Page 73 of Mr. Darcy's Runaway Bride
Darcy stood motionless, unable to formulate a response that might bridge the chasm suddenly yawning between them. “I ask only that you consider carefully before taking such an irrevocable step.”
With a formal bow, he withdrew from the library, leaving Elizabeth to her solitude.
The remainder of the evening passed in a fog of disbelief. Darcy retired early, ignoring Lady Catherine’s pointed remarks about Elizabeth’s absence from the drawing-room. Once alone, he paced his chamber, alternating between self-recriminationand fruitless attempts to compose a response that might salvage their marriage.
Had he truly been so blind? So arrogant in his presumptions? The conversation he had overheard between Elizabeth and her mother took on a new complexion considering her steadfast defence of Jane. Mrs Bennet’s deliberations had clouded his judgement, leading him to paint the entire family with the same brush.
Darcy paused in his pacing to gaze out the window at the moonlit gardens. How could he have been so willing to believe the worst of the Bennets? In his pride, he had allowed his prejudices to guide his actions, certain he understood a situation that was far more complex than he had imagined.
Towards dawn, exhaustion finally claimed him, though his sleep was restless and filled with troubling dreams. He woke with the first light of morning, a sense of urgency driving him from his bed. Despite the early hour, he must speak with Elizabeth again.
The passage was silent as he made his way to her chamber. He knocked, receiving no response. With mounting apprehension, he tried the door, finding it unlocked. The room beyond was empty, the bed unslept in.
He opened her armoire and found it too empty.
Sweat broke out on his forehead and he rushed to her writing desk. There, he found a folded note.
I cannot remain here where forces actively work against me and where your aunt looks gleefully down upon me and mine. I cannot remain where I am constantly reminded ofhow little I or my family are wanted or valued. Please do not come for me. I shall provide my location in due course so the annulment of our marriage can be fulfilled.
Elizabeth Bennet
Darcy stared at the letter, a cold dread washing over him. She had signed with her maiden name—Bennet, not Darcy—a symbolic severing that cut deeper than her words of annulment. He sank into the chair by her desk, the letter clutched in his trembling hand.
“Fitzwilliam?” came a voice from the doorway. Georgiana stood there, her expression troubled. “What has happened? Where is Elizabeth?”
Darcy looked up at his sister, his face ashen. “She’s gone,” he said simply. “And I fear it is entirely my doing.”
Chapter 26
Elizabeth
Elizabeth’s journey from Kent to London had taken less than a day, the hired post-chaise carrying her northwards through a landscape she scarcely observed. Her mind, preoccupied with the bitter exchange at Rosings, paid little heed to the passing scenery—until the sprawling metropolis revealed itself.
And then, she arrived. Her uncle’s home loomed before her. How odd that it was at once the place she’d fled from, and now the place she sought refuge at.
She lifted the knocker when the door opened, revealing her aunt’s concerned face.
“Lizzy! Goodness, we received your express but an hour ago.”
“Forgive me for descending upon you without proper notice,” Elizabeth said as Mrs Gardiner embraced her. Her familiar rose scent was like coming home. Why was it that her Aunt Gardiner had always provided her with more maternal love and affection than her own mother ever could?
“Nonsense, my dear. You are always welcome.”
Within moments, Elizabeth found herself ushered into the familiar parlour, a cup of tea pressed into her hands, and Mrs Gardiner’s gentle enquiries meeting her ears. The mundane comfort of it all—the crackling fire, the orderly room with itswell-polished furniture, the scent of beeswax and lavender—nearly undid her composure.
“My uncle is not at home?” Elizabeth asked, noting his absence.
“He is at his warehouse, but shall return for dinner. I have sent a boy to inform him of your arrival.” Mrs Gardiner studied her niece carefully. “You look quite exhausted, Lizzy. Is all well between you and Mr Darcy? I was so pleased to hear you finally called on your parents. They were so worried.”
The simple question broke the fragile dam of Elizabeth’s control. Tears welled in her eyes despite her efforts to master them.
“Oh, my dear girl,” Mrs Gardiner murmured, moving to sit beside her. “Tell me everything.”
And so, Elizabeth did, beginning with the Blackfriars, her discovery of Jonathan’s controlling nature, and her desperate flight from the church. She recounted her chance meeting with Mr Darcy, his extraordinary proposal, their journey to Gretna Green, and the change between them neither had seen coming.
“We found a harmony at Pemberley,” Elizabeth admitted, dabbing at her eyes with her aunt’s handkerchief. “A companionship I had not thought possible when I accepted his offer.”
Mrs Gardiner listened without interruption, her expression showing neither shock nor censure as Elizabeth described the deepening of her feelings for Darcy, the disastrous visit to Hertfordshire, and finally, the revelations at Rosings.
