Page 21 of Pemberley's Imposter
Millicent approached the rider whilst Elizabeth escaped into her cottage with the basket.
“Who are you?” Millicent asked rather directly.
Hearing those words, Elizabeth hurriedly returned to her charge and came to an abrupt halt when her position enabled her to take a good look at the intruder.
“I am Mr Darcy. I might ask you the same question.”
Elizabeth closed her eyes and willed him to be a mirage, but her wishes were not answered; he was still there when she opened them.
“Oh my! I am Millicent, Millicent Freight. Mrs Darcy is going to be so happy to see you, sir, what with you having been missing for so long. She might faint.”
Millicent was at a melodramatic age, but correct, though not for the reasons the girl assumed.
Mr Darcy’s eyes rose above Millicent’s shoulder. The blue orbs did not settle on Elizabeth but on her daughter. Ellie squirmed under the scrutiny, tucked her thumb into her mouth, and hid her face against her mother’s neck.
Elizabeth contemplated running into the cottage and bolting the door. Would Mr Darcy manage to break it down? Probably. If not, he could chop his way through it with the axe conveniently placed on the block beside it. She could not stay inside the cottage for the rest of her life in any case. There was no escape from fate.
Millicent looked expectantly between the two. The scene did not unfold as a fanciful, romantic girl would have imagined.
The air was charged; neither made a move towards the other, but their gazes were locked in a silent battle of wills.
Into this mute conflict between a stranger and an unsmiling Mrs Darcy came Mr Freight, who had arrived to escort his daughter home.
“Father, Mr Darcy has returned,” Millicent shared triumphantly and hastened to her father’s side. “Our conjectures have been wrong because I do not think he is a lowly soldier. He must be a gentleman with such a fine tailored suit, magnificent horse, and the quality of his saddle. If those items had not given him away, the Hessian boots would. He must be rich indeed,” she whispered.
“Mr Darcy, this is Mr Freight, Millicent’s father. Mr Freight, may I present my husband, Mr Darcy.”
Mr Freight’s surprise was evident on his countenance. He must be pondering how a man of considerable fortune could allow his wife and child to live in such stark contrast to himself, though he made no comments.
Mr Freight called for his daughter to accompany him and took his leave with a tip of his hat.
Awkwardness befell the threesome once the Freights had left. Elizabeth said nothing. Besides, Mr Darcy had come to her, and he must state his purpose.
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Elizabeth was staring at him unflinchingly—straight into his eyes. It was a hardened look that softened immediately when her daughter grabbed her cheek and pulled her face towards her.
“I am sorry, petal, I had forgotten you were there. Are you hungry, Ellie?”
The child nodded, and Elizabeth turned to walk inside.
“Did you name her after yourself?” he asked.
“No,” Elizabeth retorted with an edge to her voice.
“Is Ellie not short for Elizabeth?”
“No.”
His wife proceeded into the cottage, and he followed.
She prepared a piece of bread and jam for Ellie and put her in one of the two chairs at the table.
“What is her name?”
“Elysande Darcy.”
“Your mother’s name?”
