Page 187 of What Change Entails

Mrs. Gardiner rescued the conversation before discomfort could take root.

“Will you be obliged to travel today?”

“I believe so.”

Elizabeth’s gaze lifted.

“Today?”

The disappointment in her expression appeared and vanished so swiftly another observer might have missed it.

Darcy did not.

The sight produced a wholly unreasonable mixture of satisfaction and regret.

“Unfortunately.”

Lydia groaned.

“Oh, must everyone leave Pemberley the instant they become entertaining?”

Darcy had been absent from Pemberley less than four hours before he began to resent the road.

The sentiment was absurd.

Roads did not choose their location.

Nor did they deliberately place themselves between a gentleman and the place he preferred to be.

He resented this one nonetheless.

He resented the muddy stretch beyond the mill and the loose stones near the bridge.

And there was the farmer whose wagon blocked half a lane while three men debated the condition of a wheel.

Most of all, he resented the necessity of the journey itself.

Twenty-four hours was hardly a separation.

The thought ought to have comforted him.

He found himself repeating it with increasing frequency.

Twenty-four hours.

One night.

Tomorrow evening.

By the fifth repetition, the phrases had become irritating.

By the tenth, it was altogether ineffective.

The landscape rolled steadily past.

August had painted Derbyshire in deep greens and golds. Harvest approached. Fields stood heavy with grain. Cottages appeared at intervals among hedgerows thick with late summer growth.

Ordinarily Darcy would have used such a journey profitably.