Elizabeth’s eyes widened with what appeared to be genuine alarm. “Mrs. Younge, I?—”
“Perhaps,” Darcy interjected, unable to bear Elizabeth’s evident discomfort despite his better judgment, “it would be more practical for my carriage to convey you directly to Lambton. It lies on our route to Pemberley.”
Mrs. Younge’s expression transformed immediately to one of gratified triumph, though she quickly masked it with demure appreciation. “How extraordinarily generous, Mr. Darcy. We would be most grateful, would we not, Miss Bennet?”
Elizabeth’s face had paled, her fingers gripping the edge of her seat. “I would not wish to impose further on Mr. Darcy’s kindness.”
“It is no imposition,” Darcy heard himself saying, though every instinct warned against deeper entanglement in whatever scheme was unfolding. “As Mrs. Younge observes, Lambton lies on our route to Pemberley.”
“Then it is settled,” Mrs. Younge declared with the air of someone who had achieved a significant victory. “How fortunate that we encountered you on the road, Mr. Darcy. Providence truly does work in mysterious ways.”
Elizabeth’s gaze met Darcy’s briefly, a complex mixture of gratitude and apprehension in her dark eyes before she turned her attention to the rain-streaked window. The set of her shoulders conveyed a tension that belied Mrs. Younge’s satisfaction.
The carriage lurched forward, causing Elizabeth to brace herself against the sudden movement. Her gloved hands gripped the seat edge, revealing the delicate bones of her wrists where her sleeve had slid back. Darcy found his gaze fixed on this small revelation of skin before he forced himself to look away, focusing instead on the rain-blurred landscape outside his window.
Elizabeth shifted in her seat, her knee momentarily brushing against his before she quickly withdrew it. “Forgive me,” she murmured, her eyes darting to his before looking away.
“No matter,” Darcy managed, suddenly aware of the confinement. The space that had seemed adequate for solitary travel now felt suffocatingly intimate, particularly when Elizabeth’s subtle fragrance competed with Mrs. Younge’s cloying perfume.
Darcy wondered, not for the first time, what circumstances had brought Elizabeth Bennet into such company, and what awaited her in Lambton. Though he had intended merely to offer temporary assistance to travelers in distress, propriety now dictated more substantial intervention. She was, after all, the daughter of a gentleman, not yet one-and-twenty, and traveling under highly questionable circumstances. Had her parents sanctioned this journey? He doubted Mr. Bennet would approve of his daughter traveling in Mrs. Younge’s company.
The young lady was undoubtedly headstrong and stubborn—a quality his mother had often attributed to him with exasperated sighs. Miss Bennet had likely undertaken this ill-advised journey as an impulsive escape from Mr. Collins’s marriage proposal. But did she comprehend the danger of her situation? To be traveling with Mrs. Younge, a woman who had proven herself devoid of moral principle and closely aligned with Wickham’s schemes, placed her in a precarious position indeed.
What perplexed Darcy most was the absence of any discernible advantage for Wickham in this arrangement. Unlike Georgiana, Elizabeth Bennet possessed neither fortune nor exceptional connections. Hertfordshire gossip, relayed through Bingley’s sisters, suggested her dowry was negligible, and Longbourn, while respectable, hardly represented a sufficient prize to warrant such elaborate machinations.
The weight of responsibility settled upon him with unwelcome but familiar pressure. As a gentleman, he could not simply deposit Miss Bennet in Lambton without assurance of her safety, particularly when every aspect of her current situation suggested impropriety at best and danger at worst.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
LOST IN MEMORY
Darcy surveyedthe rain and the road conditions, calculating that the remaining journey would take at least three hours if not more. The rain drummed steadily on the carriage windows, and the confined space was suffocatingly intimate. He gazed out at the blurred Derbyshire landscape, grateful for the excuse it provided to avoid meeting Elizabeth Bennet’s eyes directly across from him. Her posture was stiff as she tried to take up as little space as she could on the squabs.
Mrs. Younge, however, appeared entirely at ease.
“Such a well-appointed vehicle, Mr. Darcy,” she observed, her voice carrying that blend of deference and familiarity that he had always found distasteful. “One can judge a gentleman’s character by the quality of his equipage.”
Darcy inclined his head with the minimum courtesy required, privately reflecting that if such were the case, Mrs. Younge’s character would be represented by whatever ramshackle conveyance had deposited her on this particular road.
“What a relief to find ourselves in such comfort after our ordeal,” Mrs. Younge continued with a dramatic sigh. “The post-chaise wasabsolutely dreadful—rattling and shaking with every pebble in the road. My nerves are quite shattered.”
She placed a hand to her temple in a gesture of distress that Darcy found wholly unconvincing.
“I’ve always found travel most disagreeable. Those coaching inns! The beds are invariably damp, and the food is scarcely fit for consumption. And the other travelers—” She shuddered delicately. “One never knows what sort of person one might encounter.”
Darcy could not help but think that others might say the same about Mrs. Younge herself.
“You found the journey taxing as well, did you not, Miss Bennet?” Mrs. Younge turned to Elizabeth. “Such interminable jostling. I declare I shall feel every bump and rut for a fortnight.”
Elizabeth’s eyes met Darcy’s briefly, and he caught the faintest hint of exasperation before she schooled her features.
“I have generally found that focusing on one’s destination rather than the discomforts of the journey makes for more pleasant travel,” Elizabeth replied with pointed civility.
“I’m inclined to agree with you, Miss Bennet,” Darcy said, directing his interest. “Although I confess I am surprised to discover you have connections in Derbyshire.”
“Distant connections, Mr. Darcy. Not frequently acknowledged,” Elizabeth replied briefly.
“And yet, you are calling on them so precipitously.” Darcy studied her face, noting the slight tightening around her eyes. “Such sudden journeys are rarely undertaken without significant cause.”
