Page 58 of To Win Her Affections

“Not at all. You already know my sentiments, Miss Bennet—I have resolved to do everything in my power to ensure that you do not regret your decision to accept me.”

“Then there is no need to worry,” said Miss Bennet, as if she considered the matter perfectly reasonable.

She stepped forward and laid a hand on his arm. “Let us not borrow trouble, Mr. Darcy. Much still needs to happen between us, but we are already coming to understand each other.”

Darcy watched her, trying to emulate her sense of confidence. The sincerity in her eyes made it easier to share her assurance, and he could not deny the sense in what she said. It was not yet what he had hoped to inspire, but seeing her so determined bolstered his conviction. There was, as she acknowledged, much they still needed to understand about each other, but they had time. The engagement was only a day old, and not even ratified by her father. There was no need to rush to the altar.

“Then we shall proceed with that understanding,” said Darcy. “For the moment, we must depart.”

Miss Bennet gave him a sour look, but she allowed him to guide her back toward the carriage, which was now ready. As they were walking, Darcy noticed an older woman of perhaps sixty years regarding them, appearing pleased. When she noticed them watching her, her pleasure grew, and she addressed them.

“You make a lovely couple.”

Darcy glanced at Miss Bennet, who looked back, amused by it all.

“We have only been engaged since yesterday,” said Darcy. “And we do not even have her father’s approval yet.”

“Not that I need it,” said Miss Bennet tartly. “Papa will not object anyway.”

The woman gave a little laugh. “You are a fiery one, my dear. That will serve you in good stead in a marriage with such a tall, imposing man.”

“She does not need it,” said Darcy.

“Already wrapped around her little finger, are you? Ah, young love. I remember it well.”

Then she smiled and stepped away to her own carriage, which was waiting nearby. Darcy turned to Miss Bennet with an upraised eyebrow.

“Am I wrapped around your finger?”

“No, I do not suppose you are,” replied she. “That is something I shall work on before the wedding.”

“You will not need to do much,” said Darcy.

Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner had emerged from the inn and were now speaking together, and the servants had already strapped all the luggage to the top of the carriage. Without further ado, they boarded and set out again.

THAT DAY WAS EVERYTHING they expected, mile after mile of monotonous travel broken only by the same stops as the previous day and conversation between the travelers. Somehow, however, Elizabeth found she could withstand it better—her thoughts kept her occupied, as she had much to consider.

The first thought that stayed with her was the brief encounter with the woman at the stop that morning. Two words stuck out to her: young love.

What Elizabeth could not determine was her meaning. Was the woman perceptive enough to see something that Elizabeth had not yet understood herself, or was she the sort to see what she wished? Either she had expected to see love in a young couple walking together, or there was something between Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy more than they had yet acknowledged.

Mr. Darcy’s affections were unquestioned—the gentleman had already declared himself and proved their constancy in countless small ways since they reunited. The question had always been her.

The notion that she had come to love Mr. Darcy during these few days together, after an acrimonious parting several months earlier, was ridiculous—or so Elizabeth thought. Yet she could not dismiss it altogether. Something was pulling them together, some force or imperative that Elizabeth could not explain, though she did not deny it. Whatever it was, her impression of the gentleman had undergone a radical change. For the first time, Elizabeth confronted the possibility that she was closer to loving Mr. Darcy than she had thought possible. The prospect was not displeasing.

As they traveled south, Elizabeth snuck glances at the gentleman when he was not observing her. The problem was that Mr. Darcy observed her often, and without seeming to realize what he was doing, rendering it nearly impossible to study him without his knowledge. It reminded her of when he was in Hertfordshire in the autumn, the way he looked at her almost absently—Charlotte, as she recalled, had commented on it more than once.

Elizabeth contented herself with thinking about Mr. Darcy. His physical features had never been in question, for he was a handsome man, broad-shouldered, tall, and powerfully built. Though she had known for months how agreeable he found her, she now confronted the evidence of it for the first time. Elizabeth could not say if a man’s admiration was enough for her to think of him more warmly, but such devotion was not unappealing.

Later that afternoon, they crossed the border into Hertfordshire, and Mr. Gardiner looked to Mr. Darcy. “We should decide whether to stop at Longbourn, for we are not far distant.”

Mr. Darcy nodded, but he did not reply at once. Instead, he looked at Elizabeth. She took this as an invitation to speak.

“It will delay us,” said Elizabeth, “but I cannot but wonder what state the house is in.”

“Let us call it what it is, Lizzy,” said Uncle Gardiner. “Jane wrote of my sister’s hysterics in her letter. Unless I have misjudged Maggie altogether, she has taken to her room, leaving the house, the estate, and her younger daughters and my children in Jane’s hands.”

“The more pressing issue,” said Mrs. Gardiner, “is what the servants know and what tales have spread to the community.”