“That was a perfectly tepid compliment for which I thank you,” she said with delightful archness.
“You are welcome. Questionable praise is my speciality.”
“Hmm. Your standards are, indeed, very high.”
“I wonder that you would say so, given that we are bumping along in this stupid basket.”
“I do not believe I have ever seen a smaller one. Is it made of wicker, do you think?”
“Wicker would be an overstatement of its construction, I believe. Woven grass or willow fronds, perhaps.”
“You are very tired if you cannot find it hilarious.”
“I own, I am tired. And you? You cannot be other than exhausted. How can you still laugh?”
“It is perhaps a fault, but I become truly silly when I am tired.”
By the time we reached the main road, however, even her vast stores of humour had been depleted. We had fallen into something like sullen resentment, a dullness common to cattle driven to market. Yet even this benighted state was better than what came next, for as we came closer to London, we were beset and harassed by all manner of drays and coaches impatient with our little gig that should not have been on such a road in the first place. To say my nerves were frayed would have been an understatement, and only Miss Elizabeth’s venturing to speak relieved the tension, albeit only by a little.
“I did not expect travelling this way to be such an anxious business,” she said, raising her voice to be heard over the noise of the road.
“I am sorry to have subjected you to it.”
“If you recall, this was not your choice but mine. It is I who am sorry you are forced to?—”
She was interrupted by a hail of curses thrown at us by a passing coachman. We were splattered yet again by droplets of mud, and I closed my mouth firmly, having tasted dirt twice already that day.
“If it gives you any comfort, I am stopping at the first posting house in our way,” I said grimly.
“I would lie if I did not say I am glad to hear you say so.”
By the time I relinquished the gig, which was two or three miles from the London Bridge, we were too famished and I was too muddled to make further arrangements just yet, and so we found ourselves seated in a snug in Sutcliffe, staring numbly at a cold collation.
Miss Elizabeth, who had briefly retreated with a maid and had changed out of her filthy dress, took tea with milk and sugar with her bread and butter. I, who had stupidly worn my clean shirt and had to reconcile myself to being unfit to be seen, drank two tankards of ale and chewed a strip of cold beef. We had been silent many times throughout our ordeal, but this spell of private rumination was entirely different.
I cleared my throat but could not speak. She sipped her tea and seemed to struggle for words while I waited helplessly for her to saysomething. We were at the very edge of London and should have been rejoicing, but we were neither of us joyful.
She pressed her napkin to her lips, and at last, she broke the spell that had bewitched us. “I suppose we should consider what is next, Mr Darcy.”
“As soon as we have finished eating, I shall hire a coach and we shall proceed to your uncle’s house,” I said, wondering vaguely why she did not assume this to be my plan. And then looking more closely at her face, I asked, “Why? What is amiss here?”
“Do you not think our arrival will be a truly awkward one, sir?”
“Of course it will be, but it must be done.”
“Only I wish you would not go with me,” she said quietly, looking down at her tea.
“What on earth are you suggesting? Am I to leave you to fend for yourself—here? Now? I will never do it, and I do not like that you could even think I would!”
“And I would rather you not have to stand patiently before such questions as must be asked of you, sir!”By degrees, our voices were rising to something a little too close to shouting in a public place.
“Do you think I am unequal to bearing the consequences of my own actions?” I demanded. “My word, I know you do not hold me in high esteem, but I did not think you thought so poorly of me.”
“I do not! Only you should not be subjected to a single question as to what you have done for me!”
“You are protecting me?” I gasped. “I do not need it, ma’am,” I said coldly.
I then fought against a torrent of words so honest, so violent of feeling, I held them back.
