Page 107 of Cousin Conundrum

Until she found one for her. A rather fat letter. One that, surprisingly, appeared to be from Miss Laura. What under heaven could she want? Elizabeth had spared her little thought since that day, over a week ago now, that Lady Catherine called with her unreasonable demands.

Taking the letter into the parlor where the window offered more light, Elizabeth opened it to find another letter tucked inside. The inner one was addressed to Lady Catherine de Bourgh from Lady Anne Darcy, the handwriting sweeping and bold. All the outer letter said was, For you and Mr. Darcy, with respect, L.D.

Elizabeth stared at the inner letter, certain she held proof that Lady Anne had released Mr. Darcy from his vow. She swallowed. Should she read it?

No. She should not. Doing so seemed wrong. Nor would it change anything. If his mother had released him from his vow, Mr. Darcy must know as much. He merely employed his honor as an excuse. For some reason, he seemed to think his rejection hurt her less when wrapped in the façade of keeping his word.

Footfalls sounded on the staircase. A great many of them. The remainder of Elizabeth’s family descending. She folded the letters back together and shoved them into her skirt pocket.

The ride to the church passed quickly, Elizabeth’s mind more jumbled than autumn leaves racing before a storm. Beside her, Jane smiled with serene calm, her hands folded in her lap, the very image of certainty. The letter in Elizabeth’s pocket poked her, a corner jabbing into her thigh.

They arrived to the sight of two fine carriages, but Elizabeth’s gaze fixed on the first. Mr. Bingley’s. The conveyance in which Mr. Darcy rode when he and Elizabeth first locked gazes, months ago now. The vehicle that brought him into her life so abruptly.

Pain coiled in her chest. After that first glimpse of him, she’d fixated on him. Thought of little else but his face, for weeks. Upon meeting him, she’d kissed him. Her! A perfectly rational, well-behaved young woman, brought nearly to scandal by that handsome and foreboding visage. She’d felt so very certain they were meant for one another. Her heart had convinced her head that he would be hers, and she his.

How could that treacherous organ be so wrong?

Numbly, Elizabeth trailed her relations out of the carriage.

“Miss Elizabeth,” a quiet voice said, off to her left.

She turned to find Miss Darcy at the side of the church. She gestured urgently for Elizabeth to join her.

Elizabeth frowned. What could Mr. Darcy’s sister want? They hadn’t spoken since Miss Darcy’s single, awkward, call. After today, Elizabeth was unlikely to ever see Miss Darcy again.

Miss Darcy gestured more frantically, her expression pleading.

With a sigh, Elizabeth altered her course, her feet carrying her to the other woman.

Who caught up both of her hands. “Miss Elizabeth. I am so sorry for my brother’s behavior. So is he. He truly is, and he wishes to speak with you. Please.”

“Speak with me?” Elizabeth reiterated, dazed. She’d hoped to be able to ignore him for the duration of the wedding and subsequent breakfast. Avert her eyes and pretend he didn’t stand nearby, equal parts glowering and tempting. She shook her head.

“Please?” Miss Darcy reiterated. “He only asks for a few moments.”

“Why?” Elizabeth asked, the word almost a plea. Why could he not leave her alone so she might have some hope of recovering her reputation and her heart?

Miss Darcy dropped her gaze. “To apologize.”

“To apologize?” Elizabeth did not need his apology. She cared not one bit if his conscience required soothing. He’d locked gazes with her. Entranced her. Insulted her. Kissed her. Saved her life not once, but two times, at increasing risk to his own. Told her he loved her, and then thrown her over. He was the most aggravating, beguiling, vexing, interesting—

Anger sparked through her numbness and sorrow. For the first time in weeks, Elizabeth felt something other than pain. She drew her shoulders back, heat racing through her to scorch away her malaise. “I will speak with him.”

Miss Darcy let out a relieved sigh. “Thank you. He is in the yard there, at the end of the path.” She pointed to the gravel walk that curved around the south side of the church.

With a sharp nod, Elizabeth stepped around Miss Darcy, then followed the path around the church and into the garden there. Low shrubs and green lawn encircled a single bench on which Mr. Darcy sat. She lengthened her stride, her anger growing.

Sighting her, he reached for his walking stick where it leaned against the bench, employing it to come to his feet.

Elizabeth’s ire vanished. She hadn’t realized he was still so unwell. Was he not healing properly? Had he not had the care he required?

She rushed up to him, her gaze dropping to the walking stick as he leaned it back against the bench again. “Are you well? Should you sit? You need not stand on my account.”

“Truly?” A smile twisted his mouth but his eyes were dark with worry. “Because when you came around the corner, you looked as if you meant to finish the job that pistol began.”

She released an exasperated breath. “I am very wroth with you, I admit, but I do not wish you ill.” She searched his face, tracing the lines about his eyes and mouth. Trying to ascertain how much pain he might be in. “Are you well enough to be here? I am certain Jane and Mr. Bingley will forgive you if you must leave.”

He shook his head. “I am well enough. It only pains me to sit or to stand. Both Mr. Jones and the doctor who came up from London say I am healing well. It is simply that the ball went in one side and out the other, and there is a great deal of healing that must happen.”