return to London.”
Georgiana shot Elizabeth a brief glare, then turned again to her brother. “But so late in the day! Why, he can go no farther than Lambton. Why would he not wait until morning?”
Darcy glanced toward the stoic footmen at the door. “We will discuss it later, Georgiana. I… Miss Bennet and I were about to take a walk. Would you care to join us?”
Georgiana flicked a deadpan expression toward Elizabeth, then directed a pronounced pout toward her brother. “No, it is too late. I should dress for dinner.” She followed this statement with another meaningful glance at each party, then turned back into the house.
Darcy’s arms dropped, his face falling. “She is correct,” he admitted.
Elizabeth forced a cheerful smile and turned, offering him her other arm. “Perhaps we will take that walk on the morrow, Mr Darcy.”
He nodded, quietly accepted her arm, and led her back into the house.
Chapter forty-nine
“Fitzwilliam,youcannothaveheard all the other family news yet,” Georgiana spoke quietly at her brother’s left elbow.
“News?” Darcy pulled his eyes from Elizabeth, who sat at his right. At his request, it was only the three of them taking their dinner in the small family breakfast room, for theirs were the only faces he desired to see. Elizabeth, he presumed, had managed to smooth things over with her sister, and he was grateful for at least this one evening without any tangible reminders of George Wickham at his table. “What news?”
Georgiana seemed glad of his attention, smiling bashfully. “It is sad news, actually. Our poor cousin, Priscilla Fitzwilliam has died.”
“Died?” Darcy glanced at Elizabeth, but she met his eyes only briefly before dropping her gaze and forcing him to once again look to Georgiana. “When was this?”
“Last Sunday, I think. I was not permitted to read the note, for our aunt took it when it arrived. I only know that it was some long illness that had been kept quiet until all hope was lost.”
Darcy prodded the fine roast duck on his plate, then set down his fork. “I am sorry to hear that.”
“Well, Brother, I was thinking, perhaps we ought to go to London to pay our respects.”
