Page 5 of An Accidental Meeting
She nodded. “Thank you, sir.” Darcy recalled that he was still dirty and therefore did not offer her his arm, but he walked alongside her as they headed for the stairs.
Elizabeth’s countenance was troubled. “I wanted to say again that we never meant to intrude upon you here. We were assured the family was from home.”
“You intended to slip away, then?” Darcy inquired. Of course she had. Why would she ever wish to see him again? But if that was the case, why come to Pemberley at all?
“No,” she said abruptly, then looked away. “Yes. I did not think . . .”
They reached the stairs, and she held the railing lightly as they descended. “You know,” she said suddenly without finishing her previous thought, “had the painting not fallen, I might have missed you altogether, for I would have been out in the park completing my tour.”
Did Elizabeth wish that they had not met? “Are you accusing me of somehow arranging for that ridiculous hundred-pound painting to land atop my housekeeper?” The jest was strained.
Elizabeth laughed, and the sound was a sonata in his ears. “No sir,” she said. “That was not my meaning.”
“How long will you be in this part of the country?” The question was abrupt, but this was important information.
She did not appear discomfited. “A few days at least, perhaps as much as a week.”
A few days. Would it be time enough? Darcy could hardly say what he hoped for, but perhaps she might allow him to show her how well he had attended to her reproofs. And if he could convince her that he had changed . . . no. He must not imagine what was not there. Having her think better of him—it was not all he wished for, but if she simply no longer thought ill of him, it might lessen the painful regrets he had harboured since April.
They made their way out of the house together and were immediately approached by an attractive and fashionably dressed couple, the man perhaps a decade Darcy’s senior and his wife a few years younger. Elizabeth observed him closely, though he could not understand why she was so intent.
“Will you introduce me to your friends, Miss Bennet?”
A flicker of uncertainty crossed her countenance, and her voice held a trace of challenge. “Certainly. This is Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner, my uncle and aunt, with whom my sister Jane stayed while she was lately in London. Uncle, Aunt, this is Mr. Darcy, who was a guest at Netherfield last autumn.” She glanced at him askance.
Thesewere the relations from Cheapside?NearCheapside, he corrected himself. One would never know they were not gentry.
Show her you have changed.
Darcy bowed to her relations. “Welcome to Pemberley, Mr. Gardiner, Mrs. Gardiner.”
Miss Bennet attempted to hide her surprise, but he caught it before she had schooled her features.There,he thought with a touch of satisfaction.Gentlemanly.
He had been shocked when Elizabeth refused his offer in April. Darcy had never really been denied anything he desired,not since he had gone off to Cambridge and not often before. Only through her rejection, and the accounting of it he had insisted upon, had he understood how poorly he had behaved in Hertfordshire. He could not think on it without regret—he had become entirely insufferable without realizing it. Once he had handed her a letter explaining himself, he had believed it was the end of their acquaintance. But his remorse was sharp, for though he had related some truths she needed to know, he was ashamed to recall the bitterness of spirit in which he had composed his letter. She had not deserved it.
Elizabeth had been right when she refused him. Oh, she had been wrong, too, but not about much. Had he not disdained her family and injured her sister? Had he not behaved as though she would throw herself at his feet if only he asked?
She had listened to George Wickham’s slander of him, but who did not credit Wickham’s stories of ill-treatment when first they met him? The man had an easy charm that Darcy could only wish to possess, and yet Wickham did nothing with it. Nothing honest, in any case.
But Elizabeth could not have known that, and Darcy had only offered enigmatic warnings during their single dance at Netherfield. There was no one to blame for her misapprehension but himself.
Mr. Gardiner asked a question about the river, and Darcy suddenly had a plan. “Do you enjoy fishing, Mr. Gardiner?”
“Indeed, I do!” Mr. Gardiner responded with enthusiasm.
It was the simplest thing in the world to offer this genial man his hospitality along with the loan of a rod and tackle. Darcy intended to show him all the best spots along the river and the stream, too. No one who had truly seen Pemberley would ever wish to quit it before they must.
Elizabeth Bennet was here at Pemberley, and Darcy was going to make the most of it.
Chapter Three
Elizabeth could hardly believe her eyes. Mr. Darcy, polite. Affable.
It was more than she could take in.
He had excused himself, intending to wash and change.
“However,” he said, lingering to address Uncle Gardiner, “please continue your tour. If you are able to remain until I return, I would be grateful.” He cast a chagrined look at his clothing. “I should like the opportunity to welcome you to Pemberley in more suitable attire.”
