By the time he reached the corner where he had last seen her, the path forked. One branch led to a secluded grove he suspected his Lizzy had already discovered and loved; the other led to the village. Unable to believe the latter, he took the path to the grove and spent a quarter hour scouring the way with nothing to show for it. He presumed she was overcome by the proposal and wished to set her mind at ease.
Moving from concern to alarm as the minutes ticked by, he decided running was not so worrisome after all, especially since he would not be chasing a woman through the lanes. Five minutes of breathless flight deposited him in the middle of Hunsford village, barely in time to glimpse the post coach leaving the stage stop with Elizabeth Bennet within, her head bowed, looking neither out the window nor at anything.
He saw only a glimpse of her face and bonnet, as she sat between two matrons and stared at the floor.
What could possibly be occurring? Of all the imagined reactions to his proposal, this was the last he expected. To tell the unvarnished truth, the only possibilities he had considered were a polite acceptance or her leaping into his arms.
In great confusion, he thought some scheme must be afoot, though explaining it was beyond his capacity. Was she afraid of Lady Catherine’s wrath? Or her father’s? Was she intimidated by the prospect of joining the first circles? Was she already engaged in secret? Was she overwhelmed by his wealth and consequence? Was she fearful of her ability to manage Pemberley?Did she doubt his affection? Did she feel no affection for him? Was there some inadequacy in the proposal?
Those last three thoughts halted him abruptly mid-step, nearly causing him to fall, while he reconsidered everything he had said in his ill-fated proposal, and her reactions.
A minute later, with a very ungentlemanly exclamation of, “Blast and damn and bloody festering bollocks!” he started running toward Rosings.
Escape
“Blast!”
Elizabeth gasped in mortification and turned bright red at the first word she had spoken since the horror of the proposal. Despite her mother’s opinion that she was the worst hoyden in the family for five generations at least, she had never once cursed in public. She hoped nobody heard, but that seemed optimistic, surrounded as she was by dozens of travellers.
She was frustrated by her own stupidity, and most vexed with Mr Darcy for placing her in such an untenable position. She must havesomeladylike words, and rejecting proposals should be child’s play, since she had so much practice.
Perhaps her mother was at least partially correct.
Practice makes perfect! You will never become a lady if you spend all your time with books or wandering the forest like a woodcutter!
At the stage stop at Bromley, the fifth counting of the money in her reticule failed to produce a result different from the first four. She had insufficient funds to reach Cheapside, or even London—or worse yet, return to Hunsford should she be so inclined—which she was not.
With darkness fast approaching, her options were limited and shrinking by the minute; and she had not the vaguest idea how to escape the trap of her own making.
Stupid… Stupid… Stupid… Stupid…
She had dug herself a hole deep enough for even Lydia to comprehend. Elizabeth could not even fault her sister for acting so precipitously. At least Lydia did not pretend to any particular level of sense. Of course, Lydia could not imagine there were two possible answers to a proposal, so she would never be in this position anyway. She would already be shopping for wedding clothes.
“Papa, you must help this young lady!”
Elizabeth glanced toward a well-dressed young woman who watched her cautiously. She was around Kitty’s age—sixteen or seventeen—and she regarded Lizzy intently, though trying to be polite. Elizabeth’s mortification was complete, as she had shown both her own stupidity and her vulgar manners to strangers.
A kindly-looking older man followed the young girl’s gaze, and noted her reticule in one hand, a few coins in the other, and an expression of distress on her face. It was no great feat to determine her problem.
“Naturally, we must assist. Might you introduce me to your acquaintance, Margaret?”
The young girl blushed at having interfered in the affairs of someone unknown to her, but Elizabeth could at least smooth the breach.
“I fear we have not been introduced, but since we have no common acquaintances, I shall perform the office. I am Miss Elizabeth Bennet of Longbourn in Hertfordshire and very pleased to make your acquaintance.”
She followed with a curtsey and gave her a smile fit for Jane to show that she appreciated her kindness and was not offended by any feared breach of manners or propriety—as if any Bennet could be concerned about such a tiny infraction.
“I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Bennet. I am Miss Margaret Wythe.”
The young lady gave an elegant curtsey of her own and tried to maintain a polite reserve but was not up to the task. She broke into a broad grin and rose from the curtsey practically bouncing on her toes. Far from finding her exuberance troubling, Elizabeth returned the young lady’s excitement with her own.
“Miss Bennet, may I present my parents, Mr and Mrs George Wythe.”
They exchanged bows and curtsies, and Elizabeth could see where Margaret’s humour came from, as neither parent stood on ceremony.
With a twinkle in his eye and a kindly fatherly expression, Mr Wythe asked, “Pray do not be offended by our interference, but I believe my Margaret may have the right of it. Are you in need of assistance, Miss Bennet?”
Elizabeth still felt foolish, but upon reflection, any day that started with taking her mother’s advice could only improve.
