Page 10 of Mr. Darcy Forgot I Said No

I look at him. He looks back, perfectly respectful.

"Go to bed, Lowe."

"Yes, sir." He goes to the door with his arms full of my failures. "Shall I wake you at six?"

"I shall not be asleep at six."

"No, sir," he says. "I did not suppose you would."

When he has gone I dip the pen and write it all. Georgiana, fifteen and believing herself in love. Ramsgate. Scotland. Thirty thousand pounds. I do not soften it. I want her to see that I do not embellish.

Then I write about her sister, and that is worse, because there I was not the one wronged. I read it back. Every word is true, and every word sounds like the man she refused. I leave it. She asked for the truth, in her fashion. She shall have it.

The window grays as I write the last line.

I will only add, God bless you.

***

Lowe comes back at six with hot water, as though I had not told him not to.

I am standing at the window with the letter in my hand. It is sealed. I sealed it with my own wax, which does not tremble, whatever my hand may do.

"Shall I have that carried down to the parsonage, sir?"

"No."

"A footman could leave it with Mrs. Collins's compliments—"

"And Mr. Collins would open it to see whether it wanted answering on her behalf. He would read it aloud at breakfast to save her the trouble." I turn the letter over. Miss Elizabeth Bennet. "I shall give it into her hand myself."

Lowe's brows rise, very slightly. "In the park, sir?"

"She walks there every morning."

"Ah," says Lowe, which is the most he has ever said about anything.

I ordered that horse meaning only to ride somewhere, anywhere, out of reach of the parsonage. Now I know where I shall ride. I shall find her, and give it to her, and bow, and go. I need not speak a word. She called me arrogant, conceited, selfish. Very well. She shall not call me a coward.

I put the letter inside my coat, over my heart, where it sits like a stone.

"Your cravat, sir," says Lowe.

"What of it?"

"It has been tied since yesterday afternoon, sir. And it shows."

I tear it off and tie a fresh one myself, too tight, before he can reach for it. He watches me do it without appearing to.

"Will that be all, sir?"

"That will be all."

***

The stable yard is gray and wet and smells of hay and horse.

Hobbs, my aunt's head groom, has the black out and saddled. He is a broad, slow man who has been at Rosings since before I was breeched, and he looks at me in a way I do not care for.