Page 17 of Time Stands Still

Darcy’s mind worked swiftly, logically. He recalled her account of the day she had fled to Cheapside: she had arrived in a state of profound distress, been put to bed by her concerned aunt, and then vanished at the stroke of midnight. If her aunt and uncle had retained the memory of that day, they would have awoken to find their hysterical, feverish niece gone without a trace. An uncle of any sense or fortitude, by her account Mr. Gardiner was certainly that, would have immediately sent an express to Hunsford, if not come himself to demand an explanation. Darcy knew that was what he would have done.

He explained his reasoning to her in a calm, steady voice, hoping to anchor her with logic. "Consider the facts, Miss Bennet. Had they remembered, they would surely have raised an alarm when they found you gone. An express would have been sent. Mr. Collins would be in an uproar. Their silence is the strongest evidence that they do not share our affliction."

He watched her as she processed his words, and saw that while her intellect understood his logic, it did little to soothe the anxiety in her eyes.

He then thought of Mr. Bennet, a man for whom he held little regard; a gentleman, to be sure, but one who seemed to have retired entirely from the business of being a father. Perhaps Mrs. Bennet’s brother was of a similar constitution, less inclined to decisive action. It seemed unlikely, yet the evidence pointed to their ignorance of the situation. There was no logical reason for concern.

He observed that her gloved hands, which had hung loosely at her sides, now twisted the ribbon of her bonnet, her knuckles whitening with the strain.

He realised then that this was not a matter for logic, but for the heart. Her peace of mind was paramount, and speculation would not grant it.

“However,” he continued, his tone softening from one of cool reason to something warmer, more personal. “We must be certain. We cannot speculate when your family’s peace of mind is at stake. We will go to London.”

Her head snapped up, her eyes wide. “Go to London? But how? We cannot simply… go.”

“I will arrange it,” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. It was the voice he used to command his staff, to manage his estate, to bend the world to his will. “I will ride back to Rosings at once and have my carriage prepared. My man will see to it. A maid from my aunt’s staff will accompany us to ensure all propriety.”

“And your aunt?” she asked, a note of very understandable apprehension in her voice. “How will you justify this sudden departure to her?”

“I am not in the habit of justifying my actions, Miss Bennet,” he said, a statement of simple fact. “Informing her that urgent business requires my presence in London will be sufficient.”

“That may be sufficient for you, sir,” she countered, and he saw a wry smile touch her lips, a brief flicker of her usual spirit despite the gravity of their situation. “But I cannot simply vanish into a carriage with you and a borrowed maid. Mr. Collins will require a more thorough explanation than urgent business.”

“I will speak with him,” he offered at once, ready to bear the full brunt of Mr. Collins’s obsequious panic.

“No,” she said, her voice surprisingly firm, her chin lifting in that way he was beginning to find utterly captivating. “Allow me. I believe I have become something of an expert in managing my cousin’s sensibilities. I will handle Mr. Collins.” She met his gaze, and he saw her quiet, firm resolve. “You must go. Time is of the essence.”

He gave a single, sharp nod. “Very well.”

Without another word, he swung himself onto his horse’s back. He gave her one last, lingering look, taking in the sight of her standing there, so small and yet so formidable, a partner in this impossible venture. He spurred the animal into a gallop, riding back towards Rosings with a speed that spoke not only of his newfound urgency, but of a purpose clearer than any he had ever known.

Chapter Thirteen

The journey to London was undertaken with all possible speed. At the first posting inn, Darcy had impressed upon the postilions the urgency of their errand, ensuring a fresh team of horses was made ready with an efficiency that money and a tone of command readily produced. The miles between Kent and the city were thus consumed at a steady, relentless pace.

For the first hour, a heavy silence sat between them, thick with unspoken anxieties and the sheer, overwhelming oddity of their situation. The presence of the maid from Rosings, a young woman named Polly whose wide eyes betrayed her awe at being included in such a venture, was a silent but necessary chaperone. Seated beside Elizabeth, she served as a constant reminder of propriety, rendering their shared circumstance both decorous and deeply awkward.

Elizabeth kept her gaze fixed on the passing scenery, hedgerows blurring into green ribbons, the occasional village a fleeting tableau of life from which they were utterly detached. Her hands were clasped so tightly in her lap her knuckles were white. Opposite her, Darcy sat in silence, his posture erect, his gaze directed out his own window.

As the miles passed, the rhythmic rocking of the carriage and the monotonous landscape had their inevitable effect. The maid’s head began to nod. She fought it for a time, her chin jerking up with a start every few minutes, but sleep was a tide that could not be turned back. At last, her breathing deepened, her head lolled against the upholstered wall of the coach, and she was soundly asleep.

Elizabeth chanced a look at Darcy, a small, questioning glance. He met her gaze, his own eyes softening with a look of profound understanding, and he gave a single, almost imperceptible nod. They could speak freely.

“She seems quite overcome,” Elizabeth whispered, a faint smile on her lips.

“The journey is tedious for those not accustomed to it,” he replied, his voice a low murmur that would not disturb the sleeping girl. He shifted his posture, turning more fully towards her. “Miss Bennet, we must agree on a plausible explanation for your sudden arrival in London. It is probable that your relatives will have no memory of your… previous visit.”

“Yes, I have been considering the same. Indeed, my mind has conceived of little else. What reason could we possibly give for such an unexpected appearance?”

“A vague excuse will not suffice,” Darcy said, his gaze steady and serious. “The irregularity of our travelling together, my escorting you to their very door, will require a significant and weighty explanation. I can conceive of only one reason that would justify my presence, our haste, and the nature of our association. It is the truth of my intentions.”

Her eyes widened in subtle alarm, a blush rising in her cheeks. “Your intentions?”

“That my ultimate destination is Longbourn, to speak with your father,” he stated plainly, his voice even and devoid of any artifice. “A journey from Kent to Hertfordshire is too great to be made in a single day. It is therefore natural and proper that I would stop in London. And as I am here, it is my express purpose to seek your uncle’s preliminary approval before proceeding. It is a matter of the greatest urgency I can profess, and it is the only one I can imagine that safeguards your reputation from the inevitable conclusions the world will draw.”

He watched her as she stared at him, speechless. The careful, logical progression of his words was, he knew, unassailable, and yet he saw in the sudden high colour of her cheeks and the widening of her eyes that the implication of them sent her pulse into a frantic beat. He had not merely offered a pretext; he had declared his purpose, as much to himself as to her, and the finality of it hung in the air between them. He waited, his own heart beating a heavy rhythm against his ribs, until at last she spoke. “Very well, sir,” she said, her voice barely a whisper. “If you believe it is the only way.”

“I do,” he replied, his voice softening at her evident distress. “And consider this, Miss Bennet. Should the day repeat itself as it has before, then no one will be the wiser for our little stratagem. Your family will have no memory of this conversation, and no harm will be done. But if it does not, if tomorrow is a new day, then our reputations, both yours and mine, will have been protected by the honesty of my stated intentions.”