Page 52 of Penned By Mr Darcy
“Am I known for my sense of humour?” Darcy asked in a dull voice. “I am certain. I would know it anywhere. She has it.”
“She is to accompany us on our walk around the garden. Ask her for it to be returned to you. Miss Elizabeth is an obliging girl. I am sure this is all some terrible misunderstanding. Perhaps she does not even know what it is she possesses.”
“A misunderstanding,” Darcy echoed. “I am sure.”
He glanced towards the closed door, picturing Miss Elizabeth hiding behind it. Was she at this very moment laughing at him? Did she mock each word he had written? Did she laugh at his sister’s misfortune, detailed so graphically within those pages that it would cause ruin should it reach London society? Perhaps she and Wickham plotted that very thing.
His eyes burned, his throat tight with betrayal.
The words he had written about her…
“Come, Darcy. Let us wait in the garden for them.”
He trudged out behind Bingley. They stood by the front door, and Darcy could not bring himself to speak as Bingley made idlechatter simply to fill the silence. He was not sure if he would ever be able to speak again.
Some time later, Miss Bennet emerged, accompanied by Miss Mary.
“Where is Miss Elizabeth?”
“She asks for your forgiveness, but she is not well.”
“I hope she is quite alright,” Bingley said, his forehead creasing with concern.
“Yes, she is just a little under the weather. Shall we walk, gentleman?”
Miss Mary fell in step with him quickly, her arms folded and her jaw tight. It was some comfort to know someone on this absurd walk was as uncomfortable as he was. They did not speak a word to one another, walking in miserable circles around the garden as Miss Bennet and Bingley spoke excitedly. Darcy’s eyes wandered out to the countryside.
There, he saw someone most familiar to him rapidly retreating from Longbourn. In fact, she was running. Her wild hair blew behind her as she slipped into the distance.
“Excuse me, Miss Mary,” he said with a brief bow. “I must return to Netherfield at once.”
“Darcy?” Bingley turned. “Where are you going?”
“I…I have correspondence I must write to my steward. Excuse me. A good day, ladies.”
He passed through the garden gate without hesitation, his steps directed away from the house, his gaze set firmly upon the distant fields. Miss Elizabeth had already departed, but he was resolved - he would reach her. He could not allow matters to remain as they were.
His pace quickened, urgency propelling him almost to a run. The path stretched long before him, but he gave no thought to the distance, nor to the ache in his chest. After some minutes - ten, perhaps more - he caught sight of her at last: a solitary figure ahead, walking swiftly across the golden field, the wind tugging at her skirts. She was unaware she was being pursued.
“Miss Elizabeth!” he called out, breathless.
She turned.
He saw it immediately - the diary clutched in her hands.
“Mr Darcy, I - ”
“Do you think I would not recognise my own diary?” he demanded, striding toward her. “Did you believe I would not do everything in my power to reclaim it? You pretended illness to avoid me - to avoidthis. Why?”
“I…” Her voice faltered.
“When did you take it? How did you steal it from me?”
“I did not steal it!” she exclaimed, her cheeks flushed with a mixture of indignation and guilt. “It was on the ground near the carriage as we left Netherfield. I - I ought to have left it there, I should have told you had dropped it, but…”
“But you took it,” he said, his voice low and trembling. “And you read it.”
“Yes.”
