Page 73 of Mr. Darcy Comes to Town

He raised an eyebrow. “Miss Elizabeth, I mean only to send to my London house. A supply is kept there for me.”

Lizzy wished the ground would swallow her up. Of course, he would not send all the way to Derbyshire for a pot of jam for her. Her cheeks felt ablaze with embarrassment. He must think me a ninnyhammer. I opened my mouth and stupidity flowed out.

“Do you wish me to procure some?” he asked quietly. “It is no trouble, I assure you. My housekeeper will wrap it up safely and send it to me on the mail.”

I cannot back down now. If only I could unsay everything about jam. What type of conversation is this, to be talking about taste preferences in jam?

“Miss Elizabeth?”

“Oh. I beg your pardon,” she said, falling back on civility. “Yes, please.”

“I will send for it directly.”

His promise made her stomach twist into knots. How attentive he is. First the tin mug, and now this.

“How is Jeffry today?” Mr. Darcy asked.

“Very well, thank you.” Lizzy indicated a left-hand turn. “This way, if you please.”

He turned into another lane.

“Not far now,” she informed him. “Um, did you see any militia officers in town this morning?”

Mr. Darcy’s hands jerked, which alarmed his horse. The horse shook his head and snorted, coming to a stop. His withers shivered as he stood, attempting to look over his shoulder at his handler.

“There, there,” Mr. Darcy said in a soothing voice. “There, there. I am sorry. There, there.”

Lizzy held onto the side rail of the gig seat, wondering what she had said to startle Mr. Darcy to such a degree that he jerked on the reins. The horse settled and Mr. Darcy flicked the reins.

“I apologize,” he said. “My horses have been trained to accept direction from a light, steady hand.”

“You need not apologize. What did I say to startle you?” Lizzy asked. She saw his lips tighten and his jaw work. She touched his arm. “Pray, say nothing if that is what you prefer.”

“I…” He stopped, seemed to think of another way to explain, and continued. “A man I have known my entire life—a blackguard of a man—has recently joined the militia. I met him on the street in St. Albans earlier this week. After an…an altercation the summer before last, I hoped to never see him again. And there he was, just standing there, his charming grin mocking my shock.”

“That must have startled you exceedingly,” Lizzy observed. “You have heard, no doubt, that the militia will be over-wintering in Meryton?”

He gave a sharp nod.

“Perhaps you will be able to avoid him during your visit to Netherfield,” she suggested. “Is Mr. Bingley likely to invite him into his home?”

Mr. Darcy snorted and shook his head.

“I think it is entirely possible that you will be gone from Hertfordshire before the militia arrives,” Lizzy stated in a hearty voice, hoping to encourage him out of his dark mood.

“He must not meet Georgiana,” he bit out. “When I could not avoid her arrival, I should have taken her back to London the very next day.”

“But…”

Mr. Darcy interrupted her. “But I thought I had more time. Her visit will last only a few weeks. And, she is not yet out, so she will go to no balls or assemblies where she might meet him. Yet, today she could have met him in the market. Dear Lord, what was I thinking?”

Chapter Twelve

Lizzy grabbed his arm as the carriage wheel on her side dipped into an unavoidable pothole. “Mr. Darcy, you must tell me his name so we can be on our guard against this man.”

He stared down at her. “Are you and your sisters heiresses?”

Lizzy made a scoffing noise. “Not at all.”