She strode directly to Elizabeth. “Excuse me, miss, but you are wanted,” she murmured.
“Lizzy? Why would they want you? Lizzy?”
Elizabeth ignored her mother’s queries and followed the servant.
Ice travelled through Elizabeth’s limbs and up through her facial nerves, leaving her feeling frozen inside. She could walk, she could converse, but she had already begun quelling all the pieces of self thatmadeher herself, crushing them down and flattening them so they would fit into the small space henceforth to be allowed. She squared her jaw.Mr Goulding is a decent, sensible man, she reminded herself.I will be good to him, and he will return that respect. Iwillbuild a life worth living.
The housekeeper opened a door; she went through it, hearing the soft click as it shut behind her.
Elizabeth found herself in a spacious library she had never seen before. Mr Goulding and her father stood as she entered. A surreptitious glance around the room confirmed that Mr Darcy was nowhere to be seen.
“Please, Elizabeth, be seated,” her father said.
Spine straight and chin lifted, she obeyed.
The gentlemen seated themselves across from her. Mr Goulding did not seem to know where to look, but her father eyed her sternly.
“A few weeks ago, I informed you that I had agreed to a marriage between you and Mr Goulding. In the interim, circumstances have somewhat altered. Mr Goulding would still like to offer for you. However, you are not to take into consideration any debts between myself and him. The choice to agree to his proposal or reject it is entirely your own. My opinion remains the same. It would be an excellent match, and you could not acquire a finer husband.” Mr Bennet’s expression softened. “I hope you understand, Lizzy. I would not have parted with you to an unworthy man.”
With those words, he quit the room.
Reeling from her father’s pronouncements, Elizabeth stared at Mr Goulding, who still avoided her gaze; his embarrassment was obvious.
“I say,” he began. A long pause followed. “I say,” he tried again. He scratched his head, shook it, and smiled ruefully. “Difficult to know the right words. I shall begin with an apology. I assure you, I did not mean to cause you distress. Your father thought, after your initial, um, surprise, upon due consideration…well.” He cleared his throat. “I always thought you a sensible, intelligent girl. I wished my son had looked your way, even suggested it once. I have always known you would make an excellent mistress for Haye-Park, for my tenants. Even had no sons been born of the marriage, I would not have been sorry.” He flushed. “I am getting ahead of myself—or do I mean behind? It has been a long while since my salad days. I suppose what I am saying is that my offer is open to you, should you ever wish to receive it. I know my age, and I understand if you wish to wait and see whether a younger fellow turns up.”
There was another long pause until Elizabeth found her tongue at last.
“Please, sir, accept my thanks for the compliment you are paying me. I am very sensible of the honour of your proposal, but I am, perhaps, not so sensible as you believe. It is impossible for me to do otherwise than think of you as a respected family relation, almost an uncle, and I am afraid I must decline solely for that reason. Your age does not enter into it.”
She offered him a small smile, one both sincere and apologetic, acknowledging to herself for the first time the flattery of his offer. He rose; she stood with him.
He held out his hand. “No hard feelings, what?”
She shook it firmly. “Of course not, sir. You are very kind.”
Bowing, he escorted her from the room.
Elizabeth could not believe she was free of the betrothal. She could not believe it during their farewells to the Gouldings. She could not believe it during the long carriage ride home, while her mother interrogated her regarding the whys and wherefores of her thankfully brief separation from their party; not even knowingwhatto answer, she referred all questions to her father, much to Mama’s dissatisfaction.
Arrived at Longbourn again, she could only grin when Mama prevented Papa’s escape into his book-room with her demand for explanations—and when he looked toheras ifshemight rescue him, she grabbed Jane’s hand.
“Jane, what dishes have been planned for your wedding breakfast? I cannot believe we have not yet spoken of menus!”
Jane, whose own concern—albeit much more quietly demonstrated—had been rather obvious, gave her a relieved smile. Chattering away about meal courses and clothing, they ascended the stairs together. They spent a happy hour in her chamber discussing all things to do with the wedding before Elizabeth finally found herself alone.
She stretched out upon her bed, staring at the ceiling, trying to examine her feelings as they swelled within her. There was relief, certainly, and joy that her freedom had been restored. Intrigue, as well, at Mr Darcy’s role in it all. But there were too many sensations to name, overwhelming every attempt to categorise or deal with them. She laughed quietly to herself.
It was all simply…unbelievable.
Elizabeth roused the next morning with the sunrise. Dressing warmly, she slipped out of the house with only one direction in mind—the path to the folly.
No one shall be there. It will be locked, empty and cold, she told herself to temper her hopes of finding Mr Darcy there. Despite telling herself it was a ridiculous waste of time to go so far, especially since the recent snow made the path difficult, it seemed her feet had made a decision of their own accord, and there was but a single direction they were willing to walk.
What does it matter? I shall go to the folly, and then go home. Nevertheless, it was all she could do to stop herself from breaking into a run on the slippery surfaces.Wouldhe be there? How she longed for it to be so!
She felt her heart beating hard as she approached the cheerful green door. Reminding herself it would be locked, and that she absolutelydid notexpect anyone else to be there at such an early hour, she touched the handle.
The door opened easily, the warmth from the interior rapidly heating her skin. Or perhaps it was her own blush, because there in front of the fireplace stood Mr Darcy.
