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I could only nod, my throat tight.
“I suspect that, had I refused, you would simply abandon him at the first posting inn of any size, and find your own conveyance to your preferred destination,” he added.
I glanced at him, but there was no sign of humour—no sign of any emotion, really. Just a dry statement of his belief in my wilfulness, I supposed.
“I did not consider that you might refuse so reasonable a request, and thus made no plan for escape or otherwise,” I said, my voice surprisingly strong considering my inner turmoil.
When we were nearly to the carriage, he asked, “Where is Clara?”
“I have given her a brief holiday; she will visit her family in Buxton. I will not require her services at my aunt’s.” In truth, I probably would miss her, for some of my new clothing would be challenging to manage by myself, and I had grown accustomed to her talents with my difficult hair—but it was not a great enough inconvenience to trade for the privacy I craved.
He nodded.
And that was all. No words of remorse, of course, much less any expression of regret at my absence. In my most optimistic moments, I had hoped he might say something like ‘I will write’ or even ‘I will miss you’.
But no. He handed me in to the carriage, barely touching me and swiftly stepping away as if I were repellent. The footman closed the door and put up the steps. I gazed at him through the window, but he did not look at me, only nodded to Mr Frost. With a jerk, the vehicle leapt forward. Foolishly, I indulged myself, continuing to watch him through the rear glass. He stood against the backdrop of Pemberley, a solemn, lone palace guard, tall and straight, staring ahead and yet, seeing nothing. And then we rounded the bend, and for once I did not notice the cliff’s edge or the road’s curves, but only the distance between us as it grew and grew and grew.
* * *
My aunt was not as surprised to see me as I expected. Mr Darcy had sent a note with his courier, giving her advance warning of my arrival.
“What did it say?” I asked, curious.
She handed it to me. On elegant, hot-pressed paper, in bold and even handwriting, it said:
Dear Madam,
I hope it would not be too great an imposition if my wife were to join you for a time. I am certain Mrs Darcy will wish to explain in more detail. I apologise for the lack of notice; as matters stand now, she will arrive on the morrow. However, please do not hesitate to contact me if this is inconvenient, and it would be better to make different arrangements; my man will await your reply.
F Darcy
I sighed. If I had been hoping for insight into his reasoning for his actions, or a penned regret for sending me away, I would not find either here.
I did not ask where her mother or my niece and nephews were, as clearly she had arranged for privacy. We went into her cosy parlour, where a tea waited with all of my favourites. My appetite was lacking, my spirits were low, and I could not even think how to begin. Nevertheless, there was something about her sympathetic presence—and, perhaps, being surrounded by the pretty, familiar furnishings from Gracechurch Street—that calmed me. And, like a corset being gently unlaced, I gradually released the words, in fits and starts, to explain what had occurred.
I had, of course, written to her previously of Lydia’s deliverance, but the worst parts of the story, I’d withheld; one could not always ensure a letter would reach its intended recipient, and Mr Darcy was far too well known in these parts to trust the mails. Only now could I reveal Wickham’s appearance in my drawing room, his disgusting attempts at a blackmail, my fears that even now, he was finding sympathetic ears for his poison. This, of course, led to revelations about Mr Darcy’s loveless first marriage, Anne’s affair with the blackguard, and her own decimation of Mr Darcy’s character, followed by Mrs de Bourgh’s dashing herself through the window, the fire at Thorncroft, and, finally, the discovery of the body, with Mrs Longthorpe’s subsequent unwelcome visit and my expulsion from Pemberley.
After I finished speaking, there was a long silence—but it was not an uncomfortable one. Although perhaps my tale was shocking, it was not easy to shock Margaret Gardiner. Instead, she only appeared thoughtful, as the fire crackled in the hearth and I realised that I had eaten everything on the plate she had set beside me.
“If your mama is watching all of this from Heaven, think what a commotion she is raising now,” she said at last.
I had to laugh, an unexpected outburst. “It would explain why today’s weather is vastly different than yesterday’s. She would stir up every cloud in the sky.” Inexplicably, my throat suddenly closed. I tried to cover the unpredictable emotion, looking up at the ceiling and down at my feet, but it was impossible to hide my true feelings from Aunt Gardiner.
“I wish I did not care for him so well, Auntie. Our feelings are…unequal.”
At once, she moved next to me on the settee, drawing my head down upon her shoulder. And then, at long last, I released the tears locked inside me along with the confusion and the hurt, and I cried as if my heart would break.
