“Indeed?” Fletcher responded. “Is man then merely ‘Time’s fool’?”
“You misquote the Bard, Fletcher,” Darcy snorted. “I believe he said ‘Love’s not Time’s fool.’ ”
Fletcher smiled. “Forgive me, sir, as I trust the Bard would also. But as the only love that is subject to Time is man’s, it is all one. As for its ‘inflexible independence,’ that is a matter of perspective; is it not, sir?”
“What can you mean? Sixty minutes always equals one hour!”
“Yes, sir. But an hour with the toothache is an eternity; whereas an hour with one’s beloved is as a moment gone.” Fletcher’s voice dropped. Then he shook himself and continued firmly. “No, I believe Time is perfectly flexible if we have the wit or nerve to mold it to our use.”
Wit or nerve. Fletcher’s prerequisites for the command of Time repeated themselves in his mind as Darcy lay unsleeping in his bed. The clock on the mantel chimed out the hour. One o’clock. Time, more time, was what he needed in order to determine Elizabeth’s mind, but he could count on no more time than what tomorrow afforded. Tomorrow, dawn to evening, was all that he could foresee; therefore, it was tomorrow that he must bend and mold. If you have the wit or nerve to do so, he reminded himself grimly. His mind ranged over the next day’s schedule. Accomplishing anything to his purpose at dinner was summarily dismissed. Too many interested parties about for the privacy he desired! Further, waiting until then left him even less time to bend. Morning and afternoon, then, were all that remained to him.
It came to him all in a moment: the picnic Caroline Bingley had been so eager to marshal! All of his guests would be gathered at the river for her alfresco, at which time he could send a servant with his regrets that he had been called away and to proceed without him. Ah, yes, there was the wit; what about the nerve? He would call on Elizabeth and the Gardiners. Nothing unusual in that! He would ask for permission to escort her, or all of them if need be, on a stroll of the village path which followed the Ere. Then, when opportunity arose, he would thank Elizabeth privately for her kindness to Georgiana. Her response and subsequent conversation would, he hoped, reveal something of her estimation of him that might be built upon at dinner that evening.
Darcy heaved a sigh as the mantle clock chimed out the quarter hour. It was not an elegant plan. Rather, it was fraught with countless opportunities to go wrong. But it was all he had, and he meant to use it.
“No, Fletcher.” Darcy looked over the clothing his valet held out for approval. “Riding clothes, if you please, ones fit for a call.” He finished drying off his freshly shaved chin and cheeks and ran a hand through his damp hair.
“Riding clothes, sir? I was not informed, sir!” Fletcher frowned mightily at such an oversight. “Shall I send notice to the others?”
“No, only I shall be out. The others are still to attend Miss Bingley’s alfresco.” He paused to see what effect the announcement produced in his valet. Fletcher, however, appeared more concerned with the new demand placed upon his art than with its cause. Grateful for Fletcher’s lack of interest, Darcy channeled away the man’s thoughts with a question suited to his other talents. “How is that progressing…the picnic?”
Fletcher rolled his eyes. “The staff has been harried through four refinements of the menu and three changes of location since last evening, sir; but they press on with good humor,” he said, disappearing into the closet in search of the required clothing.
“Good humor?” Darcy called after him.
Fletcher emerged, a complete ensemble and several alternates in hand. “They have eyes, sir, and ears, and know you have all our best interests in hand.” Darcy cocked a brow at him. Clearing his throat, Fletcher continued. “Forgive me, sir, but we…ah, the staff, sir, can bear with whatever the lady may demand during the short time she will be here.”
“I see.” Darcy strode to the window and leaned against the frame. What faith they all had in him! What hopes were invested in his every decision! He sighed and bowed his head. The happy future that his people wished him and themselves was not so easily accomplished, for they were not privy to the irony that ruled their hopes. Yes, Elizabeth’s place in his heart was sure, but that place meant little to the woman who had last spring, without a moment’s hesitation, refused the offer of his hand and the prestige of Pemberley. He could make that same proposal to Caroline Bingley or nearly any other woman in England and be assured of success. Yet here he was, setting out to pursue the one exception…perhaps for that very reason. He knew her worth. If Elizabeth’s opinion of him had softened, if she turned toward him in any way, he would not let her disappear from his life. He would pursue her, court her as she so richly deserved, and God willing, win her respect and her heart.
Turning back to his valet, he examined the attire held out for his inspection. Doeskin breeches, of course, and boots polished to the highest gloss were at the ready. “The silver-gray waistcoat, I think, and that coat.” Fletcher’s brow went up in question. “The green one, yes.” He nodded as the valet held it out. “Now, hand me the breeches…hurry, man!”
The interior of the Green Man was dark and still cool when Darcy took off his beaver and bent to enter the inn’s door. For the first time in his adult life he had escaped the elaborate attentions of its proprietor and been greeted only by a servant, to whom he conveyed his desire to be conducted to the rooms occupied by the Gardiner party.
“The Gardiners, sir?” Forced to disoblige the village’s most esteemed patron, the young man looked panic-stricken. “The Gardiners ’ave gone out awalkin’, sir.” Disappointment that Elizabeth was not immediately available put a check upon his eagerness, but Lambton was not large. He should be able to find them; it was the loss of time he rued.
“Which direction —” he began to ask, but the nervous boy interrupted him.
“The young lady is still above, sir. Would you be awantin’ to be taken up for jus’ her?”
He could not stop the laugh that welled up inside him at the lad’s apologetic tone. Did he want to be taken up just for Elizabeth? His heart expanded. This was perfect, much more to his purpose than he could have hoped or planned for.
“Yes, if you please.” He grinned down at the boy and gestured that he should take the lead up the inn’s stairs.
The upper hall was quiet, the public room below not yet belabored with patrons and the inn’s other guests out about their business. The tread of their boots upon the wooden floor rang loud in Darcy’s ears but did not mask the sound of a chair being scraped across the floor behind the Gardiners’ door. Elizabeth! His heart turned over as he came to a halt behind the servant and waited. The sound of light footsteps reached him. His breath caught in his chest. The serving boy reached for the latch and, stepping back, pulled the door open.
Elizabeth’s pale face appeared suddenly, looking up at him with such wild pain and desperation that he started back, speechless at beholding such stark need in her every line.
“I beg your pardon, but I must leave you,” she gasped out. “I must find Mr. Gardiner this moment, on business that cannot be delayed; I have not an instant to lose.”
“Good God! What is the matter?” Darcy demanded, the misery in her face eliciting both alarm and every tender feeling he possessed. Find the Gardiners? Impossible for her in this state! “I will not detain you a minute; but let me, or let the servant, go after Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner.” He seized command of the situation as well as he might, ignorant as he was of the particulars. “You are not well enough; you cannot go yourself.” Darcy expected that she would gainsay him and prepared to insist that she not attempt the mission. She did not. Instead, she hesitated and, to his concern, trembled visibly before nodding and, after calling back the servant to entrust him with the task of recalling her aunt and uncle, sank heavily into a chair.