Monday morning dawned fair and breezy, and by midday, a coach and four was spotted on the gravel lane that led toward Longbourn with Mr. Darcy atop a tall hunter trotting behind. How he had arranged such a feat momentarily rendered me speechless since the coach showed not a speck of dust, and the horses were clearly so fresh that they would take us to London as soon as our trunks were strapped into place.
My father, standing behind me, solved the mystery by grumbling, “What a compliment to my daughters that the gentleman would send a coach and horses up the road to rest overnight at Palmer’s Green and bring with him a maid, no less.”
My mother clucked irritably at Papa and said, “And so he should, Mr. Bennet!” before brushing past him to welcome Mr. Darcy on behalf of my family.
I felt slightly vindicated for the embarrassment the gentleman had so recently caused me since he then suffered through a quarter of an hour of her effusions with regard to his excellence, his superb manners, his elegant carriage, the cut of his coat, and the like.
I was disinclined to intervene though he threw me many a pleading look during what was, in effect, a purely symbolic service of refreshments. No one but Lydia wished to drink tea, much less eat, and throughout, I sat at my ease with one eyebrow lightly raised, smiling blandly upon him after offering him only a light shrug, as though to say I, too, was helpless.
Jane, however, finally put herself to the trouble of rescuing Mr. Darcy after Mama demanded he tell her the date of our wedding. When he stammered a slightly inchoate reply that he must first determine my preferences, Jane interrupted to enquire after Georgiana. While he explained she had stayed behind to finish the last of her preparations for her presentation under the auspices of his aunt, the Countess of Matlock, Jane effortlessly rose to her feet, and expressed her eagerness to see Miss Darcy again while leading us almost by the hand to the front door.
In no time, the man I trusted most in the world helped me once again into the darkened interior of his carriage, and we were away.
Chapter Forty-Six
3April 1813
Longbourn, Hertfordshire
Darcy’s Story…
A laugh, which seemed to be constantly bubbling up my spine, nearly broke through as the team pulled the coach away from the house and made for the road. I broke into a canter just in front of the dust thrown up by the wheels, once again feeling as though I had stolen Elizabeth from her rightful owners but, this time, more successfully. When I brought her back to Longbourn, she would be more mine than theirs, though she would also always be her own person by divine right, and I, merely her faithful consort.
Keller must have sensed my mood of elation. I do not know how he could escape knowing he carried what was precious cargo to me, and he kept the team at a lively, sustainable pace that smacked of display. He was, if I was not mistaken, exhibiting the excellence of his driving for the benefit of Miss Elizabeth Bennet, daughter of Longbourn, inheritor of nothing save her natural nobility, and soon to be queen of Pemberley. The laugh I had been striving to suppress then broke through my reserve, and I chuckled aloud, earning me a strange pair of looks from the footmen perched on the boot of the coach.
I quickly composed myself, for no one wants to be in service to a fool, and we went comfortably as far as Watford where we stopped at the Ram’s Head, and I was given my first opportunity to speak with Elizabeth.
I helped her down the steps first, before also handing down her sister Jane.
“If you do not object, we shall rest the horses for an hour or so. That way, we can make London without a change.”
“Of course,” she said.
“I have secured for your use a private room and a parlor for refreshments if you are hungry?”
This was a distressingly impersonal first conversation with my affianced bride after our formal agreement, but there was nothing for it. We were not alone, and I could hardly search deeply into her eyes and enquire,“How are you faring, my love?”
After half an hour, we convened in the private parlor and partook of a light collation in an atmosphere of stilted constraint, while poor Miss Bennet strove to maintain a conversation that refused to prosper.
I labored through various answers until Elizabeth at last shook off her reserve and said, “I would dearly love to stretch my legs, Mr. Darcy. If we are to sit in a coach for the remainder of the afternoon, I believe I might be more comfortable for a walk.”
Jane declined to go with us, for which I could have kissed her, and shortly after, I was escorting Elizabeth down a mundane road flanked on either side by the weary looking enterprises that congregate around a busy posting house.
“I wonder that we are always walking in such places as offer so little charm,” she remarked, looking around her impartially. “It is curious that our best conversations have taken place on a crumbling wall beside a fallow field or on the deserted road north of Lambton. And now, here we are in the company of farriers and wheelwrights.”
“Hmm. Do not forget Mrs. Jennings’s ill-lit kitchen,” I replied without thinking, for that memory must still be fraught for her. I swiftly changed the subject and asked what I had wished to know for hours. “But how are you faring, my darling? I have missed you.”
“And I you,” she said with a quick, flashing smile before looking abstractedly at the end of the road in the distance. “As to how I am faring, you may well imagine for yourself how I am after you have stunned my family with your offer.
“Has it been very bad?”
“No, not at all. I have only been fitted for twenty dresses for a holiday that is to last one week and repacked my trunk three times over. I have been threatened with a trip to the London warehouses with Mama, after which we shall look over your townhouse. Forgive me, sir, but that is such a terrible prospect I must beg to be excused—and, what else? Oh, I have been lectured, scolded, kissed, caressed, shown off to the neighborhood, and forbidden to walk outside without the escort of a maid.”
“Do tell me you brought yourone good dress. I have grown quite attached to it.”
“No sir. You will never again see me so resplendently attired while sitting at your table. It has been declared a rag and handed down to poor Mary.”
“A great shame, that. But, Elizabeth, we must speak in practical terms. What is your pleasure with regards to our future?”
