Page 11 of Near Pemberley

He stopped.

The sentence, begun with habitual civility, seemed to fail him. He drew a breath, as if recollecting himself, and made a slight bow.

“… of meeting you here.”

Elizabeth felt the force of his astonishment, and something in it – something almost like agitation – rendered her own composure more difficult.

“Nor I of meeting you, sir.”

There was a brief pause.

Both seemed conscious that they ought to say more, and neither appeared equal to deciding what that should be.

Elizabeth looked down, then raised her head.

He met her eyes only for a moment. Even so small an exchange seemed to cost him composure.

“I live here.” He shifted his weight, as though the fact required an apology.

His usual ease was not present; or rather, it was present only in fragments, assumed and relinquished in quick succession. He bowed, and though his manner retained all its usual propriety, she could not but perceive that it was not wholly at ease.

“You are in Lambton,” he said at last.

The observation was unnecessary. But wonder still held him, as though naming the place might make her presence there comprehensible.

“Yes.”

“Alone?”

That brought Elizabeth out of her stupor. A smile broke out on her face. “Though I am very sensible of the pleasures of independence; no, I am not alone.”

“Of course, you are not.” He altered his stance almost imperceptibly.

“We arrived some days ago.”

“With friends, I presume?”

“With my aunt and uncle, Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner.” Then she added, “From London.”

At this, a change, slight but perceptible, passed over his countenance. “Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner,” he repeated.

Elizabeth felt a slight uneasiness. “Yes.”

He looked at her with a steadiness which she found difficult to support. “I had the honour of making their acquaintance yesterday at Pemberley.”

Elizabeth felt the colour rise in her cheeks. “I am aware of it,” she said.

He paused.

Something in his manner changed – not outwardly, for his posture remained composed – but inwardly, as though a conclusion had formed which he could neither entirely suppress nor immediately express.

“You were not with them.”

The words were spoken quietly, but without uncertainty.

“No.”

Something flickered across his face – disappointment perhaps, though it vanished too quickly for certainty.