Page 46 of Undone

"Indeed, sir?"

"I understand Mr. Darcy has lately quitted the neighbourhood. If so, I imagine Hertfordshire will prove the pleasanter for his absence."

The words struck with the force of a physical blow.

Quitted the neighbourhood?

For an instant the music faded, the conversations around them dissolved into an indistinct murmur, and she could hear only the echo of those three words.

While she had climbed Oakham Mount each morning believing him merely delayed, he had already left Hertfordshire.

At the thought, her fingers curled so tightly against her palm that the kid leather of her glove bit into her skin. She forced them to relax before Wickham could observe the movement.

"I had heard no such thing, sir."

"No?" His brows rose with convincing surprise. "I scarcely remember where I first heard it. One picks up all manner of intelligence in Meryton. Still, Mr. Darcy's absence this evening seems to lend the report some credit."

"Oh." It was the only word she trusted herself to utter.

His gaze rested upon her a moment longer than politeness required. She could not determine whether he sought merely conversation or something more. Whatever his object, she would not permit him the satisfaction of seeing how deeply the intelligence had affected her.

Before he could continue, Mr. Denny approached with another officer, apologising for the interruption and claiming Wickham to settle some disagreement respecting the next set.

"I shall hope for another opportunity of speaking with you this evening, Miss Bennet."

"You are very obliging, sir."

He bowed and departed with the same easy composure with which he had approached, laughing at something Mr. Denny said before they had crossed half the room.

Elizabeth scarcely noticed him go.

Quitted the neighbourhood?

The words would not release her.

How could Mr. Darcy be gone without a word?

She had not expected a letter. Such a thing would have been impossible. Nor had she imagined him to call to announce hisdeparture. Yet she could not reconcile herself to his leaving without once attempting to see her. One meeting, one farewell, however guarded, would have spared her this bewilderment.

She had not believed him capable of simply disappearing.

The first set was forming, obliging her to step aside as couples took their places upon the floor. The musicians struck the opening bars, conversation swelled once more, and laughter rose from every corner of the room.

The gaiety seemed strangely distant.

Whatever faults Mr. Darcy possessed, she had never known him capable of insincerity. If he had wished their acquaintance to end, he would not have continued seeking her company day after day. He would not have entrusted her with matters so deeply personal, nor spoken of a future in which secrecy would no longer be necessary.

Something had happened.

Whether duty had called him away, or whether the unseen danger he had spoken of had again intruded upon his life, she could not know. She knew only that he was gone, and that she had learned of it from the one man whose word she valued least.

Not knowing proved very nearly the cruellest part of the whole affair.

She drew one slow breath and composed her features before turning once more towards the company. No one must suspect that anything had altered. There was no one to whom she could speak of her disappointment, no one who could understand why the departure of a gentleman with whom she was scarcely acquainted, in the eyes of the world, should leave her heart so unexpectedly heavy.

And so, throughout the evening, she smiled when spoken to, answered when required, and let the festivities pass around her, while one question remained, stubbornly unanswered.

Why had Mr. Darcy gone?