Bingley waved to Mrs. Nicholls to not go yet and raised his eyebrows. “Awful weather — not yet. By no means, not yet. Jane will be down presently, I am surprised she is not yet down. Pray, do not leave so soon. Anne and Bennet will be brought down and—”
“Faith! Bingley, you ramble on too deuced much. Call my deuced coach! Give my deuced apologies to Jane, and…and…and…she can visit me.”
“You and Darcy argued.”
Mr. Peake asked, with a helpless manner, “He does not relent — there is no change in what he says?”
Elizabeth opened her mouth to reply with the mix of anger and hurt she felt. Instead she shook her head no. Her stomach hurt. Tears were interfering with speech.
“Peake, you asked to marry Georgiana? That—” Bingley whistled, and shook his head with impressed disbelief. “Darcy has grand family pride. He oughtto —you’veseen Pemberley. Nowhere it’s equal…nowhere. Lizzy, you argued about Georgiana with Darcy?”
“The carriage.” Elizabeth said sharply to the housekeeper, who had not moved to follow her earlier orders.
The older woman looked at Bingley for confirmation. Elizabeth growled. It was her own damned carriage, not Bingley’s. Or rather Papa’s carriage, which came to the same point.
“Not in a fortnight, Mrs. Nicholls.Now. Bring the carriage round.”
At the tone in the Elizabeth’s voice, the housekeeper skittered off, shaking her head. Elizabeth pressed her hand against her face. Was this how she dealt with pain? By rudeness to everyone else?
“Lizzy, what is the matter? Tell me how you and Darcy fought…perhaps I might help.”
Bingley placed an arm around her shoulder as he spoke in a soothing tone. Elizabeth shrugged her brother-in-law off and walked to the corner next to the door.
Alone. She wanted no one, certainly not Jane’s eternally cheerful husband. She had just jilted Bingley's friend andthrownhis ring upon the ground. She shouldn’t have, no matter how much Darcy annoyed her. The sky hurled down a freezing sleet, and often lighting flashed and thunder rumbled.
Bingley hemmed and said, “Bad weather, eh wot?” No reply. “Unpleasant for the poor coachmen and horses.”
“I’ll order James to take the road slow. No hurry to get back.”
Bingley raised his eyebrows. The obvious question was, if there was no hurry to get back, why was she in such a hurry to leave his house. Bingley was kind enough not to ask.
Mr. Peake pressed his hand over his face and rubbed his fingers over his cheeks again and again. He looked ill. Bingley shuffled his feet as they waited. He clapped his hands and grunted. The air in the hallway was chilled.
Looking out the window, Bingley remarked, without meeting either of their eyes, “Don’t think it’ll last more than two hours.”
Bursting upon them, like the body at the end of a ghost story told round a campfire on a summer night, Darcy walked into the hallway, tall and masculine. Elizabeth felt the pained shock. Elizabeth saw the tightness of his eyes. He said to Bingley before he saw her, “I leave with Georgiana this afternoon. I will—”
Darcy saw her. He pulled up short, his eyes widening. His mouth hardening. They stared together, cold eyes meeting.
Elizabeth already wore her coat. She opened the door without ceremony and walked out into the freezing rain to wait for the carriage.
The piercing wind blew the cold rain into her coat and the cold cut through the heavy wool and into her skin. Grey, cloudy, foreboding. The carriage pulled round, and Mr. Peake walked out of the door to join Elizabeth while their disgruntled footman helped them in.
“Where to, ma’am?” The coachman frowned from where he perched on his seat, the water streaming off his cap and oiled coat. “So abrupt? The weather will let up in two, three hours, or I’m not Hertfordshire born.”
“Longbourn. The deuce to Longbourn.”
“Righty, righty, ma’am. Not a pleased mood, eh, Miss Bennet?”
It was near certain James had looked forward to a normal stay of three or four hours, like had been usual of late when Elizabeth called at Netherfield, and being called suddenly to rehitch the carriage after barely twenty minutes did not please him.
Good. Darcy’s deuced stubborn, gentlemanly, high-handed — damned man. She liked that someone else was given a poor day by the man.
Elizabeth entered the carriage and tried to let her body relax into the pale velvet covered cushions. She shut her eyes and let out a long breath. Her nerves were too tight. She kept seeing their argument again and again. No thoughts. She did not wantthoughts. Elizabeth’s face felt numb and queer. As though she was not quite real.
Oh, God, God, God. Her chest was bruised, and she ached with a lacerated feeling of loss and wrongness.
To distract herself, Elizabeth wondered why she treated the coachman that way. She was not a petty person who abused her moment of pain as an excuse to aggrieve and annoy those around her. Or was she? She would not be such a person.
