Miss Bennet,
This notice is to provide you a receipt from Bank of -------, confirming the deposit of ---- thousand pounds in an account bearing your name. If you have any questions about its dispensation, you may contact me at any time, else please refer to Mr. L----, who acts as manager there.
J. Weatherby, Esq.
My dearest Lizzy,
I can hardly still my hand enough to write you this letter, but I have news to share which will not wait another moment.
Mr. Bingley has proposed!
We have been much thrown together since you left Hertfordshire, despite his sisters’ leaving for London. I begin to think our friends and neighbors may have conspired to see us made a match, but I cannot find it within me to mind. Perhaps I shall thank them all at the wedding.
You will laugh when next you see me, Lizzy, for I feel it must show on my face every hour of the day. How can anyone bear so much happiness?
Mama is beside herself; there has been much preparation made. Once the banns are read, the wedding will be held a fortnight hence. I must beg you and my aunt and uncle to return to Longbourn to see us wed on the –th.
I look forward to your coming, dearest sister. I shall endeavor to bear this joy until you are here to share it with me.
Yours, etc.
Jane
Both letters had obviously been delayed by the storm, which meant there would be no seeing Scotland or any more of the north country. The first, Elizabeth kept to herself. The second gave her pleasure to share.
“How delightful!” said Mrs. Gardiner, on reading Jane’s letter.
“Outstanding,” said Mr. Gardiner. “We’ll set out immediately.”
“You don’t mind cancelling the rest of our tour?” Elizabeth asked them. It was possible Jane had not received the letters Elizabeth had written in the last couple of weeks; she may not know they’d been held up by the snow.
“Of course we don’t mind,” said Mrs. Gardiner. “How could we mind, when there is so happy a reason to return?”
“If we leave straight away, we should arrive in plenty of time for the wedding,” said Mr. Gardiner.
Thus the arrangements were made. Mrs. Charleton was sorry to see them go, though they’d planned to leave today regardless. Certainly she’d miss her sister’s company, but she worried more on Henry’s part. He’d been withdrawn at the ball last night, and again this morning.
Henry Charleton was not sorry to see them go; it spared him any further embarrassment, for he liked Elizabeth Bennet too well to conduct himself as anything other than a man on the verge of being in love. Their return to Hertfordshire meant there would be no additional visits, and no further risk of exposing himself.
Once underway several days passed amiably enough, insofar as Elizabeth knew. She was scarcely present, though she endeavored to show no sign of her distraction. The scenery was often the topic of conversation, much as it had been on their travel northbound; this time, the beauty they’d remarked was painted white by the snow.
“We should try again this summer,” said Mr. Gardiner at one particularly fine prospect. “Edinburgh is lovely in summer.”
Mrs. Gardiner’s suspicions weighed on her, and she did not encourage her husband in the idea. Elizabeth’s uncharacteristic reticence and her nephew’s withdrawal at the culmination of their trip might suggest the two were lovers parted by circumstance, but Mrs. Gardiner had witnessed the churlish manner and hasty exit of the Earl Saturday evening; it suggested to her the truth of the matter lay elsewhere.
“I think we must be well into Derbyshire by now,” said Elizabeth’s uncle much later that day.
“I think you are right,” said Mrs. Gardiner. Observing the change in Elizabeth’s pallor, she said, “What do you say we stop at Lambton for the night?” She did not mention the earl, nor Pemberley, nor did she suggest calling on their nearby acquaintance. If Mr. Gardiner suggested it, Mrs. Gardiner would impress upon him the urgency of their travel, the happy event that awaited them in Hertfordshire, and that it would be rude to importune such important people for so very short a visit.
Fortunately, Mr. Gardiner made no such remark. He agreed heartily, however, that a stop in Lambton was just the thing, for the inn there boasted a cook with a reputation for venison stew and he was feeling rather peckish.
Elizabeth was grateful to her aunt for the reprieve, and that nobody once uttered the name ‘Matlock’. She’d made up her mind to forget the man altogether, as much as she was able to put him out of her heart. This brief stay so near him, and yet not near him at all would provide her time enough to lay thoughts of him aside.
The venison stew was all Mr. Gardiner could have hoped. The dining hall at the inn was crowded with travelers and locals alike and Elizabeth was grateful for the din. It prevented any delicate conversation during the meal. The food and drink were restorative and as they finished Elizabeth began to feel something healing; at any rate, her heart hurt a little less.
Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner appeared to be in heated debate across the table – Elizabeth could not hear them. She let her gaze wander over the room, making note of the most interesting travelers with which to entertain her sisters later on, when she spied a familiar face in the crowd.
Though the face was quickly covered by the hood of her cloak, Elizabeth could not mistake the distinctive features of Miss Anne de Bourgh.
When last they’d spoken, Anne had been tucked away at Pemberley to help Miss Darcy recover from her ordeal in London at the hands of the vile George Wickham. Elizabeth suspected she was also standing guard to make absolutely certain that Miss Darcy did not pursue that man, whether to exact justice upon him nor for any other reason. The dark, heavy cloak she now wore suggested Anne did not wish to be seen.
What business could Miss Anne de Bourgh have at the inn at this hour?
Elizabeth watched the other woman ease her way across the dining hall. She made a fast excuse to her aunt and uncle and bade them good night, keeping her gaze trained on Anne. Elizabeth knew not what business she might be attending, but she would ask it of the woman herself. If nothing else, a friendly face would do her some good just now.
Elizabeth wove through the crowd as Anne slipped out a small door at the back of the room. She wished mightily for her own cloak when a moment later, she discovered the small door lead to a small alley at the rear of the inn. Wrapping her hands around her arms, Elizabeth walked quickly, almost running to the end of the alley where it opened up to the street. Sunset had been hours ago; it would not be prudent for her to remain out here alone much longer. Even as the thought occurred to her, she caught a glimpse of a black cloak disappearing around a corner three buildings down.
She followed. If Anne was out at this hour, in this weather and alone, she might need help. In any event, it was better than returning to her room to be alone with her own thoughts.
Elizabeth turned the same corner where she’d seen the cloak disappear, down another alley; this one approached a large stable. The cloak she’d seen did indeed belong to Anne; the woman was standing two stalls over. Elizabeth started to call out to her, to alert the other woman to her presence, but her voice caught on a gasp when a man walked out of the stall.
He seemed enormous in the dark – tall and bearded and thick with brawn. He wore no coat; Elizabeth had the ridiculous impression that he must live here in the stables.
Elizabeth drew in a breath to scream for help as the burly man took three long, fast strides towards Anne. He seized her about the waist and hauled the woman, tiny in comparison, up to him and kissed her as though his heart was breaking.
Elizabeth’s own heart turned in her chest at the thought of such passion, such love, and at the thought of one man who would not give her either one.
Anne was not in need of help, and there would be no friendly conversation tonight. Without a word, Elizabeth backed away as quietly as she could – though she doubted the couple noticed much of anything just now – and made her way back to the inn. She found her room and sat next to the fire.
She told no one of what she’d seen but the memory of it was logged, an indelible entry in her memory as something she could not have.