Elizabeth was exhausted by the time her coachman came to take her home, but she was rewarded by the Countess’ whispered “Well done!” as she prepared to leave.
Chapter Sixty-Two
Persuaded by Hannah, Lady Anne decided to speak to Fitzwilliam one last time before resigning herself to moving to far-off Cumberland. She tracked him down, finally, at the stables.
“Son,” she began.
“Not now, Mother; I am sending out riders to find Elizabeth.” He did not turn around.
“I want to help.”
He turned to face her then; he gazed at her levelly. “I think I have had about as much of your help as I can tolerate.”
“Please, may we not discuss this elsewhere?” She glanced over at the stableboys.
“No, we may not.” Turning away from her, he said, “Roberts, has anyone searched the area north of Lambton? I know we thought she must have gone south, but we must be thorough.”
She gave up, then, and made her way back to the house. She stood, stiffly, in the entryway, determined to catch him on his way back in. Mrs. Reynolds found her there.
“Lady Anne, may I help you back to your room?”
Lady Anne had never heard such a cold tone from the housekeeper she had known for decades. “No need, Mrs. Reynolds.”
“Very well.” The housekeeper curtsied and turned to leave.
“Mrs. Reynolds.”
Mrs. Reynolds stopped but did not turn around. “Yes, Lady Anne?”
It was Mrs. Reynolds’ gelid demeanor that finally brought home to Lady Anne the enormity of her error. How had she allowed her own self-importance, her fear for her position, to bring the family to this pass? Her son unwilling to speak with her, desperate to know that his wife was safe! Her daughter, caught between mother and brother! And now, Mrs. Reynolds, a woman she had known since she had first come to Pemberley as a bride, would not so much as look at her! Her face crumpled, and she put her face in her hands, murmuring, “I have made a dreadful mistake.”
Mrs. Reynolds then turned around and looked at her former mistress. There was pity in her eyes. “You have, my lady, yes.”
“I hope you will forgive me.” Lady Anne faced Mrs. Reynolds, pleading in her eyes and voice.
“I am not the injured party. Now, if you will excuse me.” Another quick curtsey.
“I did injure you, though you did not know it. I told Mrs. Darcy that you would send a lady’s maid for her.”
Mrs. Reynolds understood immediately; she inhaled sharply. “Ah! It was you who sent Abby to her! I wondered how Abby had landed such a position.”
“Yes, that was my doing; I knew Abby would tell me what I believed I needed to know.”
“So that is what Mrs. Darcy meant,” Mrs. Reynolds mused, shaking her head. “She thought she could trust me, but then I had sent Abby to her – or so she thought. Oh, Lady Anne!”
“I know, it was quite dreadful of me, and I can only pray that you will forgive me.”
“Whatever shall we do?”
“I know not; my son will not so much as look at me.”
“They are in love, you know. It is not the marriage that you and your Mr. Darcy had, if you will forgive the familiarity, my lady.”
“So he may never forgive me for hurting her.” Lady Anne’s tone was bleak, and tears leaked down her cheeks.
Mrs. Reynolds was silent.
***
