Page 69 of Undone

"Do you believe what she said of your father?"

Darcy considered the question.

"I believe she remembers it as she described it. Whether my father acted with unnecessary severity, I may never know. But her father’s guilt does not excuse hers. I do know that my father lamented Mr. Hartley's death, for he recorded as much amongst his papers.”

Darcy crossed to the window. Outside, Colonel Forster directed the prisoners towards the waiting carriage while the sergeant stood guard. Mrs. Vane paused beside the steps and turned her face towards the distant hills.

For years she had nourished her hatred of the Darcy name, allowing it to consume every better impulse. She had waited, planned, and drawn others into her designs. Yet when Darcy looked upon her now, he saw neither a triumphant enemy nor the fearsome figure he had imagined, but a woman who had surrendered her entire life to a grief she could never relinquish.

He thought of Georgiana, frightened and ashamed after Ramsgate. He thought of the dangers at Pemberley, of every unexplained misfortune, and of the unseen hands that had carried knowledge of his movements and affairs beyond the estate.

Then, as his anger at last began to loosen its hold, his thoughts turned to Elizabeth Bennet.

During his brief return to Hertfordshire, he had often wondered whether she had heard of his arrival, or whether she had walked to Oakham Mount in the hope of seeing him. He had longed to go there himself, but dared not risk drawing attention to his movements. Although they believed only Wickham and Mrs. Younge had been watching him, they could not be certain no other accomplices remained. He would not risk placing Elizabeth in danger.

Darcy released a slow breath. The anger remained, but it no longer possessed him.

Richard came to stand beside him. "It is finished, Darcy."

Beyond the window, Mrs. Vane entered the carriage. Colonel Forster followed, and the door closed behind them.

"Yes," Darcy said quietly.

For the first time in a long time, he truly believed it.

Twenty-Seven

Longbourn

14th December, 1811

Elizabeth

Every day since Jane had told her of Mr. Darcy's return, Elizabeth had walked to Oakham Mount, save on those mornings when the weather rendered the attempt impossible. That morning had been one of them. The first snow of the season had fallen during the night, leaving the fields sodden beneath a thin crust of frost and the air sharp enough to sting wherever it found uncovered skin, yet she had gone nevertheless, unwilling to surrender even a single morning to uncertainty.

She climbed the familiar path with her boots sinking into half-frozen earth at every step, and stood for some time upon the summit, her breath hanging white before her as she watched the empty road below. No rider appeared. It was the same quiet disappointment she had carried home severally, no easier for repetition, only more familiar, until she scarcely knew whether she continued to climb the hill because she expected him still, or because she could not yet bring herself to relinquish the expectation altogether.

At length she turned for home, chilled through despite the exertion of the walk. She had scarcely reached the drive at Longbourn before an unfamiliar carriage caught her eye, standing before the house with its horses still steaming faintly in the cold. It was a handsome equipage, plainly belongingto a gentleman of consequence, and before reason had any opportunity to interfere, her heart gave one violent leap.

She hastened forward with rather less composure than she would willingly have acknowledged, paying little attention to the state of her muddied skirts as she entered the house.

The drawing room was already full. Her sisters were seated about the room, their animated conversation betraying no small excitement at the unexpected callers. Mrs. Bennet's voice carried above every other, pitched in that particular manner reserved for visitors of consequence, and almost at once Elizabeth's eyes found the gentleman seated nearest the window, his hat still in his hand, as though he had only lately been persuaded to sit.

Mr. Darcy.

Mr. Bingley sat beside him, cheerful as ever, while another gentleman, somewhat older than Darcy, broad-shouldered but less handsome that the two men, occupied the closest seat beside the fire. Elizabeth did not recognise him.

"Ah, Lizzy." Mr. Bennet looked up from his chair. "You have chosen an unfortunate time to return. Mr. Darcy has already asked after you twice, and I had just begun assuring him you had not run away."

Elizabeth felt warmth rise to her face despite the cold she had carried indoors. She occupied herself with removing her gloves, not trusting herself to meet Mr. Darcy's eye immediately.

"Papa," she said, striving for composure she did not wholly possess. "You will embarrass our guests before I have even had the opportunity to welcome them."

"I merely repeat what has passed, my dear. Should you object to the account, I advise you to direct your complaint elsewhere."

She heard rather than saw Mr. Bennet return his attention to Mr. Bingley, who, after acknowledging her with a politeinclination of his head, resumed the conversation they had been engaged in before her arrival.

"Miss Elizabeth."