Page 71 of Near Pemberley

When Fletcher returned from preliminary arrangements, Darcy said:

“I require the address of Mr. Gardiner’s residence in Cheapside.”

“Cheapside, sir?”

“Yes. A tradesman.”

Fletcher nodded. “I shall discover it after I deliver the lady.”

Darcy hesitated only briefly before adding:

“And once found, a message is to be delivered requesting immediate private communication with Mr. Gardiner himself.”

He stopped.

No. Not merely communication. This could no longer be managed safely at a distance.

Darcy’s eyes lowered thoughtfully towards the scattered papers upon his desk.

“No. I shall call upon Mr. Gardiner personally.”

***

The carriage arrived shortly before noon through the narrow mews entrance behind Darcy House.

Rain still lingered faintly in the London air, leaving the cobblestones dark and shining beneath the wheels as the horses drew to a halt. Darcy, who had remained near the rear passage in restless expectation for the better part of the last quarter hour, stepped forward.

Fletcher descended first.

“She is here safely, sir.”

Darcy inclined his head once before his attention moved at once towards the carriage door.

First, no movement came from within. Then the maid accompanying Lydia appeared uncertainly, followed at last by Lydia herself.

She hesitated before descending, one gloved hand trembling upon the carriage frame.

The plain travelling dress provided for her suited neither her taste nor her figure particularly, yet the simplicity of it rendered her infinitely younger and more vulnerable than the painted finery in which Darcy had first seen her the night before. Her curls had been arranged modestly beneath a bonnet too large for her face; her eyes remained swollen from recent tears and lack of sleep.

Most painful of all, perhaps, was the evident fear with which she looked upon the respectable house before her, as though uncertain whether she truly belonged there at all.

Darcy stepped forward. “Miss Lydia.”

At the sound of his voice, some portion of the terror in her expression eased.

“You are welcome here,” he said gently.

Lydia swallowed hard and looked away at once, as though the kindness itself were difficult to bear.

Behind her, the maid shifted awkwardly, plainly curious despite evident efforts towards discretion.

Darcy turned towards her calmly and placed several guineas into her hand.

“You have conducted yourself properly in this matter.”

The woman coloured in surprise.

“You understand,” he continued, his tone remaining perfectly civil though unmistakably firm, “that no mention of where she was collected should ever leave your lips.”