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She reached for the knob, turned it and opened the door. “Papa,” she said, relieved as she stepped aside, encouraging him to enter.

“My dear, I have information that Mr. Darcy is currently away from Pemberley.”

“Oh,” she said, hoping her voice did not evidence her relief in hearing this. A part of her wondered about the precise timing of his leave-taking: just after composing his hurtful letter or at the break of dawn. Not that it mattered to her.

Mr. Bennet nodded. “Indeed. I thought it best to speak with him directly to convey our sudden change in plans.”

“I am sure Mr. Darcy will have no objection. He most certainly will not be offended by being denied the opportunity for a formal goodbye.”

“After all the unparalleled courtesy the Darcys have shown our family these past weeks, I believe it is incumbent upon us to thank the young man properly.”

Endeavoring to mask her true feelings, Elizabeth said, “Have you any indication when he might return? I believe it is equally incumbent upon us to set out upon our journey sooner rather than later—that is to say, unless we mean to toss our schedule into complete disarray.”

“You make a good point, my dear. Mr. Darcy’s steward did say he had no knowledge of when the young man will return.” He shrugged. “I shall write a letter to Mr. Darcy instead—one that expresses my sincerest gratitude for his family’s hospitality.”

Half smiling, Elizabeth stood on the tips of her toes and kissed her father’s bearded chin. “Thank you, Papa. I really believe it is better this way.”

Some hours later, after the Bennets’ belongings were loaded on the carriage, Darcy arrived on horseback. From the look of things, he had been riding with a fair amount of urgency. Jumping down from his stallion, he first approached Mr. Bennet. The two exchanged words. Elizabeth stood too far away to hear any part of the conversation, but their discourse seemed cordial enough.

Then it was Elizabeth’s turn. He approached her tentatively. “Miss Elizabeth,” he said, bowing – his voice questioning.

Without meeting his eyes, Elizabeth curtsied. “Mr. Darcy.”

“If I may, I would have a word with you.”

Not wanting to remember why she was ever drawn to the new master of Pemberley, Elizabeth summoned her courage, attempting to avoid making eye contact with him. Having committed every word of the letter to heart, it pained her thinking of how she once thought she knew this man.

“I think you have said enough already.”

“Elizabeth,” he said in a voice meant only for her ears.

“I thank you to refer to me as Miss Bennet, sir,” she said coolly.

She then ascended the carriage stairs, refusing to look anywhere but forward. In a shorter space of time than even Elizabeth had supposed possible mere hours earlier, the carriage was on its way. As it drew farther and farther from the manor house, she never once looked back. If she had, she would have seen Fitzwilliam Darcy, the young master of Pemberley, still standing there.

Confounded, at length Darcy returned inside the house and was immediately met by one of his servants bearing a silver salver. There upon was a letter. Taking it, he nodded his gratitude to his servant, and then went to the library to read it.

Immediately upon tearing open the seal, he quickly perused the words and discerned the letter was from Elizabeth.

Perhaps, she explains in this letter the reason for her hasty leave-taking as well as her lack of civility when saying goodbye.

Without the slightest expectation of pleasure in light of Elizabeth’s refusal to even look at him, he did not bother to sit. Pacing the floor, he read what she had to say in deeply perturbed silence.

Abruptly halting his steps, he read a part of the letter aloud.

I listened in disgust coupled with disdain as Mr. Wickham – a true gentleman in every way, despite your repeated attempts to convince me otherwise – conveyed numerous accounts of your callous treatment of others, and most especially those whom you believe are beneath you in consequence.

Try as I might, how could I dismiss his words even as I suspect that my own sister may have been the latest in a long string of unfortunate young women whose sensibilities and innocence you abused merely for sport. I must now consider that my sister is most fortunate to have escaped what would have most certainly been a dire circumstance with a man of your character.

Darcy ran his fingers through his hair in exasperation. And this is Elizabeth’s opinion of me. This is the reason she chose not to meet me last night after sending word earlier by way of a note expressing her desire to meet in the blue room at midnight. This is the reason she scarcely looked at me this morning.

As if intending to exasperate himself as much as possible, he read the letter again, starting from the beginning. His disillusionment increased with every review of every line.

Leaning against the mantelpiece with his eyes fixed on the harsh words written on the page in his free hand, a sudden awareness overtook him.

Time and time again, I have warned her about this man, and yet she refused to heed my advice.

The rest of the letter, he commenced reading in silence. At length, he folded the missive and tucked it into his pocket.