“I thought you had the vanilla.”
“That was the second trip. I remember Allegra’s expression when Lord Leycester mistook her for a matron and asked if her daughters were ‘out’ yet.”
Elizabeth laughed, the sound brittle but sincere. “She refused him her conversation for the remainder of the afternoon. The insult was complete.” Her smile faltered as she glanced at Jane. “I shall miss Gunter’s, the Vauxhall, and Allegra’s running commentary. But not the ridiculous, wearying parade of calling cards.”
“You make it sound as though we are leaving London forever.”
“I am not certain I shall remain in London, though I have promised Lady Sophia a home. I find myself withdrawing, Jane. I never cared for the endless maneuvering. Mamma insists on comparing us to the Lucases, but they are neighbors, not friends—rivals in a contest I never volunteered to enter.”
Jane carefully spread cheese on a piece of bread, her gaze searching. “Are you withdrawing because of Lady Matlock? Because of the scene at the supper table?”
“I do not enjoy the artifice,” Elizabeth said, her voice sharpening. “And the gossip is poison. It devours everything. Allegra is worried for my reputation. She believes I have ruined Darcy’s chances for a seat in Parliament, that by choosing me, he has signaled a disregard for the very station that makes his ambition possible.”
Jane looked up, her expression pained. “But certainly, Darcy does not agree with her.”
“He claims it does not signify, but Jane—” Elizabeth set down her fork. “Anne told me he practiced Parliamentary speeches as a child. And Lady Matlock’s look—she sees me as the wildfire that has reduced his family name, his legacy, and his parents’ hopes to ash. I do not know if I can exist in a world where I mustbe managed to be tolerated, nor can I bear to destroy Darcy’s oldest dreams.”
“But certainly, if he’s told you he does not care for Parliament…”
Elizabeth blinked, her vision swimming. “How can I be certain he will not regret it? How do I know that, twenty years hence, when he sits alone in his silent library, he will not look at me and see only the seat he never held, the speeches left unspoken, the influence lost?” She rose, restless, and crossed to the window, staring into the oppressive darkness of the inn yard.
“A man like Darcy would not propose if he weren’t sure, Lizzy,” Jane said softly, coming to stand by her side. She didn’t touch her, but her presence was a warmth Elizabeth felt in her very bones. “Has he renewed his address? Given you another offer?”
“He promised not to.”
“But he’s going to Longbourn personally,” Jane countered, her voice thoughtful. “He could have hired outriders to guard our carriage. He could have simply handed us the solicitor’s investigation and remained in London. Yet he is coming to the front lines.”
“He wishes to ensure Wickham is stopped.”
“Bingley wished to accompany us,” Jane said, changing the subject with that deceptive lightness she wore so well. “But Darcy strongly recommended he wait in London until we send word.”
Elizabeth turned, a frown creasing her brow. “Why? Surely Bingley’s presence would be a comfort to you.”
“Darcy told him it would be a strategic error,” Jane explained, her gaze fixed on the dark, reflective glass of the window. “He believes Papa is currently in no state to receive ‘suitors.’ He warned Bingley that if he appeared at Longbourn now—while your father is so deeply distressed by Mamma andLydia’s sudden departure and so terrified for Kitty—Papa would view him not as a suitor, but as just another opportunist.”
Elizabeth let out a dry, humorless laugh. “Darcy thinks of everything.”
“Perhaps,” Jane murmured, a soft, rosy flush blooming across her cheeks. “But the thought that Bingley wanted to come… that he wished to ask Papa for my hand… Lizzy, he told me he never stopped admiring me. He confessed he had doubted himself only because his sisters convinced him I was a fortune hunter. Well, now that the Consols have secured my independence, he told me Caroline can never again claim my affections are mercenary—especially since I danced with the highest ranking men in London and still chose him for the supper dance.”
“Oh, Jane,” Elizabeth said, her throat tightening. She reached out to touch her sister’s arm. “I am so happy for you. I knew Aunt Gardiner’s advice would prove wise.”
“She told me not to hide my feelings,” Jane admitted, smiling. “That if I showed indifference, it would only give Caroline and Louisa ammunition. I was being modest, Lizzy, like a proper woman.”
“And I,” Elizabeth huffed, returning to the table to tear into a piece of bread, “am surely the most improper woman of the season. Let me eat, drink, and be merry, for I have quite upended Mr. Darcy’s carefully ordered existence.”
“In a good way, I am certain.” Jane’s smile was too serene for Elizabeth’s inner turmoil. “If he proposes again, Lizzy… will you accept?”
Elizabeth hesitated, her hand suspended above the cold roast beef. She longed to be the untouchable Elizabeth, the one who could laugh at the notion of injury, who saw life as a farce or a tragedy, but never as something that could wound her. Yet her throat tightened, and no cleverness would come.
“He didn’t propose,” she whispered.
Jane leaned forward. “What do you mean?”
“He joked.” Elizabeth felt the heat crawl up her neck. “He talked about… about twenty-five years of mud in his library, and my sharp tongue, and how my huffs and my rolling eyes would drive him to distraction. He asked if I would spend those years arguing with him, and he laughed—he actually laughed—about how Nettle once bit him, and how he preferred the dog’s bad breath to the silence of his father’s house. He didn’t get on his knees, Jane. He didn’t speak of ‘honorable intentions.’ He spoke as if I were already there, in that library, ruining his life; and it was either a bad dream or a funny one.”
“Then that is a proposal entirely different than the one at Hunsford where he insulted you.”
Elizabeth covered her face because back then, it had not hurt. She had been shocked and offended, and she had rather enjoyed the lashing she’d delivered with her tongue. Now?
