Elizabeth frowned. No doubt he had. And he had said only last night that he was traveling to see his sister. No doubt he had experienced enough delay.
“He spoke of you with the highest regard,” Sir Reginald told Elizabeth, as though to reassure her.
“That is very kind,” Elizabeth managed. She did not trust herself to say more at once. Her napkin lay crumpled upon her lap; she kept her hands busy plucking at it.
“Indeed,” Sir Reginald agreed. “And now, Miss Bennet, we must think of your own arrangements.”
Elizabeth bent her head. “I should like to proceed directly to my Uncle Gardiner’s house, and I will write to Papa to come collect me from there. Other than returning to Longbourn, I have had enough of the winter. The king will understand that I am desirous of meeting my family but wish to wait until the weather improves to make another attempt.”
He smiled, with the air of a man who took proper satisfaction in discharging a trust. “Very well. For the present, you must finish your breakfast. I will see that the horses are properly harnessed. Mrs. Hobart, you will see that our charge’s trunks are brought down?”
“Of course, Sir Reginald.” Mrs. Hobart rose with brisk importance. “I shall attend to everything.”
Sir Reginald bowed again to Elizabeth. “If there is anything wanting, you have only to command me,” he said.
He withdrew.
Mrs. Hobart looked after him with an expression that hovered between admiration and complacency. “Thereis a gentleman who understands his duty,“ she said. “You are fortunate to be under his protection.”
Elizabeth stared at the pattern in the tablecloth until it ceased to waver.
“I had not known,” she said, carefully, “that Mr. Darcy meant to leave us.”
Mrs. Hobart sniffed again. “Some men’s resolutions are as changeable as the weather. You must not take it amiss. Now that Sir Reginald is here, itis perfectly natural that Mr. Darcy should be eager to be quit of us. As he has seen, there are dangers inherent to travelling with a princess.”
“He does not believe me a princess,” Elizabeth said before she could stop herself.
Mrs. Hobart frowned. “Which only proves he is not the right man to escort you. Being royal is not a condition that one puts on and takes off like a cloak.”
Was that not what Mr. Darcy accused her of? Cloaking herself in a title that did not belong to her? To him, she was an imposter. She would do best to remind herself of that.
“I know who I am,” she said.
“Well, then,” Mrs. Hobart replied, with a briskness that might almost be called kindness. “Finish your tea and I will have your trunks brought down. It will be snug for the three of us in Sir Reginald’s coach, but then, a small party is always best.” She left the room, and Elizabeth could hear her calling out orders to the servants.
A quarter of an hour later, she was stepping outside. Men called to one another across the yard as they led horses from the stables. A boy with a basket slipped and recovered himself with an oath that died upon his lips when he saw her at the top of the steps. The air snapped at her face and fingers; her breath drifted in small clouds before her.
Mr. Darcy had been on the road for two hours now. He must have departed when it was still dark. The thought made the cold bite a little deeper.
Sir Reginald handed Mrs. Hobart in first. The companion arranged herself with a soft grunt of effort, then made herself as large as possible by the simple method of spreading her skirts and shawls about her. Elizabeth followed, gathering her own cloak close to make room. Her hip pressed firmly against Mrs. Hobart’s.
Sir Reginald entered after them. After a moment arranging himself, he rapped the brass end of his cane against the roof and the carriage rolled forward.
Elizabeth did not look back.
The carriage wheels hummed where they turned onto the Great North Road and the surface grew smoother. Mrs. Hobart’s head drooped a little, but Elizabeth’s thoughts refused to be quiet.
She imagined another conversation on the landing. One in which she had held her temper and said, “Let us examine the matter together, Mr. Darcy. Let us suppose my story is true, and then see where it leads us,” instead of defending every point as if it were an attack upon her honour.
The coach felt smaller with every mile. The air seemed thin, as though she could not draw enough of it into her lungs. She turned her face to the window.
“Miss Bennet?”
Sir Reginald’s voice recalled her.
She turned back. “Yes?”
“You have been very brave these past days, but bravery is no defence against fatigue. If you would prefer to sleep, please do not feel you must maintain appearances with me.”