Page 37 of Near Pemberley

Her aunt seated herself at the writing table.

After several moments’ consideration, she wrote only what necessity required: that urgent family business obliged them to quit Lambton immediately, and that they were deeply sensible of Mr. Darcy’s civility and regretted exceedingly being prevented from waiting upon him at Pemberley as intended.

Nothing more.

Elizabeth was grateful for the restraint.

She could not have borne a fuller explanation.

By the time the note was sealed, the room no longer resembled the peaceful breakfast parlour of an hour earlier. Trunks stood half-packed near the door; servants hurried in and out; Mr. Gardiner had already begun making enquiries regarding fresh horses for the journey south.

Amidst the confusion, Elizabeth moved almost mechanically.

Only once did she pause beside the window.

The morning remained beautiful.

Somewhere beyond the distant hills stood Pemberley – calm, ordered, untouched by disgrace. Somewhere within it was Mr. Darcy, perhaps at that very moment expecting her arrival.

Pemberley and Mr. Darcy seemed to belong suddenly to another world entirely.

Elizabeth pressed her hand briefly against her eyes.

Whatever had begun to revive between them yesterday seemed suddenly beyond recovery. And this time, she feared, forever.

***

Darcy rode faster than prudence entirely approved.

Though outwardly composed when he had ordered the carriage and mounted his horse, inwardly his uneasiness had now deepened into something far more difficult to master. Delay alone could not account for such absence. Some hindrance might naturally occur upon the road; yet he could not persuade himself that Miss Bennet would willingly fail an engagement merely from carelessness or indecision.

Something had happened.

Again and again, he attempted to reason himself into calm. A broken trace. An indisposition. Some trivial interruption exaggerated by impatience into significance.

Yet none of these explanations satisfied him.

By the time Lambton appeared before him, his horse had begun to show signs of the pace at which he had travelled; but Darcy did not notice it. He dismounted almost before the groom had properly reached him and entered the inn without waiting to be announced.

The innkeeper himself came forward, his expression betraying visible embarrassment. “Mr. Darcy, sir, I was just preparing to send to Pemberley.”

Darcy stopped. A sensation colder than alarm passed through him.

“The Gardiners?”

“They are gone, sir.”

At first, he said nothing at all. “Gone?”

“Yes, sir. Left about two hours ago in very great haste.”

Darcy looked at him steadily. “Why was no message sent?”

The innkeeper coloured deeply. “One of the stable lads was taken ill this morning, sir, and the other was out with the post-chaise. I intended – I was just preparing – to send word myself.”

Darcy mastered himself with visible effort. “They left no explanation?”

“Oh, yes, sir. A note was left for you by Mrs. Gardiner.”