Page 72 of Undone

They had nearly reached the end of the lower walk when Darcy said, “I confess I expected to see your cousin this morning. Your father mentioned that he had left Meryton.”

“A great many things have happened since you left without a word, sir.”

The reproach escaped before Elizabeth had intended to make it, and Darcy’s step faltered. She regretted the sharpness at once, though not the truth of it.

“Mr. Collins proposed to my friend Charlotte Lucas not long after your departure,” she continued, allowing him time to recover. “She accepted him, and he has since gone to obtain a licence so that the marriage may take place before Christmas.”

Darcy looked at her in undisguised astonishment. “Miss Lucas accepted him?”

“She did.”

“Had they formed an attachment of which I was unaware?”

“No attachment which either of them has troubled to claim.” Elizabeth could not prevent a slight smile. “Charlotte desires a comfortable establishment, and Mr. Collins requires a wife whom Lady Catherine may approve. Each believes the other suitable to the purpose.”

Darcy considered this with a gravity the subject scarcely deserved. “I suppose there are marriages founded upon less agreement.”

“There are undoubtedly marriages founded upon less understanding. Charlotte knows precisely what she has accepted, which is more than can be said for many brides.”

“And Mr. Collins?”

“Mr. Collins knows that she has accepted him. I believe that is the only understanding he considers necessary.”

A quiet laugh escaped Darcy, but it faded after a short while.

He turned to face her as they walked. “You were right to reproach me.”

“I did not mean to do so, sir.”

“Nevertheless, you were right. I left Hertfordshire without taking leave of you. I have regretted it every day since.”

“You could have come to Oakham Mount once more,” Elizabeth said softly. “Or, if that truly was impossible, you might at least have left word with Mr. Bingley. He already knew of our meetings.”

“I considered it. I considered coming to Oakham Mount once more before I left, though I knew the danger of it.” He drew a slow breath, his attention fixed upon her. “If Wickham or anyone connected with Mrs. Vane had observed us together again, there could have been no doubt that you were ofparticular importance to me. I had already given them too much opportunity to suspect it.”

Elizabeth’s heart beat painfully at the quiet admission. “So, you left to protect me.”

“I believed removing myself from Hertfordshire was the surest means of doing so. Wickham could not easily abandon his commission to follow me, and if my movements ceased to provide Mrs. Vane with any advantage here, I hoped her attention would turn elsewhere.” He looked away, his jaw tightening. “It was a poor sort of protection, leaving you to suppose whatever you pleased of my silence, but it was the only one I could offer without increasing the danger.”

She could not remain angry while hearing him speak so, yet the hurt of those solitary mornings had not vanished merely because it now possessed an honourable explanation. “I continued to go.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“To Oakham Mount.” Elizabeth clasped her hands before her, watching them rather than his face. “From all I heard through Jane, Mr. Bingley said business had called you away, and I understood you would not be there. Still, I went nearly every morning. At first, I thought perhaps you had been delayed only a day, then that you might return before anyone expected you. Even after I knew better, I found I could not quite persuade myself to stop hoping.”

Darcy had become entirely still. “You waited for me?”

“Not for very long on the first mornings,” she said, attempting a lightness she did not feel. “Longer afterwards, which was exceedingly foolish, since every day made your appearance less likely. When Jane told me you had returned, I went again as much as the weather allowed. Five mornings, Mr. Darcy. This morning was the sixth.”

He closed his eyes briefly, and when he opened them, the composure he had maintained throughout the account of Mrs. Vane was no longer so secure. “The thought of you going there and finding no one was the last thing I considered before I left Netherfield.”

Elizabeth looked up at him.

“I knew you would come,” he continued. “I imagined you reaching the summit, waiting, and slowly believing I had chosen not to return. I very nearly went to you despite every argument against it. Had I seen you once more, however, I do not know that I should have possessed the resolution to leave at all.”

“For a time,” Elizabeth said in almost a whisper, “I believed our friendship had mattered only to me.”

“No.” The word came with such feeling that Elizabeth’s breath caught. Darcy took a step nearer, though a proper distance remained between them. “You must never believe that. Our conversations mattered more to me than I had any right to permit, and long before I left, I had ceased to think of them as mere friendship.”