“I knew nothing, Fitzwilliam,” Anne said with quiet courage. Her courageous and determined voice seemed newly born. He looked at her with admiration, taking her hand and pressing a kiss upon it.
“I believe you,” he said. He realised then that his relatives in London must have concealed Miss Bennet’s visit from Lady Catherine. Lady Oakham had shown evident delight at the prospect of a match between them and had tried to bring them together. Inviting Elizabeth to stay in her family home had surely not been a coincidence.
“From whom did you learn of her visit?” he asked again.
“Oh!” exclaimed Anne, drawing all eyes as if on the verge of a revelation. “From Mr Collins…or rather, from Mrs Collins.”
“Her closest friend… Efficient spies you have at Rosings, Aunt. Congratulations!” said Darcy, his voice heavy with disappointment and scorn.
In an instant, he called for his horse and departed without another word.
∞∞∞
He stopped in front of the Matlocks’ house, hoping to find them still there, to apologise for what must have appeared like horrible behaviour. But the windows were wide open, and the house was clearly being cleaned. A servant came out and took his horse.
“Have the guests departed?” Darcy asked, still hoping they had merely gone for a walk or into the town.
“Yes, sir. They left this morning, around eleven.”
“Do you know where they went?”
The man shook his head. “Not exactly, sir. I heard the young lady say she could not wait to be home, but I could not tell you where that is.”
Darcy was about to mount again when the servant added, “There was a lady here this morning—certainly from Pemberley. Perhaps she knows more…”
“An older woman?”
“Yes, sir,” the man confirmed and bowed.
Darcy rode away as quickly as he had arrived but stopped less than two miles from the boundary of his estate. He dismounted and sat on a stone bench, reflecting more deeply than he had allowed himself to until then.
Lady Catherine had indeed saved him in London from a mistake that would have cost him a lifetime of misery—but that gave her no right to interfere as she had now done. Whatever the nature of his past with Elizabeth, their friendship had been real. That she had come to Derbyshire was proof that she believed so too.
Georgiana was waiting for him in front of the house, visibly expectant. She had hoped to see Miss Bennet, and she read the disappointment on his face as he told her about their departure.
Together, they began strolling towards the lake, both wishing to be alone and enjoying each other’s company.
“What happened?” Georgiana asked eagerly. “Were they truly here?”
“Yes, and they let us know they had arrived, but Lady Catherine had learnt of their coming from the Parsonage. That is why she appeared here four days ago, just in time to conceal the letter. No doubt she would have returned it to its place in a few days…or perhaps never.”
“Oh dear!” exclaimed Georgiana, her disappointment plain.
“But why did we not receive word from London about their arrival?” she asked, blushing—for though their plan in London was no longer relevant, it was better left unspoken.
Yet Darcy did not notice her unease. His gaze was fixed in the distance, towards the hill where the roads to Pemberley and Lambton diverged.
“Perhaps Miss Bennet chose not to inform us beforehand, preferring instead to announce their arrival upon reaching this place. She, like me, detests games and contrivances,” he said, and again failed to see the small smile that rose to his sister’s lips.
She gave him a gentle nudge. “Do something, Fitzwilliam, I beg you—do something!”
Chapter 44
Elizabeth no longer remembered why she had once found pleasure in travel. Every sudden jolt of the carriage annoyed her, while the slow pace of their journey tried her patience just as much. The sun glaring through the windows wearied her, her breakfast seemed too heavy, and she was perpetually thirsty. The only mercy granted by that wretched day was the silence; neither Mrs Gardiner nor her husband attempted to draw her into conversation, for they understood her distress.
Seeing how troubled she was the evening before their departure, Mrs Gardiner could no longer bear the weight of concealment. She had recounted in detail to her husband the story from its beginning in Kent to its climax in Derbyshire.
At first, he had grown angry that she had kept such details from him. Soon, his frustration had shifted to Elizabeth, who had rejected what any woman might consider a most desirable proposal. Then he had remembered Bath, and nothing had made sense any longer—for their behaviour had not been that of two people who despised one another.
