Then their eyes met, and the clouds seemed at once to lift. “I am happy to see you,” he murmured, and the Parsonage, with all its misery, was swept into the past.
∞∞∞
He had felt torn in spirit, yet curiously relieved. Her presence brought with it a sense of normality amidst the unrestinto which his life had been thrown since receiving her uncle’s letter.
Lady Matlock had welcomed him early that morning—almost at the instant of his arrival—as if she had been waiting in the hall. “Thank Heaven you have come,” she cried, embracing him in a manner so uncharacteristic that he could not remember its like, unless perhaps in infancy. If, during his journey, he had harboured hope of finding the business concluded before his arrival, her agitated reception had destroyed it. Richard was in danger.
“I must refresh myself,” he had said; but, perceiving the entreaty in her eyes, had added, “Only half an hour, I promise.” He had observed the depth of her anxiety and the relief brought by his presence as she accompanied him to his rooms. Smiling, he had asked, “Do you wish to supervise the washing of my hands?”
Her pale smile recalled to her mind three unruly boys who had once required such oversight; yet the memory was soon clouded by thoughts of her dear Richard’s peril. She might have lingered outside his chamber, but forced herself instead to the dining-room.
The servants, as they always did in moments of difficulty, seemed to sense their mistress’s distress. Only Stevenson, the butler—the very model of discretion and efficiency—appeared that morning.
It seemed an age since their pleasant journey to Pemberley, and now her nephew, when he joined her, bore on his countenance the stamp of grave concern. In vain he sought to appear composed; anxiety was written plainly there.
“Where is Lord Matlock?” Darcy asked, glancing about the room.
“He has gone to Southampton,” she replied, for the tenth time in the past hours, convinced that his going had been a great mistake.
“For what purpose?”
“To find her parents,” she whispered; then, with sudden agitation, “What are we to do?”
“I must first know precisely what has occurred—every detail. I had thought to call upon Mr Bennet, but then remembered that Mr Gardiner must be in town. We shall go to him this morning.”
Lady Matlock coloured faintly beneath his steady gaze. “I have someone better than Mr Gardiner,” she said. “I invited them to dine, and—”
“And—?”
“And I am ashamed to confess how frightened I was after your uncle’s departure. Alone in this great house, I was near to losing my wits. Mr and Mrs Gardiner were accompanied by two of their nieces.”
“Which nieces?” For the first time, his interest turned from Richard’s danger.
“Miss Elizabeth and Miss Mary, who most graciously came to London to tell me the whole story. A few days past I persuaded them to remain here. The invitation was not made with elegance—I practically obliged them—but with Arthur gone, I was terrified. They are charming young ladies who have helped me bear the time until your arrival.”
Darcy could scarcely believe what he heard. Elizabeth—here, under the same roof!
“Pray, do not be angry with me!”
“Angry? For what reason?”
“They are your friends, and I was selfish—”
“You speak nonsense. It was the best possible course; from Mr Bennet’s letter, I gather that Miss Mary uncovered the greater part of the scheme.”
Despite his disquiet for his cousin, a sudden exhilaration seized him. Elizabeth was upstairs; it was as though Fate itself had intervened. Indeed, during the days and nights of travel, he had thought of little else.
He had decided not to make any plans regarding Richard until he knew all the details. Hence, he diverted his growing worry to the other subject obsessing him: Elizabeth.
From the moment she had left Pemberley, regret had haunted him. Her presence there had been a season of delight and discovery; he had admired everything about her, from the intelligence in her eyes to her graceful manners. Against the beauty of his home, she had seemed in perfect harmony. She delighted in walking, feared not the sun, could converse with equal ease among ladies or gentlemen, and was ever considerate to his servants. One morning, he found her assisting a maid who had fallen on the stairs. She was helping her to stand, and as he neared them, he heard Elizabeth say, “Go to your room and rest for the day.” When they saw him, Elizabeth had blushed, and the maid had looked to her master; he had smiled, saying, “Go, Martha, and do as the lady advises.”
What touched him most was the change in Georgiana. She seemed transformed—more cheerful in her spirits, more intent upon improvement, and, above all, more ready to disclose the hidden anxieties that she had once kept so closely guarded. Elizabeth’s influence was evident in every look and tone; she had become both an example and a friend, to whom Georgiana, by the natural inclination of affection, turned for guidance.
And then she had been gone, leaving him only the memory of her last glance, full of pain and regret, with noattempt to disguise it, for she must have believed it to be their final parting.
Fool!he had told himself again and again, in anger at his own silence. Then her uncle’s letter had come, and within the hour, he was ready to depart for London, in the hope of finding her there.
“I am growing older,” Lady Matlock had said, almost in apology. Though he tried to protest, she silenced him with a gesture. “In other times, I would have moved mountains to defend one of my children; now I have remained behind, allowing Arthur to go alone to Southampton.”
