34
ALL IS NOT LOST
Much to her relief, Elizabeth was not sent back to Longbourn in disgrace after her encounter with Lady Catherine. She might willingly have gone, but knowing what awaited her at home, she clung gratefully to Charlotte’s kind insistence that she stay at Hunsford. Her spirits were hopelessly depressed. She was not at all used to bleakness which could neither be laughed nor exercised away, and she knew not what else to do but allow it to run its course. Each minute of the day was spent in a torment of retrospection as she repented every poor decision made or impetuous word said during her acquaintance with Darcy.
A reprieve from these wretched reflections came one afternoon in the form of a letter from Lady Rothersea. Taking her letter with her, Elizabeth set off into the park to read it in peace. It was a cold, blustery day with an overcast sky. She gave up fighting to keep her bonnet from flying away and looped the ribbon over her arm instead, letting it hang at her side. That only meant her hair was flicked about her face as she tried to read. Her thick gloves made her clumsy with pages that were relentlessly buffeted about by the breeze. She wrestled withthem for long enough to read that a voucher for Almack’s had been secured for her, and a duchess had invited her to a ball. Then she caught sight of the word ‘Darcy’ at the foot of the page, whereupon she fumbled so maladroitly with the letter that one page flew loose entirely.
She let out a cry and ran after it, vainly stamping about to try and catch it with her foot, only for it to flutter away along the ground, always just beyond her reach. This absurd dance continued for a minute at least, until she was laughing heartily at her own ineptitude. So desperate was she to read what had been written about Darcy that she did not notice the man himself until his boot landed on the loose page, and she looked up to see him smiling at her ridiculous exhibition.
She yelped in surprise and leapt backwards, a powerful burst of feeling suffusing her cheeks with heat. He looked unnervingly handsome with the hair at his temples being tousled by the breeze and his inscrutable dark eyes piercing her from beneath the brim of his hat. She wanted to rejoice that he had come, to run into his embrace—but, thinking that somewhat premature, curtseyed instead.
“Mr Darcy. I did not know you were in this part of the country.” She willed her heart to slow down—to no avail. She felt as breathless as if she had run a race.
“I have only just arrived,” he replied, bending to retrieve the page of her letter and hold it out to her. “Yours, I presume?”
She nodded and took it. “Thank you.”
“I have another for you, as it happens. I have just come from the parsonage—I hoped to hand it to you there. They told me I might find you walking hereabouts.”
He reached into his coat and withdrew a letter, which he also held out to her. She took it instinctively, though the amazement she felt at his coming in search of her to hand deliver a missivewas doused like a candle in a bucket of cold water when he added, “It is from your mother.”
Her eyes snapped to the letter in her hands, then back to him in alarm. “You have spoken to her?”
“I have.”
“Oh Lord. I hardly dare ask how that came about—or what came of it.”
“Why do not you read your letter and find out?”
“Now?”
He inclined his head. “I can wait.”
Assuming there must be some reason he wished to be present while she read it, Elizabeth acquiesced. She struggled for a second with both letters before impatiently pulling her gloves off with her teeth. Afterwards, she made short work of refolding Lady Rothersea’s letter and putting it and her gloves in her pocket, then opening her mother’s note.
It was short, which was fortunate, for she was excessively conscious of Darcy’s presence as she read. He always seemed impressive to her, both in height and bearing, but at that moment, he filled her awareness completely, his stillness as he watched and waited making the air between them seem to vibrate with a potent undercurrent of urgency. Were it not for the gravity of her mother’s letter, Elizabeth did not think she would be able to concentrate on it at all.
To Lizzy,
I am not gifted with words, as you are; therefore, I beg you will forgive the coarseness of this letter.
I have committed an unpardonable sin. (Only one, I should like to make clear.) I shall not try to deny or excuse it; there is no justification. My shame has been greater than you can imagine. My regret for the dishonour I have brought upon your father, and most particularly the injury I have causeddearest Jane, will stay with me forever, though neither of them is aware of my guilt, and I pray for all our sakes that they never will be.
That you are aware is a source of the most painful anguish to me. I would not blame you for resenting me forever, though I hope, with all my heart, that you will not. We do not always understand each other well, but I hope you know that I love you as well as any of your sisters. To be estranged would break my heart—especially with the prospect of your having babies very soon. To be unable to know my own grandchildren, whilst perhaps deserved, would be an unbearable punishment.
Elizabeth had been feeling quite moved until this part. She blushed hotly, hoping to goodness that Darcy was not aware of the contents of the letter.
I shall have returned to Longbourn by the time you read this. How long it is until I see you again depends on whether you consent to calling in on your way to Pemberley. I pray that you will, but if you do not, know that you take my dearest blessings with you to Derbyshire.
You have done very well, Lizzy. Mr Darcy is an excellent man, and exceedingly rich. You will be very happy, assuming of course that you do not take it into your head to refuse this one as well.
With love,
Mama
Beyond mortified, Elizabeth hurriedly refolded the letter, creasing it firmly along its edge, then doubled it in half again, creasing that fold tightly before shoving it deep into her pocket. She could not imagine what had transpired to make her mother write such things, but no matter how her heart yearned for it tobe true, she dared not let Darcy see it lest there was any chance her mother had got carried away—and there was always the greatest chance of that.
“I was anticipating that you would be better pleased,” Darcy said, frowning. “Pray, what has your mother written?”
