Page 36 of The Work of a Moment

“I apologise for intruding on your peace, Mrs Gardiner,” he said, his rich, deep tones washing over Elizabeth. “I was called to town unexpectedly from my aunt’s estate in Kent. Amongst the items my valet packed was a volume I believe to belong to your niece, Miss Elizabeth, which I had found on one of the paths she walked and which I had neglected to return to her.”

Pausing, he turned to Elizabeth, and in a softer voice, said, “As I learnt this morning that you too had come to town, I am happy to bring you the book. You are well? I trust you had a comfortable journey?”

Her heart was pounding under his penetrating stare, and she could only nod before Mr Darcy reached into his pocket, pulling out a slim volume bound in new maroon leather. She did not recognise it, but despite knowing it was not hers, she took it and thanked him. It made no sense. He had left Rosings before she was sent away, and yet here he was, in the Gardiners’ home, looking ill at ease in her uncle’s chair, handing her a book he must know was not hers.

Feeling all eyes on her, Elizabeth thanked him again before glancing at the volume’s title. Lord Byron? Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage? She had not even heard of it! Jane and her aunt would know it was not hers—the leather cover and binding were pristine, as if it had never been opened, let alone abandoned carelessly out of doors.

“I did not think it could belong to Mr Collins,” Mr Darcy said cautiously, “as he has professed strong feelings against poetry.”

Despite her fluttering nerves, Elizabeth somehow managed to smile. “Indeed. The parsonage shelves are lined with those volumes my cousin studies for his sermons.” She looked at her sister. “He has two copies of Fordyce, each full of ribbons to mark his favourite references, which he was glad to read to Maria and me.”

Jane’s expression betrayed her dismay. “Oh, my.”

Mr Darcy’s face lit up in amusement. Elizabeth was glad he seemed more at ease. Although still puzzled by the meaning of the book he had brought, she recognised he was trying to convey something—if only that he wished to see she was well—and smiled warmly at him before plunging ahead to match his boldness. “Thank you for bringing it to me. I believe I left it on the path near the maze in Rosings’s woods, and I am glad to have it. It is one of my favourites to spend time with.”

Her face, already warm, tingled with heat under the intensity of Mr Darcy’s gaze. He nodded, as if to assure her he understood.

She felt Jane lean towards her, her eyes on the slim volume. “It appears new, Lizzy. Papa would not like you leaving one of his precious books out of doors.”

Though her words were more teasing than scolding, Elizabeth cursed herself for not concealing the title.

Her aunt came to the rescue. “Mr Darcy, we are pleased to welcome you here. Although I have not been inside Pemberley, I know its grounds a little, having spent some of my childhood in Lambton.”

Relieved by the change in subject and Mr Darcy’s clear enthusiasm for it, Elizabeth took a moment to study the gentleman. He looked unchanged since last she saw him only days ago. It seemed that despite leaving Rosings so hastily, he had not suffered for it. His eyes were bright, his countenance healthy—though pale underneath a slight flush on his cheeks. When he smiled at something her aunt said, his entire expression softened, and Elizabeth was certain she had never seen a more handsome man. Or a more puzzling one. He had fabricated an excuse to call on her.

She stilled. Had he left Rosings after Lady Catherine berated him about her? Or had their final conversation compelled him to race to town? Had something occurred with his sister? No, she told herself, he appeared too well to be consumed by worry. Then Elizabeth realised, Mr Darcy was, in some part, thinking of her. How did he come to know I was here—not simply gone from Kent but at a house near Cheapside he could hardly have known about?

“Elizabeth.”

Dimly, she heard her aunt speaking to her and pulled her attention back to her company—belatedly realising she had been staring at Mr Darcy for the past few minutes. She felt her face warm and looked quickly at Mrs Gardiner, whose eyebrows were lifted in curiosity.

“Lizzy, Mr Darcy mentioned that his sister is in town.”

“Georgiana is but sixteen and not yet out,” he said, looking between Elizabeth and Jane. “She spends her time with her companion, her lessons, and her music, and soon will go to Surrey where my aunt, Lady Matlock, requires some diversion as she awaits the birth of her first grandchild.”

Elizabeth heard the gravity in his voice as he tried to convey, clearly for Jane’s benefit, that his sister was young—sheltered and nothing like their own sister of a like age—and innocent of any supposed attachment to Mr Bingley.

Jane remained silent, perhaps uncertain what to say in reply. Had her own indiscretion in speaking to Mrs Dallish of the letters led to the rumours? Did she wonder of it? Eager to join her assurances to Mr Darcy’s, Elizabeth gave him an encouraging smile. “Miss Darcy will provide a valuable service to your aunt with her music. I understood from Lady Catherine and Miss Bingley that she is beyond compare at the harp and pianoforte. Rarely have two such esteemed authorities been in such accord.”

Mr Darcy’s entire being seemed to ease. He grinned before replying, “Georgiana is diligent in practising and loves to play, though she is shy and less keen to exhibit apart from for close family.”

“My sister Mary is diligent, too, and loves to play and is quite keen to exhibit in public—despite her skill being less suited for it.”

“Lizzy…” murmured Jane.

“I beg your pardon.” Elizabeth laughed gaily. “My sister is quite earnest and adheres to her practice admirably.”

Mr Darcy’s eyes showed his amusement. “Perhaps, before Georgiana leaves, she and I might⁠—”

He broke off as Mr Bingley entered the room, trailed by the flustered footman, who looked apologetically at Mrs Gardiner before belatedly announcing the visitor.

“What? Why, Darcy! You are here as well?” Mr Bingley stared at his friend for a moment before seemingly shaking off his confusion and giving Jane a moon-eyed smile. He recollected enough of his wits to greet Mrs Gardiner and apologise for his unannounced call. To Elizabeth, however, he gave an effusive welcome, expressing his pleasure in seeing her again. She managed to return his greeting politely—if not warmly—and watched as he took the chair nearest Jane, perching on its edge and looking beseechingly at her. Seeing her sister’s fingers aflutter, Elizabeth reached over and took her hand.

“Miss Bennet, I received your aunt’s note asking me not to call because of Miss Elizabeth’s happy arrival,” Mr Bingley said, “but felt I must hasten here to explain my absence from Netherfield and the misunderstanding which led to any suspension of your feelings for me.”

Jane, appearing as overwhelmed by Mr Bingley’s presence as by his announcement, looked round the room, seeming eager to catch the eye of anyone but her former suitor. Seeing the pain in them and knowing her sister’s sentiments for the gentleman could not be reawakened, Elizabeth was suddenly weary of Mr Bingley’s careless, impetuous behaviour. She glanced at Mr Darcy, who appeared on the verge of lunging at his friend, and began speaking.

“Mr Bingley, to which misunderstanding do you refer? Speaking intimately to a housemaid at Netherfield, which, however innocent, was thoughtless of propriety and easily misconstrued?” Somehow Elizabeth kept her voice light, eager to maintain civility and not alarm her aunt or sister. “Or was it the actions of your younger sister, whose cutting comments about my family went unchallenged by you? Perhaps it was her letters to Jane, in which she made clear your attachment to Mr Darcy’s sister and his own supposed pleasure in the connexion?”