When her grandfather later brought her to Granfield Park for brief visits, she found herself entering an entirely different world—ordered, elegant, and strikingly still when compared to Longbourn. The estate had been managed in the earl’s absence by her uncle and aunt, the Viscount and Viscountess of Fenmore, who were childless and attentive in their stewardship.
There was affection there as well, and pride of a quieter, more restrained sort; yet Elizabeth always felt that a part of herself remained in Hertfordshire, where life was noisier, warmer, and far less perfect. Whenever Lord Granfield’s obligations or travels took him away, she returned to Longbourn, finding comfort in the familiar chaos of her cousins’ company.
Now, after his long absence, his unexpected arrival stirred in her a rush of emotion she had not anticipated. Joy, certainly, but also a deep sense of reassurance as if a piece of her childhood, once set adrift, had found its way home again.
“I did not expect you so soon,” she replied, indicating that the two of them should sit on the nearby settee.
They soon became lost in conversation, the easy affection between them reviving as though no time had passed at all. Her grandfather asked after her health, the Bennet family, and Longbourn itself while she in turn pressed him for stories ofhis voyage—his impressions of distant shores and unfamiliar customs. So absorbed were they that neither noticed the minutes slipping away, until a sharp, incredulous voice shattered their pleasant reunion.
“Really, Miss Eliza, have you forgotten so quickly that this is not your house—nor your sister’s—whatever your mother might attempt to insist upon?”
Elizabeth turned, startled. Miss Caroline Bingley stood in the doorway; her expression pinched with disdain. Clearly, she had not expected to find anyone in the room, much less a guest receiving a caller. Her surprise quickly gave way to outrage when her gaze fell upon the older gentleman seated beside Elizabeth, their hands still loosely clasped in a gesture of fond affection.
Miss Bingley gave a delicate but pointed sniff. “Were the few days of your sister’s illness too long a separation from your lover?” she asked, her tone dripping with scorn.
Elizabeth’s breath caught. For an instant she could not speak, but her grandfather was on his feet at once, his countenance darkening with righteous anger.
“Young woman,” he said sharply, “who the devil are you, and how dare you speak to my granddaughter in such an unfeeling and insolent manner? She is a lady, and the?—”
“Grandpapa,” Elizabeth said gently, yet with quiet urgency, laying her hand upon his arm. Beneath her touch she felt the rigid tension of him, anger held in check only by effort, and she hastened to calm him before he could further his complaint. “This is my hostess, Miss Caroline Bingley. Her brother leases Netherfield. Jane came to pay a call three days ago, but the weather turned while she was on the road, and she was taken illafter becoming thoroughly chilled. I arrived the following day to attend her, and Mr and Miss Bingley have most kindly permitted me to remain.”
Her grandfather’s eyes moved from Elizabeth to Miss Bingley, and she saw at once that he understood. Miss Bingley had mistaken him for some provincial tradesman or a mere family acquaintance; she had no notion of his true rank or of Elizabeth’s birth. Elizabeth met his gaze steadily, silently imploring him not to reveal the truth.
“Very well,” he said at last, his voice composed even though his displeasure had not wholly faded. “Miss Bingley, I have been away for some time and merely wished to see my granddaughter upon my return to the county. Mr Bennet informed me she was here, and since I have long been familiar with the owner of the estate, I sought her here, presuming on the welcome I always received.”
Miss Bingley inclined her head, stiffly acknowledging him but offering no apology. It was plain she considered him beneath her notice. His coat was finely made but was travel-worn and dusted from the road, and she had not the discernment to perceive its quality beneath the simplicity. Elizabeth’s cheeks flushed with mingled embarrassment and frustration, but her grandfather only looked at her with quiet amusement, doubtless at the lady’s inflated sense of self.
Miss Bingley—graciously, at least in her own estimation—allowed them a few moments of private conversation. She might have felt a flicker of embarrassment upon learning that the gentleman she had so rudely addressed was Elizabeth’s grandfather rather than some unseemly acquaintance, but if so, she gave no sign of it. Apology was clearly beneath her. With a tight smile and a rustle of silk, she moved towards the door,feigning courtesy while still contriving to keep them within her sight.
