“Oh, you little scamp,” I said. “Go and receive your training and be a good companion to whatever lady...” My voice trailed off, I handed her back to Mr. Wood, and I fled into the house, calling over my shoulder, “Forgive me, Uncle. I have forgotten something!”
Aware of all the eyes upon my crumpling face, I dashed up the stairs, tearing off my bonnet as I went through the hall of apartments and up to the gallery. There, I flung my bonnet away, fell on my knees, and with my arms on the sill of a low sash window, buried my face in the crook of an elbow and burst into the most horrible, wrenching sobs.
Not even in the wake of my close call with violation had I wept with such disconsolate intensity as though my chest would rip open and spill out its contents on the floor of that solemn, beloved space.
I felt myself lifted and set on a chair, and there, crouched before me was Mr. Darcy once again.
“What has happened?” he asked with piercing gentleness.
“If only I had not seen Queenie,” I cried.
“Who?”
“The runt. I love her so.” I again crumpled into bitter weeping.
He gave me his handkerchief and said, “I can send her with you if you would like.”
I sat up, mopped my nose, and answered him irritably. “This is not a moment to be rational, sir. Besides, my mother would have her sent to the road to take her chances with a peddler.”
“I see.”
“You donotsee!” I cried. “I have fallen in love with your sister and with Pemberley and with Auntie a-and—”
“And?”
“Oh, who have I not come to care for? There is Mrs. Reynolds and Penny and Ruth and Sam and Maggie and Mr. Brown, and even Mr. Parker, who is not so terrible—”
“Is there no one else?”
I came to the abrupt end of my weeping and spoke crossly while swiping at my ravaged face. “Oh, how can you be so wicked as to press me for what you know I cannot say? How can you not know it? How can you not know who else I love?”
I broke into tears of real grief then, and uttered a pitiable wail. “It is hopeless, sir. Hopeless! I wish you would go away!”
He let pass a terribly long moment of silence, but he did not do as I asked. Instead, he said in a voice dripping with compassion, “Mr. Gardiner asked Mr. Parker to hurry you along before he stepped into the coach. I told my butler he had better not find you for at least five minutes, but I am afraid he will be here momentarily.”
“Oh,” I said in confusion, struggling to brush the dampened hair off my forehead and putting my cold palms on my inflamed cheeks. “I shall spare him the trouble, sir.”
I stood, retrieved my bonnet, and would have made a show of gathering my dignified leave if he had not then taken my hand and kissed my fingers. “Do you trust me, Elizabeth?” he murmured.
“I can ask no more of you, Mr. Darcy. I have had the most marvelous tramp, and now, as Marcus Aurelius suggests, I have lived my life, and‘I must now take what is left—’”
He gently interrupted while pressing my hand to underscore his sincerity. “Do not forget: he also said to dwell on the beauty of life.‘Watch the stars, and see yourself running with them.’”
“God bless you, sir,” I said in a broken voice, ripping my hands from his unrelenting grip, and then I went swiftly down the corridor, down the stairs, out into the open air, and into the coach.
Chapter Thirty-Four
As the wheels began to move, my uncle handed me his handkerchief and said with a touch of asperity, “Tsk, child. How came you, such a sensible and lively-witted girl, to fall in love with such a man?”
He was not unkind but gruff out of concern for me. I am sure I looked a shattered wreck and close to collapse.
“Iwillsurvive,” I said in a small, stiff voice. I then closed my eyes and gave in to the monstrous headache that always came after such a bout of weeping.
The first day, we spoke but little. My head throbbed, and I kept my eyes closed, mortified that everyone must also know what Uncle Gardiner had so easily perceived. When we did talk, it was in brief, practical sentences regarding accommodations and whether I wished for a hot brick under my feet.
The following day was sluggish and uncomfortable. The roads at this time of year were more rutted than usual, and we were pursued by clouds that would spit on us but never quite rain. We sat with our backs slanted against one another but had little to look at out of our respective windows, and by degrees, our relations began to thaw.
I do not like hostile silence, so I was the first to extend the olive branch. “I have wanted to ask what you decided about Mrs. Burke.”
