Page 113 of Mr. Darcy’s Diamonds

“Elizabeth!”

He did not have time to see her or explain anything now. He wrote a quick note to Bingley, enclosing the coveted museum tickets for the next morning. If only he knew where Richard could be found. Sending a note to his regular lodgings requesting assistance, Darcy set off.

She should never have told him. No, she had known it was a risk, but she cared too much for Mr. Darcy to go on lying to him, even if only by omission. It had not ended as she had hoped, but it had ended as she anticipated. He was gone. Once again, he was gone. Mr. Darcy had left her without a word of explanation. He would now avoid her forever. He may have come to terms with her being the daughter of a tenant farmer, which was truly more than she could have hoped for, but her being base-born was too much for any gentleman to associate with her.

Why had she not waited until after the museum excursion to tell him? Now she had lost her chance to see the famed Rosetta Stone and to try to decipher its secrets. She had been working to focus on this smaller loss to avoid being overcome with grief for Mr. Darcy’s final abandonment.

She and her aunt and uncle had stood outside the British Museum for almost two hours, waiting for Mr. Darcy and Mr. Bingley to arrive with their entry passes, marked eleven o’clock. They were allowed inside for only two hours, so when they still had seen no sign of the gentlemen at half past noon, they had returned home.

Elizabeth understood well how to handle her seasons of loneliness, so she did not stop to feel sorry for herself this time. She knew from experience she would feel like herself again as soon as she forced herself to help her aunt, teach the children at the Foundling Hospital, play with her cousins, and pursue her favorite activities.

Three years earlier, her uncle had started carrying her favorite art and sewing supplies at his Emporium, so she took Matthew to help her purchase a new stock of canvases, paints, and sundries. A few days later, she and her aunt went to purchase new sheet music and fabric. Elizabeth decided Mandy and Bella were ready for a new song, and their mother wished to sew them new dresses that Elizabeth agreed to embroider.

All Elizabeth had to do was keep moving, keep creating, keep helping, keep busying her mind. It had always worked in the past. This time, though, she often had to wipe away tears before she realized she was thinking of Mr. Darcy again. She did not wish to vilify him, but when he had hurt her before, it had been easier because she had blamed him and found reasons to dislike him. She tried to dislike him now, but she could not. She tried to blame him for leaving her, but she could not.

He owed her nothing. He had done more than she ever could have hoped in the name of friendship. How could she recover from the loss of him unless she found some way to think ill of him?

Chapter Forty-Eight

It was half past ten but not yet fully dark when Darcy reached the house he had leased for his sister. He heard voices and laughter of both men and women in the drawing room as he removed his hat and gloves, but by the time he reached the room a few minutes later, only Mrs. Younge, Georgiana, and a footman were present, calmly drinking tea.

He looked about suspiciously and saw a door ajar on the opposite end of the room, a dirty teacup and plate on a sideboard. His sister sat alone on a settee with a crushed pillow beside her. When she saw him, she jumped up and approached him.

“Brother! What a surprise to see you so late. Would you care for some tea?”

“Not now, Georgiana. Who was here a moment ago?”

His sister flushed and smiled bashfully. Mrs. Younge, sitting behind where his sister now stood, looked decidedly more embarrassed and less joyful.

“George had to leave, but he will return tomorrow to speak with you.”

“George?” On his long ride here, Darcy had not allowed himself to dwell long on the possibility that George Wickham could have sunk so low as to seduce his godfather’s daughter. Please let it be another George!

“You know, your friend George Wickham.”

Darcy’s heart sank. Was this retribution for rescuing Elizabeth from his claws?

“He said you would be so happy with our engagement that we should surprise you after we married. I am so excited you have come, though. We were to travel to Scotland on Monday, but it will be better to have you with us to help us celebrate.”

He closed his eyes to gain control of his temper. When he opened them, he saw Mrs. Younge attempting to slink out of the room.

“Mrs. Younge! You will be seated until you are dismissed.”

The woman cowered in the nearest chair.

“Georgiana, where is your maid, Alice?”

“Upstairs. She is always upstairs when George comes, as Mrs. Younge is generally with us.”

“Generally with…You there.” Darcy indicated the footman, who still stood dumbly in the room. “Go get Alice.”

“Yes, sir.”

Darcy was fuming but did not know how far his anger should reach.

“Mrs. Younge. Did Wickham propose marriage to my sister in your hearing, and did they intend to elope on Monday?”

The woman, who suddenly looked ten years older than her thirty-six years, nodded.