“Shall I take you home today, Elizabeth?” Lord Granfield asked once Miss Bingley was out of hearing.
“Not just yet, Grandpapa,” Elizabeth replied softly. “Jane will be well in another day or two, and I would rather remain with her until she is fully recovered.”
Lord Granfield inclined his head thoughtfully. “I should like to meet this Darcy chap,” he said, lowering his voice still in the hope that Miss Bingley—hovering not far beyond the door—might not overhear. “As you well know, I was acquainted with his father and have met his cousin during my travels. His father was a good man—although too trusting of that godson of his—but we shall speak more of that later. I had thought his son to be cut from the same cloth, yet your letters have indicated he has behaved most callously towards you, and in public, no less.”
Elizabeth inclined her head, a faint flush rising in her cheeks. “It was a misunderstanding, Grandpapa,” she began; even she could not say how much of that she believed.
There had been that moment a few weeks before where she had thought he meant to apologise, but since staying at Netherfield, he had not approached her to say anything more. But before she could continue, the drawing room door opened, and the very gentleman of whom they spoke appeared upon the threshold.
Mr Darcy stopped short at the sight of them. His expression betrayed surprise, but he offered no greeting. Elizabeth, catching the faint flicker of recognition in his eyes as they fell upon her grandfather, realised in an instant that he knew—or at least suspected—Lord Granfield’s true identity.
“Mr Darcy,” she said quickly, her composure returning as instinct guided her words, “allow me to introduce you to Mr John Grant.”
For a moment, he said nothing, merely looked between them, his features schooled into polite civility. Then he inclined his head. “I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr Grant,” he said, his tone even but cautious.
“I knew your father, Mr Darcy, many years ago,” Lord Granfield replied easily, offering a slight smile that did not reach his eyes. “I wonder—might I speak with you privately for a few moments? There is a matter of business I would discuss. I do not know if you know it, but I met your cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam, recently. As I returned from America, my business took me to Portugal briefly, and I saw him there.”
Miss Bingley had followed Mr Darcy into the room, her curiosity clearly stirred when he moved to greet the visitor. Although she had not been properly introduced to Elizabeth’s grandfather, as Mr Darcy had, she appeared to take great offence at what she perceived as this new intrusion. The notion of this stranger commanding Mr Darcy’s attention—and in her own house, no less—seemed to gall her beyond bearing. Still, Elizabeth suspected there was more to Miss Bingley’s agitation than mere propriety.
“This is most irregular,” Miss Bingley declared sharply as she continued to glance between the occupants of the room. “Mr Darcy does not discuss trifling matters of business—least of all with a stranger who appears uninvited and without proper introduction in my home.”
Darcy turned then to glare at his hostess, his expression hardening into one that clearly demonstrated his frustrationwith her interference. “Miss Bingley,” he said, his tone clipped and cold, “please do not insert yourself into my affairs.”
As Darcy glancedtowards the gentleman, a memory passed through his mind. Something in his is face stirred a faint recollection of something from his boyhood.
“As Mr Grant indicated,” he said evenly, “he and my father were acquainted. Still, I believe they had not met for many years before my father’s death. I do recall him slightly from my youth; I think he was a visitor at Pemberley once or twice. It would be a pleasure to renew the acquaintance.” He inclined his head towards the older gentleman in polite respect. “Will you be staying with the Bennets during your visit?”
Mr Grant—Lord Granfield, although Darcy now suspected the name was concealed for a reason, particularly since he had mentioned his cousin—hesitated only a moment before replying. “No, I keep a small residence nearby even though I use it infrequently. If Elizabeth would be kind enough to send word to my housekeeper, I shall be able to arrive with a bit more grace than usual. She is accustomed to my appearing with little notice, but still—some warning is better than none.”
