Page 10 of Near Pemberley

Still, the thought remained with her.

He had been altered – at least in the eyes of those who had seen him. And she, who had chosen absence as the safest course, was now condemned to learn of that alteration only by report.

She could not really escape the suspicion that prudence had looked very much like cowardice.

Mrs. Gardiner began again upon the beauty of the grounds, and Mr. Gardiner added some description of the stream, the woods, and the approach to the house; but Elizabeth heard them imperfectly. She answered when addressed, smiled when it was proper, and looked composed enough to satisfy any observer less affectionate than her aunt.

But her thoughts had gone where she had refused to go.

To Pemberley.

To a gallery she had not entered.

To a gentleman who had not been told she was near.

And to one word – her own name – which had almost been spoken.

Chapter IV

The Wednesday passed in a manner which, though quiet, was not entirely restful to Elizabeth.

Her aunt and uncle, fatigued by the extent of their excursion on the previous day, were content to remain within. However, Elizabeth would not have acknowledged any similar weariness, and found herself not disinclined to follow their example.

She welcomed the quiet of the morning at the inn, but the atmosphere soon grew uncomfortable. Conversation in the sitting room flagged, and her book lay often unread in her lap. Even her aunt’s gentle attentions were answered now with distraction. This was not like her.

She had thought, upon refusing to visit Pemberley, that she had secured her peace. She now began to suspect she had only exchanged one form of discomfort for another.

Her mind returned to the same points – her aunt’s account, her uncle’s observations, the housekeeper’s testimony – each one confirming what she had once been so ready to deny. That Mr. Darcy could be attentive, even anxious to please; that he might appear with ease where once he had seemed all reserve – these were circumstances not easily reconciled with her former opinion.

She thought of him more than she wished. She thought of what she had heard. She thought – against her will – of what might have passed had she chosen differently.

Perhaps she had been too determined to avoid him. Or perhaps not. She hardly knew now.

She could no longer endure the confinement. The air, she told herself, would restore her; motion would steady her spirits. With this intention, she set out alone, declining her aunt’s company under the pretext of a short, unremarkable walk.

The town was quiet. A few tradesmen moved about their business; a carriage passed at a distance; the shop windows offered little to detain her attention.

Elizabeth set out with a degree of resolution sufficient to guide her steps. She kept chiefly to the principal street, pausing now and then before a window, or turning her attention to some trifling object, more for the sake of occupation than interest.

She had nearly reached the end of the row of shops and was about to turn back when she heard her name pronounced behind her.

“Miss Bennet.”

The sound arrested her at once. She stopped.

There are moments when the mind anticipates what the eye has not yet confirmed; and Elizabeth, before she turned, knew who must stand behind her.

She turned – and saw Mr. Darcy.

He must have just stepped from one of the shops, and for a moment neither of them spoke.

The surprise in his countenance was so evident that she could not mistake it. Whatever greeting he had intended for the person he expected to find upon the street, it was not the one now required.

A lady passing between them offered a brief apology as she hurried by. Neither appeared to hear her.

His expression was one of such evident astonishment that she could not mistake it; yet there was in it something more – something like uncertainty, checked almost directly by a resolute composure.

“Miss… Bennet,” he repeated, advancing a step. “It is you. I had not the smallest expectation…”