Chapter 3

Elizabeth and the Gardiners acquitted themselves of all obligations in and around Lambton and were swiftly on their way. The entirety of their conversation in the carriage consisted of where Lydia might be hiding, what Lydia might be doing, when Lydia might be found, and how Lydia might be living. The only question that needed no discussion, for it already had an answer, was the who. Elizabeth scrupled no hesitation in lambasting Wickham's character and, without delving into the source of her knowledge, enlightened her aunt and uncle on the specious history of his dealings with the Darcy family which he had spread around Meryton.

With few comforts besides similar natures and measured opinions, the miles sped along. They rode as far as possible, taking up lodgings at a crowded highway inn. The ease of summer travel had clearly beckoned to many an adventurer, and the three family members were fortunate to reserve the last two-chamber private rooms. The rooms were not quite reddy to receive them, which was just as well. They could not boast of a private drawing room for tonight, and happily took their supper in the bustling public dining hall before going upstairs.

Good food and the boisterous company of strangers acted as a mixing tonic to the friendly, optimistic trio. A musician from a traveling theater troupe soon graced the packed inn with a rioting round of songs. Elizabeth tapped her foot and clapped her hands, swept from her worries for a moment in the lilting current of a rich tenor's voice. They were parked near the door, and when the bell sounded the entrance of a newcomer during a lull in the performance, she glanced to her left, and instantly ducked behind the heaping cheese platter on their table.

Mr. Darcy was the late evening traveler.

"Lizzy, are you alright?" her aunt asked.

"Is there something foul in the cheese? I thought I detected some blue in there. You know how I detest the French varieties," said her uncle.

Elizabeth slouched lower into her chair and shook her head. Fitzwilliam—no, Mr. Darcy—was conversing with the innkeeper. She watched him thank the owner and receive a key. A mingling of affront that he had so easily gained a room when they had been told they had won the last vacancies and a measure of admiration for the gentleman's ability to charm his way into a private room. She was certain no coinage had been passed between them as a bribe. Even removed from Derbyshire, the master of Pemberley commanded respect.

The gentleman turned around and instantly locked eyes with her. A blush tinted both their cheeks. Elizabeth straightened up as Mr. Darcy strode toward her. The Gardiners immediately noticed their niece's crimson complexion and tracked her gaze to the face of the man who approached their table. Their surprise was only marginally less than that of their pretty kin. He greeted them as if this meeting was nothing more than mere coincidence, speaking mainly to the two older fellow travelers, keeping his comments on the weather and the conditions of the road. He had recovered much more quickly than the lady, as he had only embarrassment not shock with which to contend.

"I have managed to acquire the last private drawing room. I see you have mostly supped, but wonder if I might invite you to finish your meal with me." His deep eyes glanced her way at last. "I would dearly like to continue our conversation in more private quarters."

Mr. Gardiner mumbled some unkind remarks about the inconsistent memory of the innkeeper, which were only heard by Elizabeth, as Mrs. Gardiner replied more loudly in the affirmative, interpreting her niece's distraction as proof rather than discouragement to accept Mr. Darcy's generous offer. In a seamless transition, they removed to his rooms and were seated around his table. The waiter came in and spread an array of dishes on the table, excusing himself promptly, while Mr. Darcy and the Gardiners exchanged more inconsequential pleasantries.

Elizabeth could contribute nothing to this sham discussion on architecture. All her energy was bent on the personal. Surely he had not come to them by accident! No this must be by design. By his design! After Mr. Darcy had eaten about half his supper, and Mr. Gardiner had eaten half of his second supper, Elizabeth could handle the duplicitous back and forth no longer—and perhaps her handsome counterpart was on the verge of a similar admission.

"Sir," she said, speaking for the first time since his entrance into the inn, "it seems too remarkable that you have joined us here tonight but by your express wishes. Did you receive my note this morning?"

Darcy set his fork down without cleaning it, meticulously resting it on his plate. "I was out on my property this morning, after my visit with you, but had the pleasure of finding your letter this afternoon."

"And did you have an opportunity to read the letter?"

"Right away, as a matter of fact, but I dare say the effect may have been the opposite of what you intended—or perhaps even desired. For it hastened me to join you on the road. You were not mistaken. I came to this inn under the assumption that it was the most likely stop for you en route to Longbourn. As a concerned friend, I could not permit you to depart from my county without a farewell in the flesh."

"A concerned friend," Elizabeth said, her sensibilities pricked.

A concerned friend," he repeated back to her.

She rapped the table with her knuckle and blew out her breath. "Your friendship, Mr. Darcy, is—"

"Pray do not go on Elizabeth," he interrupted, his face a stone.

