“If we go to London, which would be my preference, and after I see the Gardiners and Jane, I want a bath.” She laughed, and she felt him exhale his own soft chuckle of amusement. “I want to change my clothes and clean every inch of me.”
“I want to shave.”
Elizabeth heard the scratching sound of him running his hand over his jaw. She had never seen Darcy with whiskers, only the faint hint of them after the Netherfield ball when it was four in the morning and he had probably shaved the morning before. He seemed to dislike the feel, given how often he brought his hand to his face, but she thought it gave him a handsome and roguish air.
Her stomach rumbled, and she gave an embarrassed laugh.
“I am hungry too,” he said.
“What will you eat when you get to town? Kidnapping victims get to eat whatever they like, I am certain.”
“Like how children who have had a tooth pulled or a collarbone set get their choice?”
“Of course.” She thought a moment and asked, “Which one happened to you?”
“Both,” he said over his shoulder. “Due to milk teeth not falling out on their own and later a fall from a tree. The tooth was far worse.”
“I have never suffered either. You would have thought with all my childhood running and rambling that I would have broken or sprained something, but I never did. Now, after this, I intend to eat curry, an entire platter of it. My aunt’s cook makes a curry of rabbit with preserves of olives. They need not bring me a plate; they can simply give me a fork and set the platter at my place.”
Darcy laughed, but she was not joking at all. “Please invite me to this dinner because I need this image in my mind for the rest of my life.”
She wondered if he realised that meant he would have to call in Cheapside and be known to people in trade. “You are always welcome,” she breathed. In that moment, she knew how much she wanted Darcy to call on her when this ordeal was over. In a livelier manner, she said, “What shall you eat? You want something sweet, something made with honey, I know. Come, you must tell me.”
“My cook at Pemberley makes a saffron cake,” he said. “She adapted the recipe to use honey instead of sugar when my mother joined the abolitionists. It has cinnamon, honey, and rosewater.”
“It must be so sweet!” she cried, cringing.
He laughed. “You shall have to try it.” While she wondered if she would ever see Pemberley, he said, in a more serious voice, “Who in your family are you most eager to see?”
She sensed he was not merely making conversation; he wanted to know. “I want to see Jane,” she said. “My parents will not be a comfort to me. I want them to know I am well, of course, if they even know the truth yet, but I do not want to see them too soon.”
“Why not?”
This was painful, but she wanted to answer him. “My father won’t show his fear or concern, and will make a joke of it to ease his own mind. And my mother will only wail about her own anxieties. I know it might sound strange to not turn to one’s parents, but neither of them will be able to show their concern, to listen, to take care ofme.”
“But Miss Bennet will?”
“Jane is so kind and patient, and my aunt Gardiner is elegant and intelligent. If I was more like the two of them, I would be a better person,” she said with a laugh. “They are the ones I turn to for solace, to hear advice. Jane is never critical; she listens well and loves unconditionally. Mrs Gardiner also listens well, and while she remembers what it is like to be young, she gives sound guidance from someone who has come out the other side wiser.”
“Your aunt sounds like an amiable woman, well worth knowing. I would like to meet her.”
She felt surprised, but then wondered why this should surprise her, given what she knew of Darcy. It would have astonished herbefore, but she had no reason to doubt him now. “I promise to introduce my aunt and uncle to you.”
“I am saddened to learn that your parents are not to be relied upon in times of crisis,” he said, “that they will not or cannot give your feelings the care and attention they deserve. Still,” he added brightly, “you are lucky to have a sister and aunt who love you so thoroughly.”
Did Darcy still loveherthat thoroughly, enough to ask her to marry him again?
“Who do you turn to?” she asked quickly. He seemed so decisive, so confident, it was a little hard to imagine him asking for guidance or succour.
He was quiet for a while, and Elizabeth wished she could see his expression. “It might be unexpected, but I used to turnto my father for comfort and my mother for advice. She was serious while he was benevolent. Both were level-headed and reasonable, but my father listened better. My mother wanted to solve the problem. Both temperaments had their uses, of course.”
“And now?” she asked. “They have both, I understand, been gone for a long time.”
Darcy grew quiet again, and she wondered who he relied on. She supposed that a wife, that true partner he spoke of, might offer him both genial comfort and sound guidance. Regret at what she had thrown away pressed on her heart. Darcy had acted wrongly, of course, but so had she. She had judged too harshly.
Now was not the time to focus on what might have been or what could be. She tried to be lively as she said, “I refuse to believe that even the great Mr Darcy has no one he turns to in times of grief and woe.”
“For things relevant to Pemberley, my steward is a capable man for day-to-day concerns. For more lasting estate ones, my uncle. For personal matters, well, I typically keep my own counsel. I suppose Fitzwilliam listens, although he shows his care by mocking me.”
