Page 100 of Near Pemberley

There remained little more to settle.

The conversation gradually dissolved into quieter reflections, each person occupied by thoughts of Lydia’s future and the uncertainties that still lay ahead.

Darcy rose first. The others followed.

Expressions of gratitude were once again offered, though more soberly than before. Darcy accepted them with his usual reserve, seeming no more comfortable receiving thanks than he had been upon entering the room.

Only Elizabeth remained silent.

When at last he turned towards her, she found herself unable to say any of the things she had thought she might.

Too much had happened. Too much remained unsaid.

“Miss Bennet.”

“Mr. Darcy.”

Nothing more.

Yet as he bowed and took his leave, she found herself watching him cross the room and disappear through the doorway.

The door closed behind him.

For several moments afterwards, Elizabeth remained where she was. She took a wavering breath.

She decided to trust Mr. Darcy.

Chapter XXI

Darcy leant back in his carriage and let out a slow breath.

The interview at Gracechurch Street had not been unpleasant. Indeed, it had gone better than he had expected. Mr. Bennet had been difficult, but not unreasonable. Mr. Gardiner had shown his usual good sense. Plans had been made for them to see Miss Lydia, and for the first time since her disappearance, there seemed to be some order amidst the confusion.

He forced his thoughts to remain upon those practical matters.

There were enough of them. Lydia’s future remained uncertain. Wickham was still at large. The difficulties awaiting the Bennets had not vanished merely because the girl herself had been found.

Yet another reflection intruded. He was grateful that no one had asked precisely how he had discovered her. The omission had surprised him. More than once during the conversation, he had expected the question to arise. It would have been a natural one. Instead, concern for Lydia and anxiety about the future had occupied them all so completely that the matter had passed unnoticed.

He was thankful for it. The truth would have benefited no one. It would have wounded Lydia. It would have distressed her family. It would almost certainly have altered Mr. Bennet’s opinion of him, and not for the better. No good could come of it.

His gaze drifted towards the carriage window. The late afternoon streets slipped past in a blur of movement.

At least one difficulty had been avoided.

Yet his thoughts refused to remain there. He closed his eyes.

Elizabeth.

How good it was to see her. Just after she was not unhappy with him, she was stripped away, and he had no way of knowing when he could see her again. Her presence had surprised him more than he cared to admit. Not merely because she had been there, though he certainly had not expected that. Mr. Gardiner’s explanation had been perfectly reasonable. Lydia would wish to see one of her sisters, and Elizabeth was by far the most sensible choice.

Yet, the older gentleman seemed to understand him too well. His request for Miss Elizabeth had brought her here – for him.

But no, it was not her presence that lingered in his mind. It was her manner. Several times during the conversation, she had looked at him as though she expected something. He could not determine what. There had been gratitude in her eyes, certainly, and concern for her sister. Yet there had been moments when she seemed almost… disappointed.

The recollection puzzled him. He had spent much of the journey attempting to understand it and had arrived at no satisfactory conclusion. Perhaps he had imagined it. The possibility ought to have settled the matter. Instead, he found himself remembering her standing beside the window, thanking him with a sincerity that had left him oddly uncomfortable. Not because her gratitude displeased him. Because it placed a distance between them which he had never desired.

He had imagined seeing her again many times during the past weeks. In none of those imaginings had she thanked him. The thought was so absurd that he almost smiled at himself.