It took some time to find a good place to stop and turn. Elizabeth’s impatience made her irritable, and she spoke sharply to the coachman, telling him to move faster. Mr. Darcy was moving very quickly, and it would be nigh impossible to catch up with him. She did not know his destination. This was the London Road. He could be going anywhere.
Then at last, they were on the road again, returning the way they came. The coachman flicked the whip and urged the team, and horses’ hooves thundered against the ground. Elizabeth put her head out, trying to catch sight of Mr. Darcy’s carriage. Then, to her relief, the shiny claret carriage came into sight.
The sound of her heart battered her ears as she realized Mr. Darcy was not moving in the opposite direction. He was coming straight towards her.
Chapter 25
The two carriages drew alongside each other.
“Miss Bennet,” said Mr. Darcy, tipping his hat to her. He could not bow in the small space. His face was in the shade, and it was impossible to determine his expression. It put Elizabeth at a disadvantage. The sun was shining on her face, and he must be able to see her anxiety written all over it.
She inclined her head. “Mr. Darcy.”
“I have a few questions for you,” he said, coming to the point immediately. “Would you mind if we stop somewhere to talk before you continue on your way?”
“If you would like.” She was relieved that her voice sounded calm and collected, even though her thoughts were tumbling in a hundred directions. What was Mr. Darcy doing here? Was heon his way to Longbourn to confront her? Would he come all the way just to hurl accusations at her? She supposed she would know the answers soon enough. Hopefully, he would grant her the chance to defend herself.
Mr. Darcy gave instructions to the two coachmen about a meeting point, then continued on his way.
“Mr. Darcy wants us to turn back again, Miss,” said the coachman, Charlie Bale, who had tried to teach her how to ride when she was a child.
“It is unfortunate, Charlie, but hopefully you will not have to do it again.”
Elizabeth tried to steady herself by remembering what Papa had said. What was the worst thing that could happen? She and Mr. Darcy would quarrel and agree never to meet again. In a way, that was what he had suggested when they talked in the library. She had nothing to lose, and everything to gain if they talked.
Though if he did not believe her even after she explained everything, it would break her heart.
When they stopped, Mr. Darcy approached her as she stepped out. He bowed. She curtsied.
“How is your health, Miss Bennet?”
“Very well, thank you.”
“And your family?”
“They are all very well.” She was roused from her nervousness to make an enquiry of her own. “How is Miss Darcy?”
This was his opportunity to pounce, to air his accusations, to express his anger at what she had done.
He did not. “My sister is well.”
It was an obvious untruth. He did not meet her eye, and she looked away.
She could not bear it anymore. “Mr. Darcy—”
“Miss Bennet—” he said, in the same instant.
“You first,” said Darcy. He was looking fixedly at a group of trees in the distance.
“No, you first.” She wanted to discover what his sister had told him, before she gave him her own version.
“Let us stroll a little.”
Stroll? A little? Such words did not convey the skirmish that was about to take place.
Mr. Darcy turned and began to walk down the edge of the field, along a lane intended for wagons. They were flanked by a hedgerow on one side, and a field of wheat on the other. It was not a quiet place. This was harvest time, and the sounds of harvesting – the swish of the scythe, the shouts of laborers loading wagons, women’s voices, the chatter of children – all sounded very loud in her ears.
Elizabeth took her position next to him, keeping as much space as possible between them. She was relieved that they no longer had to face each other. She could not read his state of mind. She could only guess. His face was tight, his jaw jutting, his mouth set in a line.
