And yet, she could not entirely silence a quieter possibility.
Could she dare to hope that his concern might not be wholly impersonal?
She dismissed the thought at once. If Mr Darcy had felt anything deeper than a distant respect, he would not have acted as he had. He would not have gone to such lengths to ensure their separation, nor proposed a plan designed to place her firmly in the care of another man. His conduct spoke clearly enough.
Elizabeth felt an unexpected pang at the conclusion, and rebuked herself for it.
“Why, Miss Elizabeth! What a surprise to meet you here!”
Shaken abruptly out of her gloomy musings, Elizabeth turned to return the greeting. Of all people, Miss Darcy stood before her, with Mr Darcy at her shoulder.
“Miss Darcy, such a pleasure,” Elizabeth returned warmly, trying to suppress a sense of both humour and dismay. After their ‘coincidental’ meetings, perhaps she ought to have expected that they might really meet by chance, particularly at what any devoted reader would agree to be the finest lending library in London. It seemed only too much a shame that it should happen now, and with Georgiana Darcy a party to the meeting. It was obvious in every word Georgiana said, her manner at once warm and shy, that she knew nothing of their plans. Elizabeth struggled to be equally natural in her responses, though every word felt half a lie. Surely Georgiana would not have spoken to her so openly had she known of the plan Elizabeth intended to execute with Mr Darcy — still less if she had known that Elizabeth’s feelings for her brother had grown increasingly complicated.
Elizabeth felt that she would have given a great deal to speak to that gentleman in confidence, for while she could not bring herself to speak to Georgiana with anything less than amiability, she was uncomfortably aware that every warm word of their exchange was acting in opposition to their plans.
Mr Darcy must have felt the same, for at the first opportunity of a break in the conversation, he drew his sister’s attention another way. “Look there, Georgiana,” Mr Darcy said. “Is not Mrs Gardiner holding the very novel you finished last week?”
In fact, it was so, and after her first exclamations of surprise, Georgiana went to greet her and share her recommendation of the work. Elizabeth was not surprised when Mr Darcy did not go after her, but looked at her with a wry half-smile that mirrored all her own frustration and amusement at the disruption to their plans.
“Miss Darcy does not know, then,” Elizabeth said in an undertone too low to carry past themselves.
He shook his head. “No, I had wished to spare her. And I confess it had not occurred to me that Georgiana might, in all innocence, undermine our plans.”
“No, nor I,” Elizabeth told him with a smile. He smiled in return, with such warmth that her heart skipped a beat.
More than anything at that instant, Elizabeth wished to say something to him of what was in her heart. It felt for a moment almost as though it might be possible, as though it might do something other than make her a fool, and she had almost opened her mouth to do it, when a whisper from across the room drew away her attention. Her stomach fell as Elizabethsaw they were even then being watched by several of the other library patrons.
That was it, then. They had made their agreement, and the show must go on, whatever she felt; anything she said must be said with the intent to convince the watchers that she did not care two straws about Mr Darcy.
Mr Darcy had seen the onlookers too. “Well, a good day to you then, Miss Elizabeth,” he said stiffly.
Elizabeth inclined her head, wishing she could be more confident that her feelings did not show on her face. “A good day to you as well, Mr Darcy. Adieu.”
Mr Darcy collected his sister, brought his books to Mr Williams, and left the lending library with such alacrity that the door was closing behind them as Jane was emerging from the back of the room, where books of stillroom recipes were kept.
She turned curiously to Elizabeth. “Was that not Mr Darcy and his sister?”
“Indeed it was,” Elizabeth said, looking after them a little absently.
“It is a shame they could not stay longer,” Jane remarked. “I should have liked to meet Miss Darcy, after everything you have said about the sweetness of her temper.”
“You would like her, Jane,” Elizabeth said. “I am certain of it, for she is as sweet as you are.” Then, remembering herself, she said hurriedly, “But I would not have introduced you in any case. We must try to loosen the bonds between us, not strengthen them.”
“I see,” Jane said mildly, but the look she gave Elizabeth was anything but mild. Elizabeth was forced to look away rather than meet it. There was too much in that look — mild reproach, suspicion, and entirely too much understanding.
Mrs Gardiner joined them then, carrying with her a novel for Elizabeth to read. She accepted it without looking into more than the title and the author’s name, and seeing that she had not already read it. Elizabeth was almost sure she had said everything that was proper to Mr Williams in requesting it, though she could not seem to recall any of the words she had used, or what he had said in return.
Nor could she seem to attend to the conversation on the way home. Her thoughts were too all-consuming.
Could there be any conclusion more lowering than to know yourself in love with a man, and to think him not only indifferent, but mortified by the idea that he might be anything else? With a deep, aching pain in the pit of her stomach, Elizabeth told herself that she must accept that Mr Darcy did not care for her. She must not hope that it could be otherwise, for there could be no such hope — not when he had gone to such lengths to end the rumours.
Yes, he had shown great care for her reputation and for her comfort, but what was that? Only what was due to his character. He did not really care about her, not in any sense beyond what he might have felt for any woman of decent family and character. She was a respectable gentlewoman of his acquaintance, and nothing more.
As the carriage rattled towards Gracechurch Street, Elizabeth’s spirits sank further. A deep ache settled into herheart as she told herself not to play the fool. This was a time for sensible restraint, not wild, irrational hope.
How could she hope that he might love her?
She knew now that she loved Mr Darcy, and the knowledge brought with it no comfort at all. It offered no hope, only clarity. Whatever incautious words he might once have spoken, his present actions admitted no ambiguity. He was determined to end the rumours, even at the cost of separation, and his concern for her reputation, however sincere, was rooted in honour rather than affection.
