“No need, no need. Always happy to help a lady in distress.”
Elizabeth climbed into the carriage, finding herself seated beside an elegant older woman whose silver hair was arranged in a simple but fashionable style. Across from them sat a quiet, pleasant-faced woman whom Elizabeth took to be the companion.
“Are you in some difficulty, my dear?” Mrs. Honywood asked directly, her Yorkshire accent soft but distinct.
Elizabeth hesitated, then opted for a version of the truth. “My husband and I were separated by unfortunate circumstances. I find myself in need of safe passage to London, where my uncle resides.”
“And the gentleman at the inn? The one who seemed so interested in your movements?”
“Not a friend,” Elizabeth said carefully.
Mrs. Honywood exchanged a glance with her husband. “Say no more. We understand perfectly. Don’t we, Miss Porter?”
The companion nodded. “Indeed, we do, ma’am.”
Mr. Honywood rapped on the roof of the carriage, and they began to move. Elizabeth felt a wave of relief so powerful it nearly brought tears to her eyes. She was away from Wickham, at least for the moment. But where was her husband? She could only hope he found assistance.
“We’re bound for Gracechurch Street,” Mrs. Honywood said conversationally. “My husband has business with several merchants there. Where does your uncle reside?”
Elizabeth gave the address, and the Honywoods exclaimed that he was one of the merchants who bought their wool.
Elizabeth exhaled with relief. “It seems I have stumbled into the very best company I could hope for.”
“Providence,” Mrs. Honywood said firmly. “The Lord guides our steps, even when we cannot see the path.”
“We’re from way up north, a sheep farm in Yorkshire,” Mr. Honywood said by way of conversation. “Visiting relatives where it’s warmer. Hertfordshire was delightful.”
Elizabeth allowed herself to relax as the chaise pulled away from the Red Lion Inn. She looked back at the building that had, in the space of a single night, been the site of her greatest happiness and deepest despair. Somewhere on the road between here and London, Darcy had met with violence. Whether he lived or had perished, she did not know.
But she had to keep her wits, so she let the Honywoods believe she was well, conversing with them about the landmarks and truly grateful they had taken her in their carriage.
CHAPTER SIX
SAFE HARBOR
The Honywood’scarriage pulled to a stop before a modest but well-maintained townhouse on Gracechurch Street. Elizabeth stared out the window, momentarily paralyzed by uncertainty. The journey from the Red Lion had passed in a blur of anxious thoughts and polite conversation, her mind constantly returning to Darcy. Where was he? What had happened on the road? Why hadn’t he returned as promised?
“Here we are, my dear,” Mrs. Honywood said kindly. “Your uncle’s house, I believe?”
Elizabeth nodded, gathering what remained of her composure. “Yes. Thank you both for your extraordinary kindness. I cannot express?—”
“Nonsense,” Mr. Honywood interrupted with a gentle wave. “Any decent person would have done the same.”
But they wouldn’t have, Elizabeth knew. Most people would have looked away, pretended not to notice her predicament. The Honywoods had shown her what true Christian charity looked like.
“Will you at least come inside? My aunt and uncle would wish to thank you properly.”
The elderly couple exchanged a glance. “I think not,” Mrs. Honywood said. “Best you have privacy for your reunion. But do tell them that Albert Honywood of Bellfield Grange brought you safely. The name may mean something to your uncle, given his business connections.”
Their footman deposited her trunk, and Elizabeth pressed a coin into his hand, thanking him for keeping Darcy’s writing desk undamaged. She bid them farewell, waving until their carriage disappeared around the corner before approaching the door. They had been kind and gracious, not asking her too many questions while entertaining her with stories of lost lambs and their talented sheepdogs.
Her hand trembled as she lifted the knocker. Her visit would be unexpected. She doubted her parents had sent an express ahead of her if they had meant to deposit her at the Red Lion and return with the maid and footman, two who had recently entered their employment. By now, they had likely split her modest savings and disappeared into the heath.
How would she explain her presence to her aunt and uncle? Were they even home? The smoke spiraling out of the chimney reassured her, as did the warm glow of lamplight from the windows. The front door opened before she could knock. Aunt Gardiner’s face was surprised but welcoming.
“Lizzy!” Mrs. Gardiner exclaimed, pulling her into a warm embrace before Elizabeth could even speak. “My dear girl, what has happened? You look—” Her voice faltered, her eyes taking in Elizabeth’s weary face, her travel-stained gown, and the heavy trunk resting in the snow. “Come in, child, come in at once.”
The warmth of the house enveloped Elizabeth like an embrace, along with the familiar scents of her aunt’s cooking and the beeswax polish Mrs. Gardiner used on her furniture. It was so different from the cold rejection she had experienced at Longbourn that she felt tears threaten once again.