A terrible silence ensued, Darcy's sharp gaze set on her. She unblinkingly met his stare, weighing the cost of defying his hard-spoken request. She did not like the look in his eye nor the steel in his voice, that instinct to contradict him licking her throat as a flame in a lantern. But she had no real desire to fight with him. She wanted to protect him. Why was he making it difficult?

"Perhaps, we ought to see if our rooms are ready," Mrs. Gardiner said in a too-loud, too-cheery voice. Elizabeth slowly turned to her aunt, grateful for her tact.

"I believe you are right, my dear. I am sure the rooms are up to scratch now," Mr. Gardiner supplied. He rose from the table and held out his hand to his wife. Mrs. Gardiner gave Elizabeth a discreet pat on the knee before accepting her husband's gesture.

"You stay here, Lizzy, while your uncle and I settle into the room. The day has fatigued you."

Mrs. Gardiner nodded at Darcy, and Mr. Gardiner bowed slightly, assuring his niece that they would shortly return to show her to their chambers. She watched her aunt and uncle go, keeping her eyes on the door even after they had closed it shut behind them. She could not turn back to the man whose gaze she sensed yet lingered on her. She felt as anxious about this sudden private interview as she felt relieved by it. She heard the chair beside her shuffle against the floor and a heavy sigh escape her counterpart. Nervously she turned her head. He was standing now, his back toward her, his face bent over a piece of paper.

"I abhor deceit of every kind, Elizabeth, and so I must speak frankly to assuage my conscience, though it may offend your feelings. I am not here as a concerned friend. I did not buck my own beliefs in keeping family matters private, or in guarding my intentions to assist you so that it might appear that I seek your praise, by hunting you down here." He turned his dark countenance on her. "I came as a man deeply in love. I came as a man who wishes to be your family. I will do what I can to find your sister—and I could not bare you to believe for even an instant more that I would under any circumstances," he flapped the letter and read her words back, "relinquish that which might bind us, or that which once promised to bind us together." He crumpled the paper and shoved it into his pocket. "These words have been torture to me. I can help you find your sister. I must."

"I will not ask that of you."

"But you will of yourself?"

"She is my sister. I am bound by blood to her. You are not. You have a choice."

Darcy shook his head. "Do you know which words of yours haunt me the most?"

Elizabeth shook her head, an almost imperceptible flutter.

"When you told me that I was the last man whom you could ever be prevailed on to marry." He took a step toward her, his arms outstretched. "Do you not see, Elizabeth? How can you yet be blind? I have known for months that you are and always will remain the only woman whom I could ever marry."

His eyes pleaded with her, wishes which she could hardly name. His declaration touched her deep within and she wanted to offer him some semblance of her own devotion, but the moment passed as a breeze on the sea. She flicked her gaze downward, thoughtful. He sat down on the chair beside her with a loud sigh. Uncertain of everything, she toyed with the pleats of her dress. The silence did not shift around her with an oppressive fog this time; it was a welcome calm. His words resounded in her ears.

"How many?" she suddenly asked.

"How many what?"

"How many months have you known that I was the only woman whom you could marry?" She glanced at him from underneath her thick lashes, a smile almost on her lips. "How many months did you ignore the scores of women flinging themselves at you in utter and total futility?"

"I cannot say either way on that—there are too many months and I am not in the right mind for this sort of inquiry."

The sadness in his voice persuaded her to look him fully in the face, her head tilting to the side and a softer smile wavering over her lips. He raised a brow at her, running his hand across his chin in a gesture she was beginning to recognize.

"You must learn to laugh at yourself, Fitzwilliam."

His hand dropped to his lap. "Perhaps you might teach me, Elizabeth."

She blushed at the way he had spoken her name; it had been almost reverent, trembling with a checked adoration. He leaned toward her, his eyes searching over her face.

"Why do you insist on refusing me? Why must we play this game?"

"You think that this is a game to me?"

"I think that this is unnecessary."

Elizabeth closed her eyes for a moment, steeling her pounding heart. "My sister lies presumably in London or somewhere else, with a man whom you justly despise, unwed and unfound. None of this is a game, nor is it unnecessary."

"And if they were to be found and wed—what then? Would you marry me then?"

"Married to Lydia without this sordid beginning, married by the arch bishop and with the king's blessing—and George Wickham would still be your brother-in-law should you marry me."

"I am aware, Elizabeth, of how family lines form."

"I cannot do this. I will not do this."

"Why?" he asked.

"Because, Fitzwilliam, I love you."

And in the saying of it, she knew it was the truth.

Note: Oh this is a silly little short story, isn't it? I think another chapter or two. Maybe a Darcy chapter? What do you think? I was in his head so much for my last Amazon book from his POV. I'm not sure. Anyhow. Hope you enjoyed. Reviews appreciated. Check out my profile page if you want to see my links to my other writings. Stay safe and sane and healthy!