“It was pouring down with rain—they must have had good reason to travel in such bad weather.”
The innkeeper reddened. “Begging your pardon, Mr Darcy, but this is an inn. People come and go all the time.”
Darcy felt his dismay begin to spiral towards panic and forced himself to ask collectedly, “Do you know where they were headed?”
“I do not, sir. Shall I ask the chambermaid?”
Darcy gave a curt nod and waited, fist clenched rigidly around his riding crop, while the innkeeper left to make his enquiries. A dream-like quality overtook proceedings; everything moved too slowly, nothing quite made sense, and disaster seemed to be waiting, eager, in the shadows.
The innkeeper returned. “Nell says she heard them talk about going to either Chesterfield or Sheffield after they left Lambton.”
North?“Not Hertfordshire?”
“Not by the sounds of it.”
“They left no forwarding address? No messages for anyone?”
“None that I know of.”
Did the man pay attention to nothing that went on in his own establishment? Darcy wanted to shake him until he remembered something,anythingof use! The innkeeper backed away slightly as though he, too, thought a rattling might be imminent, and Darcy knew he must leave.
He mounted his horse, a thousand misgivings flooding his head as he turned homewards. He hoped there had not been some problem that necessitated their immediate departure. It dismayed him to think of Elizabeth in distress—and that she had felt either unable or unwilling to come to him. Yet he could not imagine, even if their situation were dire, that none of the party would have left word.
A prickle of apprehension cut through him. People who did not take their leave generally did not intend to maintain the acquaintance. Was not that why neither he nor Miss Bingley called at Longbourn before they followed Bingley to London last autumn?Damn!Had he misunderstood again? Was it merely a rapprochement Elizabeth had sought, and instead, he almost kissed her? No wonder she ran away!
He did not want to believe it. It was too appalling to allow that he could have been so egregiously mistaken a second time—but what, then? Had Elizabeth told him they were leaving yesterday, and it slipped his mind? In which case, was that meagre goodbye at the picnic, shouted through the carriage door as her uncle pulled her out of the rain, the best for which he could hope? Was that why she had stared at him all day—had she been waiting for him to declare himself before she left?
Damn, damn, damn!
She had apologised! Dear God! As though she were inanyway to blame—and he had said nothing.Nothing!A gentleman would have dismissed her apology as unnecessary, told her how profoundly he regretted every reprehensible thing he had ever said to her, explained that he was attending to her reproofs. A sensible man would have told her he still loved her. He had only shoved her into a carriage and sent her on her way without so much as a promise to call the next day. Whywouldshe leave word for such a man?
Darcy pulled his horse up and closed his eyes, his breathing laboured and a palpable hollowness in his chest. Elizabeth was gone, and there was no way of knowing why and no easy way of finding out. Even if it were sensible to follow her and ask what went wrong, he would have to wait until he could be sure she was returned to Longbourn, for he had no idea where she was at present. Whether thatwassensible, he was in no state to judge. If she had left to get away from him, he ought to let her go with dignity on both sides, but every fibre of his being revolted against giving her up. He knew only one thing: he could not leave matters as they were. He would go mad. Indeed, he felt as though he were most of the way there already.
CHAPTERTWENTY
JUST AS WELL
By mutual agreement, card tables were set up in the saloon that afternoon. Darcy played and lost, and played and lost again, and played and received a ribbing for his bad form, and played some more, and maybe won, or maybe lost this time; he was not paying attention. He excused himself from the next round and went to look out of the window. The sky was cerulean blue with not a cloud in sight, as though nothing worse could be happening in the world than Mrs Hurst losing a fish in a card game.
He adjusted his gaze to the reflection in the window. All his guests were present, and it was a large party, but they might as well all go home. There were not enough people in the world to disguise the chasm left by Elizabeth’s absence.
“You are very quiet, Mr Darcy,” Miss Bingley called—very loudly. “I hope whatever it was that required you to miss dinner is not troubling you still.”
“It is not, but thank you, madam.”
“I am pleased to hear it.” She paused. “Though, we were all rather wondering what was so urgent that it could not wait.”
Darcy did not answer.Let her wonder.Too late, he caught the glint of cunning in her countenance.
“Will our friends from Lambton be gracing us with their company today? Perhaps, if your urgent business took you to see them last night, you would know better than the rest of us what their plans are.”
Darcy glanced around the tables and observed more than one fixed expression as his friends all awaited his answer. Well, that was no more than he deserved, was it? One did not lavish such attentions on a woman without raising expectations. What was it of which Elizabeth had once accused him? Exposing Jane Bennet to the derision of the world for her disappointed hopes. Was this his comeuppance? It was exceedingly effective, if so.
A new possibility occurred to him: that Elizabeth had left because, regardless of her own sentiments, she could not forgive him for separating her sister from Bingley. He almost bared his teeth in anger at all the consequences of his own ill-considered interference.
“I was with my steward and Lord Felixstowe last night, Miss Bingley. But Miss Bennet and the Gardiners will not be joining us. They have departed on the next stage of their travels.”
Bingley looked up sharply. “I should have sent my regards to her sisters at Longbourn if I had known that was the last we were to see of them.”
