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No wonder she had fled. She had probably run all the way back to her townhouse.
He had compounded his offense by growling at Georgiana when she inquired about Elizabeth’s visit. Sometimes, he wondered how she could bear to live with him. He could hardly bear it himself.
On days like today, he was disgusted with himself.
Darcy had already informed his butler and valet he would be returning to Pemberley today, no longer caring what they thought of his abrupt comings and goings. I never should have left Derbyshire.
Once there, he might never leave again.
Conceding breakfast as a lost cause, Darcy pushed back from the table at the same moment his butler entered, followed by Bannon, the groom he had sent to Elizabeth’s house to watch over her horses. Gloomily, Darcy mused she had most likely ordered Bannon to quit his post, unwilling to have any reminders of Darcy about her house.
Then he noticed unease twisting Bannon’s features. “What is it, man?” Darcy asked, standing immediately. Had something happened to Elizabeth?
“Mr. Darcy, sir.” Bannon tugged off his hat and held it before him. “I came as soon as I could. Miss Bennet …well, she—”
Anxiety knotted Darcy’s gut. “Has something happened to her? Is she injured?”
“She is gone!” Bannon blurted out. “She left at first light this morning. Took some of the colonel’s horses and hired a carriage.”
Darcy grabbed the edge of the table for balance. She was running away, escaping him. Oh, Good Lord, what had he done to her?
Bannon was babbling. “I came as soon as I can, but there was all these doings—”
Darcy interrupted. “Where did she go? Hertfordshire?”
Bannon solemnly shook his head. Darcy was at a loss. Where else would Elizabeth go? She knew few people outside London or Hertfordshire. “Carter, the footman she took with her, said she was bound for Matlock.”
“Matlock?” Darcy echoed. Why would she go there? Richard’s parents were not in residence and would not welcome a visit from her if they were.
Bannon just shrugged. “Carter said she been there before. For the colonel’s funeral.”
Oh, Good Lord! Darcy sank slowly into his chair as understanding dawned. Of course. Richard’s grave was on the grounds of the Matlock family chapel. Disgusted by Darcy’s proposal, she was seeking refuge in memories of Richard’s love.
Darcy felt like a prize idiot. How could he have ever hoped to measure up to Richard? Replace Richard?
Suddenly, Darcy felt exhausted. “Thank you, Bannon. I would like you to stay on at Miss Bennet’s for now.”
“Will you go after her?” Darcy frowned up at Bannon. He did not appreciate intrusive servants.
“No, she is entitled to her privacy.”
“But the thing is, Mr. Darcy,” Bannon’s hands anxiously worked the edge of his hat, “Mr. Grayson found out after the lady left that one of the kitchen boys told Mr. Wickham where she was going to. He’d been paid off, the scoundrel!” Bannon’s eyes were open wide in earnest concern. “What if Wickham goes after her?”
Darcy shot to his feet. “Good God, Bannon, why did you not say so at first?” He yelled for his butler, who immediately opened the door.
“Saddle my horse at once. I ride for Matlock!”
***
There had been no snow on the way to Derbyshire, but the roads were pitted and bumpy—and the hired carriage was not the best sprung, communicating every bump and hole to the occupant. The entire journey, Elizabeth’s body had been jostled and bumped around, fittingly mirroring the tumultuous nature of her inner thoughts. For propriety’s sake, Elizabeth supposed she should have brought a maid, but privacy had given her time to think.
The night after her visit to Darcy House, she had stared at the ceiling of her bed chamber, attempting to sort through her feelings for Mr. Darcy. She sighed. It had been so much simpler when she had just been angry with the man for proposing so insultingly. If she had never visited Darcy House to demand an explanation, he would never led her to consider that he genuinely cared about her.
Even more disturbing was the way her heart leapt at the thought that he might have romantic feelings for her. Yes, life had been easier when she had been blissfully unaware of those sentiments.
Did she truly feel love for him, or was she confusing friendship with something else? How could she feel that way about another man so soon after Richard’s death?
She could not. That was the answer. It was some sort of temporary madness—perhaps brought on by grief itself. A visit to Richard’s grave would clear her head, remind her whom she loved. It would restore her equilibrium and help her forget all this nonsense.
