Page 41 of The Difference of a Darcy
How many evenings had she passed in this house? How many quiet conversations, how many nights helping the children into bed, how many long walks with her aunt down Cheapside’s less-traveled lanes?
And now… she was a stranger.
“That is very kind of you,” she said softly. “We would be most grateful—”
“But I am afraid I have a commitment this evening that will keep me out quite late,” Darcy interjected. “I should hate to have my comings and goings disturb your peace, especially on a holiday.”
“Oh,” Mrs. Gardiner blinked. “Well, of course, we understand. But you must at least let us feed you before you go.”
Elizabeth forced a smile. “We would be honored.”
Mrs. Gardiner brightened. “Wonderful. Then I will see what can be managed—something warm, at least. And perhaps a bit of cheese toast for the road.”
She bustled off toward the kitchen with her husband following behind, leaving Elizabeth and Darcy alone in the parlor.
Elizabeth looked at him. “We have not the funds for an inn; at least, not a respectable one.”
“But here we will be noticed, scrutinized. We do not have a trunk or even a satchel with belongings. Besides, what if the worst occurs, and I am arrested for theft this evening?” Darcy shook his head. “It could be disastrous for your uncle’s business to be associated with a criminal.”
“I see your point,” Elizabeth said with a sigh of resignation.
He nodded once. “The longer we wait, the more the risks multiply. If there is anything left at Darcy House, I must find it before someone else does.”
Her eyes narrowed slightly. “Then I am coming with you.”
He opened his mouth to object, but she lifted a hand. “To keep watch. Or create a distraction. Besides, you wish me to remain at an inn, alone?”
He sighed, but there was no heat in it. Only weary admiration.
“As you wish… Mrs. Smith.”
They exchanged a look—half anxious, half amused—and sat back in silence, listening to the muffled sounds of supper being prepared in the kitchen. Mrs. Gardiner returned a few minutes later with her husband.
“Cook will have something ready for you soon. You can take it with you.”
“You are very good,” Elizabeth responded. “Thank you for your kindness, especially on Boxing Day.”
Mrs. Gardiner smiled, her expression touched with something almost wistful. “Of course. I only wish we had more time to get come to know you better.”
Elizabeth swallowed past the sudden tightness in her throat. “So do I.” She forced a smile, “But you never know—you might easily tire of us once the novelty of our acquaintance has ended.”
“That sounds like something my niece would say,” Mrs. Gardiner said, and Elizabeth was horrified to see her aunt’s eyes misting somewhat.
“You mean Mrs. Collins?” Darcy asked, and Mrs. Gardiner nodded in response.
“She is the first of our nieces to marry,” Mr. Gardiner explained, “And it was a bit unexpected. We have alwaysviewed our Lizzy and her sister Jane as our own daughters, and—as with any change in life—there is a sense of sorrow.”
“I understand perfectly,” Elizabeth said, “and I can tell that she feels the same about the two of you.”
Her own eyes welled with tears, and she felt Darcy reach out and place a hand on her shoulder. She looked at him gratefully and was startled by the depth of feeling in his eyes. For a long moment neither of them looked away; the air between them seemed to hum with unspoken understanding—of shared loss, of recognition, of something neither dared to name.
Then Mrs. Gardiner gave a soft, embarrassed little laugh that broke the spell. “Look at us, weeping over nothing. Ah, here is a basket from the kitchens.”
Elizabeth rose and took it from her aunt, her heart still unsteady. They made their farewells and wished one another a happy Christmas, then Elizabeth forced herself to walk out the front door and back out into the strange, new world she inhabited.
Chapter 8
Darcy adjusted the weight of the basket in his lap as the decrepit hackney jolted forward, its wheels creaking in protest against the uneven London stones. Beside him, Elizabeth sat with her hands folded tightly atop her reticule, her gaze fixed on the window though the glass had already fogged over from their breath.
