She was foiled again when Miss de Bourgh leant to speak to her companion in a whisper that would likely have been audible in the garden. “She has not mentioned that Mrs Gardiner and her husband live in Cheapside.”
“No wonder,” Mrs Jenkinson replied, equally loudly.
There was a short pause, then Mr Darcy said, “It is rumoured that Defoe stayed at The White Hart in Lambton when he toured Derbyshire.”
“That is right,” Mrs Gardiner agreed happily. “There is a particular window seat?—”
“—that overlooks the Derwent, yes.”
“They say he preferred it to every wonder of the peaks lauded by Hobbes and Cotton. Though I suspect all the owners of The White Hart have embellished that part of the tale over the years.”
“Oh no. Defoe was famously unimpressed with Derbyshire.”
Elizabeth thought he looked offended as he said this, as though he took it as a personal slight that somebody should think ill of his home county. She thought it rather endearing, if a little silly. It compelled her to take his part.
“Oh well!Iwas unimpressed withRobinson Crusoe. Perhaps Mr Defoe would do better to stick to desert islands.”
Mr Darcy laughed—actually laughed—which ought not to have surprised her, except that she could not recall seeing him do it before.
“Darcy, Mr Collins needs to get all the way back to Hunsford today,” Miss de Bourgh announced abruptly, coming unsteadily to her feet. “It would be unpardonably rude to detain him. Let us be on our way.”
As unpardonable rudeness went, Miss de Bourgh was an expert and, therefore, most qualified to know what would constitute an offence. Nevertheless, her cousin seemed disinclined to comply. Elizabeth was diverted by how obviously Mr Darcy disliked being told what to do, though her amusement waned as his brief show of graciousness was eclipsed by a sudden change of temperament.
His wistful smile disappeared, his forbidding glower returned, and he ceased talking altogether as his party readied themselves to leave. Miss de Bourgh, apparently at the limit of her powers, was bundled into the passenger seat of the gig. Mrs Jenkinson was relegated once more to the parcel shelf. Two servants hoisted Mr Collins, squealing, onto Mr Darcy’s enormous horse and propelled him in the direction of Lucas Lodge.
Mr Darcy himself bowed a wordless goodbye to Mrs Bennet and climbed into the driver’s seat of the gig without so much as a sideways squint at the rest of the family. It would have perfectly substantiated Elizabeth’s impression of him, had he not looked back at her from the end of the drive. It was brief, but their eyes met, and Elizabeth felt it all the way to the very pit of her stomach.
“Thank heavens they have gone! A stranger family I have never come across in my life,” cried Mrs Bennet. “Imagine if you had married Mr Collins, Lizzy? You would have had to put up with both of them as your neighbours whenever they were at Rosings. What a lucky escape!”
The incredulity this remark induced went a long way to dispelling the unsettling sensation still jostling Elizabeth’s insides, and she was able to give a credible smile. “From my cousin’s nonsense and Miss de Bourgh’s incivility, certainly.” She wondered whether she might have better tolerated Mr Darcy’s authoritative efficiency—but only fleetingly, for he was gone, and her musings were immaterial.
* * *
They travelled in silence for a time. Whosoever’s gig they were in was old and ill-balanced, and the horse was uncooperative. Darcy was glad of the distraction of trying to control it, for it helped take his mind off the tendrils of sullenness creeping back into his thoughts, souring his mood.
It was not that ill temper fazed him. He was not naturally disposed to sanguinity and was well acquainted with vexation and impatience. What troubled him was the inescapable fact that for a few sublime minutes at Longbourn, he had been neither ill tempered, nor vexed, nor impatient. For the first time in months, he had felt utterly and completely at peace. So happy that at one point, he had laughed aloud for sheer joy. He had walked into Longbourn resolved to be unaffected, yet there she had been, exactly as he recalled—fierce, defiant, magnificent. He cared not that she had teased him. On the contrary, he had revelled in it, aware only then how acutely he had missed her wit. In those few sweet moments, every layer of bitterness and frustration had sloughed away from him, leaving nothing but pure delight to be once again in Elizabeth’s company. And it had downright terrified him.
Only when it had come time to go had he realised what was happening, and then he had wished to run and run and never look back. What foolhardy conceit had led him to think he would be in no danger once he saw her again? The sooner Anne’s trunks could be loaded onto his carriage and they could set out for London the better. He knew from experience that distance would not banish his feelings, but it might diminish them to a less alarming intensity.
“Are you intending to say anything to me at all, or are we to travel the entire way in silence?”
Darcy looked down at his cousin in surprise. The words were so similar to those Elizabeth had said to him at Bingley’s ball, the very conversation to which she had alluded moments ago, that he half expected to see her sitting next to him instead of Anne.
“Forgive me,” he forced himself to say. “I was distracted, thinking about the journey ahead.”
“To what journey do you refer?”
After a pause, during which Darcy failed to divine her meaning, he replied, “Back to London.”
“You are leaving again so soon?”
“I am in no humour for games, madam. You must know I have come to take you back to town with me.”
“I do not wish to go to town.”
“I cannot take you back to Rosings this side of Christmas. You may travel with Mr Collins if you prefer, but unless he means to travel overnight, he will have to lodge in London this evening anyway. Better to come with me and stay at Number One, surely?”
“You mistake my meaning. I do not wish to go to Rosings, either.”
