“Oh, Lizzy. We could all see that you cared. If he could not, then he must be blind.”
Elizabeth shook her head emphatically. “He assumed I admired him the first time he proposed, and I spurned him. He is not likely to risk making the same mistake again. He cannot have lost that much of his pride.”
“But did you not say in your note to Miss Darcy that you hoped to see him again?”
“I did, but what good will that do? He will not seek me out while there is any doubt as to my feelings, and my uncle will not write to him while there is any doubt as to Lydia’s virtue. My only hope is that Lydia can be found unruined and unmarried. And soon.” Or that, by some miracle, the message shehadsent to Darcy would be sufficient to convey her feelings. The strength of those feelings was somewhat alarming, considering their newness, but she did not question them. She had never missed anybody so much that it physically hurt, not even Jane. That was not something she could disregard.
Her aunt squeezed her hand gently. “Your uncle can write even if they are married if that is what you wish.”
Elizabeth took a deep breath, and another. At least that way, she supposed, Darcy would know she had not abandoned him willingly. “I should like that. Thank you.”
“Look what I found in the parlour, Matthew.”
Elizabeth looked up in surprise as Jane folded herself elegantly onto the blanket and handed Matthew a toy soldier.
“How is your mother?” Mrs Gardiner enquired of her.
“Much the same. Hill has given her some tonic to help her sleep. Who is my uncle writing to?”
Mrs Gardiner glanced at Elizabeth in question.
“Mr Darcy,” she admitted.
“Mr Darcy?” Jane exclaimed. “Why?”
“To explain our sudden departure.”
Confusion clouded Jane’s countenance, but Thomas, Mrs Gardiner’s other son, chose that moment to run across the blanket, knocking soldiers in every direction and drawing a shrill scream from his brother. Mrs Gardiner announced that she would return both boys to the house and after a sympathetic glance at Elizabeth, took them both by the hand and led them away.
“Lizzy, I have been very remiss,” Jane said at once. “I have not asked a single thing about your travels since you got home, but now I am anxious. What on earth happened that requires my uncle to write to Mr Darcy, of all people?”
There had scarcely been a minute these past few days when the conversation was not centred on Lydia’s plight, and neither had Elizabeth been sure how much she ought to say of those people she had met in Derbyshire, for fear of giving her sister any distress. Yet the longer she was away from Darcy, the more certain she became of her heart, and she could never withhold sentiments of such moment from her dearest sister. Beginning with Mr and Mrs Gardiner’s fateful decision to visit Pemberley on their way to Lambton, Elizabeth relayed the events of the last week, concentrating on her dealings with Darcy and making no mention, for now, of his friends.
Her sister could not conceal her astonishment, and by the time Elizabeth came to describe her confrontation with Pemberley’s housekeeper on Monday afternoon, her hands were firmly in Jane’s clasp.
“Poor, poor Lizzy. I am sure our uncle will smooth things over when he writes. And I am not as convinced as you that Mr Darcy will not come sooner than that. Not if he loves you as much as it sounds as though he does—which is only as much as you deserve.”
Jane’s compassion made Elizabeth suddenly tearful, and her voice wavered as she replied. “I wish I could send word myself, but I dare not write to him, and it would be unpardonably cruel to embroil Miss Darcy in anything in which Mr Wickham is involved.”
“What has Aunt Gardiner advised?”
“Only what you heard—that our uncle will write to Mr Darcy once Lydia is found.”
“Have you written to Mrs Wallis? She always has sound advice.”
“Not yet, but I owe her a letter. I have not written to anyone since before I went away. I shall not do it today, though. My head is too jumbled. I thought a few days would clear it, but—” She sucked in a deep breath to prevent a sob. “I think I love him even more than when I was there.”
Jane tilted her head and smiled kindly. “Then I pity you, Lizzy, for I know that feeling all too well.”
A shard of guilt pierced Elizabeth’s sadness. She adjusted her grip so that Jane was no longer holding her hands, but she Jane’s, and squeezed them tightly for a moment while she gathered her courage.
“There is something else. Mr Bingley was among the friends staying with Mr Darcy.” She allowed a few seconds for that news to sink in, then continued, “I do not know what I can tell you except that he is still single, and I was right about him and Miss Darcy. There is nothing between them.”
Jane nodded. She had gone quite pale. “Did he ask about me?”
“Yes.”
“Do you—do you think he still loves me?”
