Page 4 of An Accidental Meeting
When the fracas had quieted, Darcy realised that he was now alone in the gallery with Elizabeth. His heart picked up its pace.
“Miss Bennet,” he said, for while he had long thought of her as Elizabeth, he would never disrespect her by speaking her Christian name aloud. He offered her a bow though it seemed a bit late to do so. “Forgive me, but . . . why are you here?”
He swore again, silently this time, when her complexion transformed from pink to grey. That was all he needed, to further insult Elizabeth when he had been working so hard to improve himself. His inability to remain in the same carriage as Miss Bingley for any length of time was proof of how different a man he had become.
“And now you have more evidence of my uncouth behaviour,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck tiredly. “It appears I cannot help but say things for which I must beg pardon. Please, Miss Bennet, will you accept my genuine apology?” He allowed his hand to drop. “I am merely concerned for Mrs. Reynolds. Iamsurprised to find you here, but it does not follow that I amdispleased. In fact, it is a rather pleasant discovery.” And now he was rambling. He closed his mouth, hoping that the shock of her appearance would not continue to affect his speech.
She arched one eyebrow at him. “You have every reason to be surprised, sir. My uncle and aunt wished to tour Pemberley and I could not refuse, for they do not know what has passed between us.” She lifted her chin. “We were assured you would not be here until tomorrow.”
Her lips were pursed, and Elizabeth sounded almost as though she were scolding him for arriving at his own home too early. Was she still angry with him?
“That is true,” he said haltingly. “I had some business with my steward that I believed could wait, but then Mrs. Reynolds sent a note to tell me that my great-uncle Darcy and his wife had arrived unexpectedly. I thought I ought to ride ahead both to greet them and tend to the steward’s questions.”
“I see,” she said with a nod. “Do your relations live nearby?”
“Not far at all. They only come to stay when my cousin has one of his house parties.”
This produced a small smile. “Do they not know that you plan one of your own?”
She must have had that information from Mrs. Reynolds. “Well,” Darcy replied with a laugh, “this is a rather different sort of party.”
She waited expectantly.
“My cousin is a member of The Royal Society. He and his associates use the grounds for a variety of experiments.” That truly explained everything, but his uncle could tell his own stories if she wished to hear them. First, though, he must issue a warning. “My own party is comprised of those with whom you have an acquaintance.”
“Oh?”
“Bingley and his sisters are on their way to Scarborough and will break their journey here. I thought it only right to invite him and his family given the invitation he made to me last autumn.”
Elizabeth’s normally expressive countenance was blank. “Have they been in London all this while?”
Darcy shook his head. “Bingley and his family departed London not long after I travelled to Kent and were gone when I returned. The Hursts had accepted invitations for them all to several house parties, one after the other.”
She watched him carefully as she asked, “Were you not invited yourself?”
No, nor had he wished to be. The families they had visited all had unmarried female relations as well as hosts who drank too much and played too high. “These were Mr. Hurst’s friends.”
“Do you not count Mr. Hurst a friend, then?” she asked playfully, and then appeared a little ashamed of herself.
Darcy shook his head. “An acquaintance from my club. He did do me the great service of introducing me to Bingley, however.”
She nodded but had nothing further to add.
He shook himself a bit. What was he doing? Elizabeth was standing next to him, alone in the long gallery. She would think him impolite at best. “Miss Bennet, I must ask you to forgive me a third time. We have been speaking here all this while, but you must have friends who are missing you.”
Elizabeth worried her bottom lip, and Darcy ached to press his lips to hers in just that spot. He swallowed and remained perfectly still.
“Yes, you are quite right. My own aunt and uncle await me in the garden. Mrs. Reynolds was to lead me to them.”
“Were you lost, madam?” he asked teasingly before he thought better of it. It was only that he had never seen her discomposed by his presence before, and he found it—her—charming.
Her complexion had been pink before, but now the colour rose deeper and spread down her neck and chest . . . He blinked and forced his eyes upwards.
“I was admiring the art, Mr. Darcy.”
He recalled Mrs. Reynolds’s words, then glanced back at the portrait on the floor behind them, the frame broken at two corners, now useless. Darcy warned himself not to give way to the hope that rose, unbidden, in his breast. He already knew how painful the fall could be. But perhaps there was a way to use this accidental meeting to his advantage.
“May I escort you to them?”
