Mary knew they would find nothing. Elizabeth traveled in a private carriage with one of the wealthiest men in England. There would be no trace of her passage.
Mr. Bennet descended the stairs to his study, calling for Mr. Hill to hitch the pony to the cart. Mrs. Bennet collapsed on the sofa in the drawing room, her smelling salts close at hand, wailing about her poor nerves and her ungrateful daughter.
Kitty and Lydia thought Elizabeth was extraordinarily bold, while Jane would stop crying only to begin again as soon as Elizabeth’s name was mentioned.
Mary yearned to share the plan with her eldest sister, if only to give her relief, but Jane would tell all to keep their parents from being distressed. No, Mary needed to keep the secret to herself.
The day passed in turmoil. Mr. Bennet searched Meryton before traveling to St Albans. Nothing! No one had seen a young woman matching Elizabeth’s description boarding any coach. No one had seen her walking along the road.
It was as though she had vanished into thin air.
Mr. Collins, after his initial shock had worn off, had indeed begun to look at Mary with new eyes. Over tea, he had engaged her in conversation about the sermons of Bishop Fordyce, and Mary had responded with genuine interest. Mrs. Bennet, seeing which way the wind blew, had already redirected her ambitions.
Soon, Mary suspected, her father would allow Mr. Collins to make her an offer. And she would accept him gladly, not from the notion of resignation, but because she believed they would suit each other well.
More than that, acceptance would mean leaving Longbourn. The thought brought relief rather than sorrow. The chaos of her mother’s nerves, her father’s bitter retreat, Lydia and Kitty’s constant noise, even Jane’s lack of perception when something bad occurred—it had worn on her for years. She had borne it because she had no alternative. But watching Elizabeth seize her own future had shown Mary something she had not fully understood until that moment: she did not have to remain where she was merely because it was expected.
Mr. Collins would take her to Kent. To a parsonage where order and reflection were valued. To a life where her interests in theology and music would be appreciated rather than dismissed. To a household that she could manage according to her own principles.
Elizabeth’s refusal had given Mary this chance. Had given them both a chance at happiness, in spite of the cost.
4
The journey to London proceeded without interruption. Elizabeth slept through the changing of the horses, her exhaustion complete. Once they were back on the road, she woke periodically, disoriented by the rocking of the carriage and the unfamiliar sensation of being held against Mr. Darcy’s side. Each time, she would start, remembering where she was and what she had done, he murmured reassurances before she drifted off again. When she at last woke fully, the sun was high overhead. Remembering herself, she straightened quickly, a flush rising to cover her face.
He handed her a flask of water. She drank deeply before returning it to him.
“I apologize,” she said, smoothing her skirts. “I did not mean to—that is, I should not have?—”
“You needed rest,” Mr. Darcy said. “Never apologize for being in my arms, Elizabeth.”
Her name on his lips should have felt presumptuousto her—they had known each other mere weeks, and yet here she was, fleeing to London to marry him. But instead of presumption, she heard only gentleness. The same kindness he had shown in the library when he apologized without excuse. The same steadiness he had shown when he offered her a choice instead of seeing her forced into marriage with Mr. Collins.
She had thought him proud and unsympathetic. She had been profoundly wrong.
Out the window, buildings appeared with increasing frequency, until they were close together. The traffic on the road had increased as well—carriages and carts and riders on horseback, all moving with the purposeful bustle of a great city.
“We are nearly there,” Mr. Darcy said.
Elizabeth’s stomach fluttered with sudden nerves. “What did you tell them? In your express, I mean.”
“The facts. That you were being forced into an unwanted marriage, that I offered you an alternative, and that I required their assistance in sheltering you until you reach your majority. I may have omitted certain details about the…circumstances of our agreement.”
“And that we barely know each other and have agreed to marry out of necessity?” Elizabeth said with a wry smile, though her hands tightened in her lap. She was about to meet his family—people of rank and consequence who would judge whether she was worthy of the Darcy name. People who had every reason to find her wanting.
“I prefer to think of it as a marriage of mutual benefit and growing regard.”
The tension in her eased. “As do I,” she said, andfound she meant it. He believed there was more between them. And if he believed it, perhaps she could, too.
The carriage turned onto a wide, elegant square lined with imposing townhouses. Even to Elizabeth’s inexperienced eye, it was clear this was one of the most fashionable addresses in London. The houses were stately, with pristine white facades and iron railings that gleamed in the afternoon sun.
They pulled to a stop before one such house, and Elizabeth felt her breath catch. Was this to be her refuge? This palace?
“Welcome to Matlock House.” Then, Mr. Darcy gestured across the square to a similarly sized domicile. “And that is Darcy House.”
“Oh!” Elizabeth understood he was a wealthy man, but this threatened to overwhelm her.
He stepped out first and turned to hand her down. Elizabeth took his offered hand, grateful for its equanimity as her legs threatened to buckle beneath her. She had not realized how anxious she was.
