Page 20 of Mr. Darcy's Runaway Bride
“There is no need for thanks, Miss Bennet. I believe our arrangement shall prove advantageous to us both.”
His words, though spoken with apparent sincerity, reminded Elizabeth of the transactional nature of their understanding. This was not to be a union of genuine affection, but rather one of mutual convenience. She would do well to remember that distinction, lest she develop expectations their agreement could not fulfil.
As London receded behind them and the countryside unfolded, Elizabeth felt the weight of the day’s events descend upon her. Exhaustion claimed her, and she surrendered to its embrace, closing her eyes as the carriage bore her towards an uncertain future.
Chapter 7
Elizabeth
Elizabeth woke with a start, momentarily disoriented by the carriage’s rumbling. She blinked against the afternoon light, embarrassed to discover she had drifted to sleep. Across from her, Mr Darcy sat with a small travelling desk balanced on his knees, quill moving steadily across parchment.
“I beg your pardon,” she said, straightening in her seat. “I did not intend to sleep.”
Darcy looked up, setting his quill aside. “No apology needed, Miss Bennet. You clearly required rest after the events of this morning.”
“How long have I slept?”
“Nearly three hours,” he replied. “I took the opportunity to attend to some correspondence.”
Elizabeth smoothed her skirts. “Three hours! You must think me terribly rude.”
“Not at all,” Darcy assured her. “The circumstances of our departure were extraordinarily taxing. It would be unreasonable to expect you to maintain conversation through an entire day’s journey.”
His considerate response eased her discomfort. She peeked at the passing scenery, noting they had left Londonfar behind. The landscape had opened into rolling countryside dotted with small villages and farms.
The carriage rolled steadily northward as the rain lessened to a light patter against the roof. Elizabeth sat with her hands folded in her lap.
Mr Darcy had returned to his correspondence, his tall frame angled slightly towards the window, his expression one of concentration. The strong profile, the firm set of his jaw, the occasional furrow in his brow suggested deep contemplation.
“I believe we shall have fair weather tomorrow,” Darcy remarked at last, closing his travelling desk and setting it aside.
Elizabeth startled at the sudden resumption of conversation. “Indeed? That would make for a more pleasant journey.”
“The coachman believes we may reach Gretna Green within four days, weather permitting, sooner if we travel through the night.”
She nodded, uncertain how to respond.
“Miss Bennet,” Darcy began, clearing his throat. “I realise we know precious little about one another. Perhaps it would be beneficial to remedy that situation.”
She angled her body in his direction. “A sensible suggestion, Mr Darcy.” She paused, considering what to share. “You are aware of my circumstances—my father’s financial difficulties, the entailment of our estate, my near-marriage to Mr Blackfriars.”
“Yes, though I confess I know little beyond that. You mentioned sisters?”
“Four,” Elizabeth replied. “Jane is the eldest, a year my senior. Then myself, followed by Mary, Catherine—though we call her Kitty—and Lydia, who at sixteen is the youngest.”
“Five daughters,” Darcy observed. “Any wed?”
“No, none. And the entailment means Longbourn will pass to our distant cousin, Mr Franklin upon my father’s death. He is not the sort who would seek to occupy it. He would rent it out, most likely, and cast us out into the unknown. The estate is indebted as it is. Without suitable marriages, my sisters and mother face a precarious future.”
“It is an unfortunate system that places women in such vulnerable positions,” Darcy said. “I understand why your father might have favoured the Blackfriars connection.”
“Understanding does not excuse his actions,” Elizabeth said, her tone sharper than intended.
“No,” Darcy agreed. “It does not.”
“What of your family, Mr Darcy?” Elizabeth asked.
“My parents are deceased. I became master of Pemberley at three-and-twenty. My sister Georgiana is my only immediate relation. She is eighteen this autumn, though she often seems younger.” A fond expression softened his features. “She is exceedingly shy but possesses a genuine sweetness of temperament. She plays the pianoforte with remarkable skill.”
