Page 49 of The Difference of a Darcy
He stood and moved to the basin, pouring water to wash his face. She remained in bed for another moment, uncertain how to broach what she now knew she must say.
They dressed in relative silence, both moving with the ease of routine and weariness. When they emerged downstairs, the innkeeper had already arranged for a light breakfast and summoned a coach. The fare was paid from Darcy’s recovered funds, and the public coach—bound for Hertfordshire—was set to depart within the hour.
As they waited in the yard, watching their meager luggage loaded atop the coach, Elizabeth turned to him.
“Mr. Darcy.”
He looked down at her, brows raised slightly.
She drew a breath. “I believe I owe you an apology.”
His eyes searched hers. “For what?”
“For… my behavior. When you proposed.” Her cheeks warmed, but she pressed on. “I was angry—righteously so, I thought—but I now see I was just as guilty of presumption as you.”
His mouth opened slightly, but he said nothing.
“I judged you on very little, and I clung to that judgment far too long. I thought I knew your character, but I see now I did not. Not truly.”
Still, he did not speak. His gaze was steady but unreadable.
“I am sorry,” she said quietly. “Truly.”
After a long pause, he replied in a voice just above a whisper. “You were not wrong in everything you said, Miss Bennet. But… thank you. It means more than you know.”
She gave a small nod, unsure what else to say.
The coachman called for passengers to board, and they climbed in without another word. The other occupants precluded any further conversation, and that was just as well.
Elizabeth settled beside him on the bench, staring out at the rooftops as the carriage jolted into motion. The passing scenery caused her thoughts to shift from the man beside her to their destination.
Longbourn. What will we find there?
She had spent the last day imagining possibilities, but none settled easily. Why had she accepted Mr. Collins in this version of the world? What could have driven her to such a fate?
Only one answer made any sense: to save her family.
Has something happened to Papa?
The thought struck hard in her chest. If he had been ill—if he haddied—the urgency for security would have been greater than she had ever known. And she, in her grief and desperation, might have bowed to it. If he were gone, there would have been no support, even if she had wished to refuse Mr. Collins.
She bit her lip.Please, she thought silently,please let him be well.
And Jane… where was Jane?
She had not seen her at Rosings, nor heard her name. She had searched the Gardiners’ faces for some reference, some mention, but there had been nothing. No indication of a wedding. No talk of London visits. No sign of the gentle sister who had always steadied her.
Had Jane married? Perhaps to Bingley? Or did this world’s Elizabeth marry Mr. Collins to protect Jane from a lifetime of misery? After all, if Darcy’s absence somehow prevented Bingley from going to Netherfield, then Jane would have been the one being thrust at their cousin.
The carriage jolted over a stone in the road, and Elizabeth blinked against the window. The landscape outside was becoming more familiar, and she knew it would not be long now until she had answers.
She exhaled and drew her shawl more tightly around her shoulders.
Whatever they found at Longbourn… she would face it.
And she would not face it alone.
She turned her gaze to the man beside her. Silent. Steady. His presence—once a source of stress and frustration—was now the one constant in an unfamiliar world.
