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He began to repeat that the preparations could be stopped. Elizabeth shook her head before he finished. “I have stopped them. I should like to live for a little while without having to discover what must be stopped next.”

The hurt on his face was so immediate that she nearly took a step towards him. She had made him understand something at last, and it was the one thing she had wished to spare him. He looked past her towards the table where her gloves lay, then back again.

“I cannot think this wise.”

“I know.” She had no answer which would make the decision please him. That was part of why it had to be made.

At her writing-table she composed a note asking whether the room her aunt had offered could be ready for the following day. She requested an answer by the same messenger. The copy of Lady Catherine's detailed letter was brought up while she wrote; she read it against the original in Darcy's presence, then kept the copy and let him take his letter back.

When a servant came for her note, she went downstairs with it herself. The porter called a messenger from the street at her request. Elizabeth gave him the Gardiners' direction, instructed him to return with their answer and paid the outward charge from the small sum in her purse. Darcy stood in the hall while she did it. She had expected him to prevent the note leaving, or at least to insist that his own servant carry it. He did neither.

After the messenger had gone, she passed her husband on the stairs. His hand rested on the rail, within inches of hers. She continued upwards without touching it, and found that the effort of passing him cost more than refusing his aunt.

CHAPTER 7

ELIZABETH

By Friday morning Elizabeth had money in her purse, a room waiting at her aunt's and no further excuse to remain among the half-packed things. The messenger had returned the previous evening with Mrs. Gardiner's answer. Her uncle had added a note about the hired carriage and the payment from her settled income which had been available since Monday. At nine a trusted servant from his house brought it to her, with the amount recorded on a folded sheet. Elizabeth counted the money herself before acknowledging its receipt.

The sum was ordinary enough. It would pay for small necessities and journeys; larger expenses would pass through her uncle's administration. Yet the purse lay differently in her hand. No one had asked what concession she meant to offer in exchange for it.

She packed the copy of her settlement and her copy of Lady Catherine's letter between two books. The key to Ashbourne went into her reticule, where it could do nothing useful that morning. She was going across London, not into a country house made ready by wishing. Her maid helped fold the last gown and asked whether she should pack enough for a week.

“Enough for the present,” Elizabeth said, then stopped. The girl needed something more useful than uncertainty. “Those three gowns, the linen in the upper drawer and my walking shoes. I shall send if I need anything else.”

She left the second volume of the novel upon the table. Darcy might suppose she had forgotten it. She picked it up, considered the few pages she still had to read, then put it into the travelling bag herself.

The hired carriage arrived at the appointed hour. From the landing she heard the porter ask where the smaller trunk should be placed, followed by the unfamiliar driver's answer. These men had no interest in whether she was right to leave. They wanted to know how much luggage there was.

Darcy was waiting below. He had dressed as carefully as on any other morning, and she resented the care until she came close enough to see that a second crease ran crookedly beneath the knot of his cravat. He took a step towards her as the servant carried down the bag.

* * *

“I have cancelled the northern journey,” he said.

“I know.”

“The servants have their instructions. Nothing more will be packed.” His gaze moved to the trunk passing them. “Elizabeth, there is no necessity for this.”

She rested her hand upon the newel post. “There is for me.”

He lowered his voice. “If it is privacy you require, you have your own rooms. You may see your sister whenever you choose. I have not prevented your visits to Charlotte.”

Each item was true in the limited form he gave it. She could have stayed to debate the limitations until the carriage horse grew restive outside. Instead she looked towards the open door, where her bag was being lifted into a vehicle she had a right to enter.

“I have asked for those things already. I cannot stay because you offer them again when I leave.”

“I am asking you to consider what a separation will invite people to suppose.”

“That I am visiting my aunt, for the present.” She met his eyes. “And later, whatever they choose. I cannot remain married for the convenience of people who dislike having to guess.”

His face changed at the word married. She had meant living with him, and he had heard something larger. The temptation to reassure him was immediate. She could promise a week, a fortnight, some small period which would make him less unhappy and herself less afraid. But a return date would become the next arrangement she had allowed him to expect before she knew whether she could fulfil it.

“I don't know when I shall come back.” Her hand tightened on the newel post.

Darcy's hand lifted as if he meant to take hers. She wanted the touch badly enough to stay still. Then he let his hand fall, and she was left with the knowledge that wanting it had not altered her decision.

“Will you write?”