Another strained smile. “How delightful for you.”
Mrs Bennet’s face appeared, her bonnet slightly askew from what had apparently been an energetic afternoon. “Elizabeth! What brings you out? I presumed you were resting in your bedchamber.”
“I merely wished to explore the village. The day seemed too fine to waste indoors, and I thought a brief excursion might prove refreshing.”
“The village is quite charming,” Georgiana encouraged. “The shops are modest but well-maintained, and the proprietors are most always welcoming.”
“Colonel Fitzwilliam won money on a wager!” Lydia interrupted, still eager to narrate her experiences. “And he was gallant enough to place a small bet on my behalf as well, which actually succeeded. Can you imagine, Lizzy? I actual winnings from a proper race!”
As Elizabeth provided an appropriate response, she was acutely conscious of the missive hidden in her reticule and how this innocent encounter felt like exposure despite no one having any reason to suspect her true purpose.
“It is indeed true that we’ve had the most marvellous afternoon,” Mrs Bennet said. “The crowds were quite substantial, but not vulgar. I could tell by their dress and manner that the better sort of people attend such events. And the refreshments were pleasant. We were quite comfortable throughout.”
“Indeed, your mother and sisters were the picture of propriety,” Colonel Fitzwilliam called from within the Matlock carriage, amusement evident in his tone. “I must admit Miss Lydia’s enthusiasm for the proceedings rivalled even the most dedicated racing enthusiasts I have encountered.”
Lydia defended herself with cheerful shamelessness. “I merely appreciate excitement when I encounter it. Life at Longbourn offers so little in the way of true adventure that one must seize opportunities when they present themselves.”
The viscount’s voice joined the conversation, pleasant and curious. “And what of your own afternoon, Mrs Darcy? You mentioned exploring Snowhill. Are you doing so alone, without a maid for company?”
“I have the coachman,” Elizabeth replied, aware of how inadequate this sounded. “And I am hardly venturing far. Just to the village and back. I wished for some solitude, some time to clear my mind without the hovering presence of others. Surely you understand the occasional desire for privacy, my lord?”
“Certainly.” The viscount’s tone remained affable, with a hint of mild concern. “We all require such moments. I worry slightly about ladies travelling the countryside unattended. Not that these roads are dangerous, precisely, but one never knows what circumstances might arise.”
“I shall be perfectly safe, I assure you. The village lies close, the road is well-travelled, and I shall return well before dinner. There is truly no cause for concern.”
“Lizzy has always been independent,” Mrs Bennet announced. “Even as a girl, she would walk miles across the countryside without regard for mud or fatigue. Mr Bennet indulged her dreadfully, I always said so, but I suppose it has made her quite capable of managing herself.”
“I look forward to seeing you at dinner,” Georgiana said. “The cook has prepared something special, I am told, and I should hate for you to miss it.”
“Of course. Please, do not let me detain you further. I am certain you are all eager to rest after such an exciting afternoon.”
The carriages separated, the Matlock vehicle continuing towards the house. She exhaled slowly, pressing one hand to her racing heart.
That had been closer than comfortable. Another moment and someone might have asked her specific purpose. Or offered to accompany her, making the mission at hand impossible.
The village appeared ahead, modest buildings clustered around greenery. The post office occupied a narrow structure near the market square, its sign announcing postal services and sundry goods. The lettering on the sign was slightly faded but still legible.
Elizabeth entered, grateful to find the interior empty save for the postmaster himself. He was an elderly man who barelyglanced in her direction before accepting the letter and the necessary coin.
He squinted at the address. “Ireland, ma’am? That’ll go out with tomorrow’s post, barring weather or other delays.”
“Thank you.” She departed before he could engage in further conversation.
Relief loosened the tension in her shoulders as she climbed back into the carriage. It was done. The letter was sent and her promise to Annabelle fulfilled.
Now she need only return to Matlock, endure whatever remained of the day, and find the courage to tell Fitzwilliam what she had done. To explain why she had written to one of the women who had schemed against him and hope he would understand the motivations that felt increasingly tangled even to her own understanding.
That last thought sent fresh anxiety spiralling through her, her throat closing up until breathing required conscious effort.
The return journey passed too quickly, the familiar landmarks appearing with speed that suggested the universe itself was conspiring against her desire for more time to prepare. There was hardly any more distance before having to face the consequences of her choices.
Matlock appeared on the horizon far sooner than she wished, its imposing facade a reminder of all she stood to lose if this correspondence became known and was interpreted wrongly.
Fitzwilliam’s trust and confidence in her judgment. The partnership they had only just begun to build. All of that could be damaged and undermined by the discovery that she had been corresponding with Annabelle Sempill.
As she descended from her carriage and entered the Matlock home, she hoped to reach her chambers without encountering anyone who might demand further explanation of her absence or question her solitary excursion.
The corridor mercifully stretched before her, afternoon shadows lengthening across polished floors.
