He had not gone far when he was forced to stop to greet an approaching group, at the head of which were two familiar faces: Colonel Forster and his wife.
“Well I never! Mr Darcy!” exclaimed the colonel. “I did not think to see you again once you left Meryton. Are you here for the summer?”
“It looks that way.” He bowed in greeting to Mrs Forster, who curtseyed with the same overt coyness he remembered from last autumn.
Two more of Forster’s party caught up and came to a halt behind him, and Darcy felt a jolt of alarm upon recognising Lieutenant Denny in animated conversation with Miss Lydia Bennet. He bade them good day also while distractedly looking beyond them along the Promenade. His alarm abruptly blossomed into full-blown panic when he saw that Elizabeth was bringing up the rear of the party. She was not looking where she was going and almost walked into her sister, beginning to berate her until she saw him and stopped speaking. A deep blush overspread her cheeks.
“Mr Darcy!”
“Miss Bennet.” He bowed, but after that could think of nothing else to say. He knew he must speakunless he wished to entrench her opinion that he could not behave like a gentleman, and stammered the first inanity that came into his head. “I…trust you have been well?”
“Yes, thank you.”
“Are you…here for the summer?” Gads, he sounded pathetic, repeating Forster’s questions!
“Yes, and longer, very likely.”
“Can we expect the pleasure of seeing Mr Bingley also?” Forster asked.
“No. No, I am here with family,” Darcy explained. He could not help but to keep glancing at Elizabeth. She was evidently uneasy, but she did not look angry, not even at the mention of Bingley, and his heart flickered with…something. Relief? Hope? He hardly knew.
“Iam here as the particular friend of Mrs Forster,” Miss Lydia announced, taking up that lady’s hands and giggling with her over the fact.
The look Forster sent him convinced Darcy that he did not share his wife’s enthusiasm for the arrangement. Darcy wondered whether Elizabeth was enjoying her visit—and whether his being there would add to or diminish her pleasure. He had almost resolved to ask her how she liked Brighton when Forster spoke.
“I have no doubt we shall see you again, sir, but for now I beg you would excuse us. We have an engagement for which we are already delayed on account of my wife’s desire to stop and marvel over every odd-shaped pebble on the beach.”
This produced more giggling from the two friends. Elizabeth only continued to look uneasy.
“I hope we do meet again,” Darcy said solemnly, his eyes on her.
She looked surprised, then embarrassed, dippingher head and walking after the others. Darcy watched her go, wondering how impolitic it would be to stride after them and beg to know where they were staying.
Or perhaps just to propose.
That thought made him start. His self-pitying indulgence in cream ices notwithstanding, he believed he had madesomeprogress in getting over his affection. Evidently not, if one sighting and the exchange of three words was enough to reawaken his desire to marry her.
He gave up on his walk and returned to the house, surprised to find it already empty of workmen.
“Back so soon?” asked Fitzwilliam, stepping out of the drawing room.
“As you see.”
His cousin closed the drawing room door behind him and stepped closer, speaking in a hushed voice. “Look, I know this is not ideal. I have spoken to Saye, and we have agreed that if things are not improved in a week?—”
“All is well. I shall stay.”
“What?”
“Georgiana and I will stay in Brighton. For the summer.”
Frowning, Fitzwilliam leant even closer and sniffed at him.
Darcy recoiled. “What the devil are you doing?”
“Trying to see whether you have spent the last half an hour drinking.”
“I have not. I have simply changed my mind.”
