Page 19

“I cannot agree.” Her teeth closed upon her lip. “If I accepted your proposal, I should be taking what is not mine. I had no right to alter your future as I have done. Without my interference, you never would have given me a second look. In all likelihood, there is a lady whom you have not yet met, one from a prominent, wealthy family, who is your ideal match.”

Would she persist in refusing me over this delusion? My stomach wrenched and raged at the possibility. No, she would listen to reason. “You are my ideal match.” I lifted my hat and ran my fingers through my hair. How could I extricate her from this bizarre fixation on the blasted potion? I set my mind back to that evening of the Meryton assembly and reviewed my perspective. “You believe my opinion of you altered after I drank the potion, but that is not true. My critical remarks at the assembly had been intended for Bingley’s ears, not yours, and did not reflect my actual disposition. At the time, I had not given you more than a cursory look.”

“You stared directly at me as you spoke the words.”

“Yet I regarded you in a perfunctory way without attending to you. I was in no mood that night to be pleased by anyone or to dance with a near stranger. So I never should have acquiesced to Bingley’s suggestion no matter whom he put forward as a potential partner.”

Elizabeth remained silent, blinking at me.

“Shall I tell you when I first took proper notice of you?”

She gave me a nod.

“When you marched past, gave me a pert smile, and shared a laugh at my expense with Miss Lucas. I knew then that I had encountered a singular lady. I spent the rest of the evening sneaking glances at you, and each successive glimpse of you fascinated me further.”

Her shiny orbs raised to search my countenance. “No doubt you believe this is an exact account of your thoughts back then. Yet I cannot be certain the potion has not influenced your reminiscence, at least with regards to me.”

I forced out a ragged breath. “There must be a way to ease your mind. Tell me what to do. How may I convince you that my love is real and has nothing to do with any potion?”

A stifled sob escaped her. “I had hoped to obtain an antidote from Mrs. Greenwood, but she and her family have gone to Bath to help with a relative’s livery stable.”

Bath—an easy two-day journey. “Then I shall take you there, and we shall find her.”

“What? No, I could not possibly travel there with you. It would not be proper.”

“Georgiana will accompany us, and you will go as her guest. She already adores you and will be elated at my suggestion of inviting you on a trip to Bath.”

“Oh, well…um…yes, I suppose that would work.”

With her agreement, the tension throughout my core dissipated. I took her in my arms, and she rested her temple against my breast-bone. “Please do not fret, Elizabeth. All will be well. I have never been more certain of anything.” A shudder stirred her, but she made no protest. I would not allow anything to separate us, certainly not a supposititious “love potion.”

Part 5: The Truth

Tuesday, 3 December

En Route to Bath

Elizabeth

Arosy bloom complemented Miss Darcy’s complexion during her exuberant description of the most recent concert she had attended in London, featuring a cantata by the Austrian composer Ignaz Playel. I heeded her enthusiastic narrative for the most part, taking periodic glances at my beloved Mr. Darcy, seated across from us in the coach.

Despite the many hours of forced confinement, I treasured this time with Mr. and Miss Darcy. With bittersweet clarity, I learnt how enjoyable travel could be in luxurious accommodations with the man of my heart and his charming sister. The three of us conversed on a myriad of topics, and we took turns reading aloud from the books Mr. Darcy had provided for the journey. Miss Darcy believed this excursion to be primarily a pleasure trip to include an unspecified matter of business that I should accomplish with Mr. Darcy’s assistance.

Remembrances of our kiss continued to haunt me. I had made the request on impulse, so I should have a sweet memory to sustain me the rest of my life. How could I have known that delectable, wondrous contact would stir a fire within me? I ached for more: to savour his touch, breathe in his essence, and be comforted by his embrace again. I reminded myself that our situation demanded prudence: if all went as planned, he would soon be free of me and his true destiny restored.

Miss Darcy and Mr. Darcy described their favourite places in Bath, making each one sound enchanting. With luck, I might be granted the opportunity to visit these landmarks. Yet who could predict what Mr. Darcy would do once liberated from the effects of the potion? I should be prepared for the possibility that he may send me home earlier than our planned four-night stay in the spa town.

My father had readily agreed to let me accompany the Darcys on this trip; he knew how much I longed to see other areas of the country. At first, Mama argued I ought to remain and assist with preparations for the breakfast following my sister’s wedding. Jane, though, directed a gleeful expression my way as she uttered an ingenious rebuttal: “Lizzy must be permitted to go, Mama. After all, no one of our acquaintance is better situated than Mr. Darcy to introduce her to other eligible, wealthy men.” Mama made no further objection.

We broke our jaunt at a charming inn on the outskirts of Reading. The next morning, we indulged in a long walk. By the time we arrived to Bath, the sun had fallen. Mr. Darcy had reserved rooms at a stylish lodging house on Laura Place.

The following day, after an early breakfast at the lodging house, the three of us toured Sydney Gardens, touted as Bath’s version of Vauxhall Gardens. Despite my trepidation for what would happen when we met Mrs. Greenwood that afternoon, I took delight in the extravagant spectacle; besides the abundance of flora, the site included a grotto, small castle, labyrinth, and newly constructed canal with iron bridges.

We stopped for tea in the luxurious Sydney Hotel. Afterwards, Mr. Darcy and I parted with Miss Darcy at our rented rooms and entered the carriage. We crossed the Pulteney Bridge, a striking Palladian structure with shops built on either side offering spectacular views of the River Avon, and proceeded to the Pump-room where we added our names to the list of visitors. At one end of the room, an orchestra played chamber music.

Dozens of travellers and locals of all classes made an amusing spectacle as they promenaded the noble, stone space featuring Corinthian columns and arched windows. The spa water, purported to have medicinal qualities, flowed from a grand marble fountain. An elderly woman dispensed samples to Mr. Darcy and me. The tepid liquid had an odd, metallic taste.

Mr. Darcy’s efficient and enterprising groom, who had been sent ahead to secure our travel arrangements, had also traced the Greenwood family to a livery stable on Westgate Street, our next destination.