Saturday, 8 August 1812
The next two days upon the road alternated between moments of restless unease and intervals of genuine pleasure: quiet conversations shared by Elizabeth and Darcy, and the steady deepening of Elizabeth’s attachment to Georgiana. While the Gardiners kindly permitted their niece to ride with the Darcys, Mrs Annesley’s presence ensured every appearance of decorum between the engaged couple.
Even so, the arrangement afforded the newly engaged pair ample opportunity for discourse, for Mrs Annesley and Georgiana proved willing conspirators, contriving whenever possible to grant them the illusion of privacy—or, when that could not be managed, the comfort of being tactfully unheard. At times, once the carriage had settled into a steady pace, Elizabeth and Georgiana exchanged places, allowing Elizabeth the seat next to Darcy and the chance for particular conversations. Before the carriage stopped, they had always managed to rearrange themselves back to what propriety demanded, and none outside the carriage were the wiser for it.
The couple were grateful for these indulgences and took care that whatever passed between them might bear to be overheard, should any word be spoken too loudly. Not that their subjects were improper; yet there were concerns belonging only to themselves, and those they guarded as best they could.
On the last day of travel, they canvassed the situation regarding Lydia and what might be done, and discussed the brief note received from Mr Bennet the evening before. It communicated surprisingly little, only that he and Lydia were now at Longbourn. No new information had been included, and the omission had rendered the day’s journey far less comfortable than the one before.
When they arrived at Longbourn early in the afternoon of the third day of travel, the stillness of the house startled Elizabeth. In the summer months especially, her home was seldom quiet; yet none of the animation she had anticipated appeared to welcome them, and the omission pricked at her composure.
She had expected noise and movement—someone hurrying from the door, a familiar face at an upper window, her mother’s voice raised before she even alighted—but none of it came.
The silence did little to reassure her. Quite the opposite, for it sent a chill through her since quiet might speak as readily of disorder as of peace, at least amongst the Bennet family.
Evidently, Darcy perceived something of her distress, for he reached across the carriage and drew Elizabeth’s hand into his. Ordinarily possessed of greater command over herself, she clung to him now, returning the pressure as she closed her eyes and struggled to recover a measure of composure.
Georgiana and Mrs Annesley, seated nearest the door, sensed that something was amiss and discreetly descended first, thereby granting the pair a moment together to reassure each other.
“All will be well, Elizabeth,” Darcy said softly, in an obvious attempt to reassure her.
She opened her eyes and met his gaze. After the smallest nod wherein she chose to believe him, she withdrew her hand, permitting him to step down before her. Gathering her reticule, she followed; yet when he turned to assist her from the carriage, she placed her hand in his once more and, this time, did not let it go.
Darcy’s answering smile was gentle as he settled her hand upon his arm, and together they moved towards the door, where the Gardiners, already alighted, waited for the rest of the party to join them.
As they approached the door, it was flung open by Kitty.
“Lizzy,” she cried, “I am so pleased you are home. Perhaps Papa will listen to you—he has confined Lydia to the nursery and declared that neither she nor I are to go out any longer. He insists that none of us shall attend any balls or parties until at least Christmas.”
Elizabeth shut her eyes briefly, striving to steady herself before she answered. Kitty’s words had fallen upon her all at once, with no regard for who might hear them.
“Kitty, I am glad to be home,” she said, as evenly as she could manage, “but did you not observe that we have guests? I will conduct them to the drawing room. Pray let Mrs Hill know we have company, and that some refreshments would be most welcome, if they may be had.”
Only then did Kitty glance beyond her. Her expression altered at once—astonishment first, and then mortification—as she beheld Darcy, with Georgiana just behind him. When Kitty’s gaze lingered upon the young lady for several moments, Elizabeth could not help wondering whether her sister was more struck by Darcy’s consequence or by the attractions of his elegant companion. Most likely it was the gown that held her so fast; though Elizabeth suspected that the presence of an unknown young lady so near Kitty’s own age must carry far more weight than any awe inspired by a gentleman she knew and had little interest in.
“Of course,” she muttered, and fled back into the house.
Hill stood ready at the entrance, his countenance composed, though Elizabeth thought she detected a flicker of curiosityhe politely suppressed. Behind him, two maids hurried forward, reaching for cloaks and travelling things.
Beside her, her uncle spoke quietly to Hill about the carriage and its unloading, explaining that the Darcys would not remain, while he and her aunt meant to stay some days. What else Hill might have said to her uncle, Elizabeth did not know, for she stepped forwards into the house and showed the guests into the drawing room.
To her surprise, only Jane and Mary were inside.
“Elizabeth,” Jane cried, rising quickly to her feet. In the next instant, Jane reached her and wrapped her in a fervent embrace, drawing her away from Darcy’s side.
Elizabeth had only a heartbeat in which to observe the look her sister turned upon him, grave, nearly angry, and far from welcoming, before Jane swayed against her. The embrace lost its strength, and Elizabeth found herself bearing nearly all her weight.
“Jane,” Elizabeth said quietly after several moments, “you must tell me all you know or have learnt. But before you do so?—”
She glanced towards Miss Darcy and her companion, intending, as the nearest relation present, to facilitate the necessary civility.
Reluctantly, Jane released her. One hand retreated at once to her pocket for her handkerchief. She touched it with care to her lashes, drew in a steadying breath, and then turned towards the rest of the party with deliberate composure.
“Uncle, Aunt, I am glad to see you,” she said, offering them a look of sincere affection.
Then she faced Darcy.
“Welcome, sir,” she said with quiet formality. “Will you introduce us to your sister?”
