Page 27

O utside the dining room window, lightning streaked across the sky, followed by a loud boom of thunder a few seconds later.

The lights flickered, and Elizabeth stopped with her fork half-way to her mouth, watching.

Her husband frowned and chewed his food at the same time, which Elizabeth thought was quite a feat.

Ruth let out a fearful wail, and Georgiana hurried over to her highchair, cooing and consoling her while she wiped off her hands and face.

Elizabeth stole a glance at Maggie, wondering if the girl was also afraid of storms. There she sat, tucking into mashed potatoes and fried chicken seemingly without a care in the world.

Elizabeth smiled at her and got a friendly grin in return.

Over time, Elizabeth had come to realize that Maggie rarely cried or was frightened.

She was verbally precocious and could be reasoned out of any typical childhood fear.

As a result, she appeared wise beyond her years.

Maggie was gifted and cursed with what Elizabeth’s Aunt Madeline called an old soul.

Her dark brown eyes fixed on Elizabeth’s face.

“Ruth is afraid of thunderstorms, but I’m not.”

Elizabeth started to reply but was surprised when Sheriff Fitzwilliam, who had joined them for Sunday dinner, ventured a reply.

“Ruth is very little, sugar bean, and loud noises scare little children. But you’re a big girl, and you understand about thunderstorms, so you’re not afraid of them anymore.”

“Nope, I’m not.”

“So maybe Ruth will watch you and see that you’re not afraid, and someday you can tell her all about ’em so she’ll understand. And then, maybe she won’t be so scairt of ’em.”

Maggie looked skeptical, as if trying to decide if he was teasing or serious.He met her direct gaze with his own and gave her a kindly smile. Then he took a bite of biscuit and turned toward William.

“Guess you won’t be doing no planting today.Bet it’ll rain all afternoon.”

“Mmph,” William grunted, scowling.

Richard grinned while he chewed, also quite a feat, in Elizabeth’s opinion. He swallowed his bite of biscuit. “Serves you right, trying to work on the Lord’s Day.”

Her husband leaned toward his friend, giving him a scathing glare. “My ox is in the ditch,” he said slowly.

At that, Richard tipped his head back and let out a cheerful laugh. He turned to Elizabeth. “Mrs. Darcy, were you aware that your husband is an awful curmudgeon, when he is at his own house, on a Sunday afternoon, with nothing to do?”

Elizabeth only smiled and took another bite of green beans, sneaking a look at the object of the sheriff’s teasing to see how he took it.

“He would not get away with it either, if he weren’t such a big, tall son-of-a-gun,” Fitzwilliam said.

“I am not a ‘curmudgeon’—am I, Gi?”

Georgiana’s lips twitched. “Hmm, let me think about it… I have to say—as your adoring sister—that you definitely are…a curmudgeon.”She smiled brightly across the table at the sheriff, and they held each other’s gaze for a long moment before quickly looking away.

Elizabeth, however, saw the wordless exchange.

Interesting.

She filed that information away to consider at a later time.

William frowned at his plate. “I need to get that back field planted if we’re going to have corn ‘knee-high by the Fourth of July.’”

Richard set his napkin beside his empty plate.“Well, there’s no use worrying about that today,” he said with finality. “Excellent dinner, Mrs. Darcy.”

“Thank you, Sheriff.You can thank Mrs. Reynolds too—she’s been teaching me some of her expert cooking skills.

My mother usually chased us girls out of the kitchen when she was cooking.

We were the clean-up crew. But I thought I should learn to cook better because I wanted Mrs. R to have Sundays off.

” Elizabeth’s eyes flitted across the table to her husband.

He was staring at her with an intense but unreadable look.

That, at least, had not changed since their marriage.

“Oh, and thank Georgiana too—she made the biscuits…and the pecan pie. We’ll have some later with coffee.”

“Pecan pie is my favorite,” he said, winking at Georgiana. “So, what should we do this afternoon, Darcy, since you can’t plant your corn field?”

The master of Pemberley Farms shrugged noncommittally.

“How about a game of Rook?I know Georgiana will play. And you too, Mrs. Darcy—you’ll play, won’t you? We’ll need a fourth.”

“I don’t know the rules, I’m afraid.”

“So, we’ll teach you,” he insisted.

“Yes, Mrs. Darcy, you should play,” William said in his smooth, deep voice, suddenly warming to the idea.

“I have discovered that you’re quite adept at learning new skills.

My wife is an accomplished woman and takes pleasure in many things.

” His lips twitched, and there was a glimmer of teasing humor in his eyes.

Elizabeth looked at him curiously, wondering what he was about. “Well, I suppose I can’t turn down such a blatant challenge to my intellect, can I? My pride would not allow otherwise.” She gave him a bewitching, impudent smile.

Georgiana put the girls down for naps while Elizabeth cleared the table, and the next couple of hours were devoted to teaching Elizabeth the subtleties of card playing.

William offered to be her partner, of course, and although Richard and Georgiana beat them soundly, she learned how to bid her hand and count trumps and what “shoot the moon” meant.

She couldn’t remember the last time she had laughed so much or enjoyed her company more.

More than once, she looked up and caught her husband looking at her in a way that made her spine tingle and her face feel hot.

The rain poured steadily throughout the afternoon, but the atmosphere inside was cheerful and warm.

Even the stoic William Darcy was coaxed into an occasional smile.

Later, Richard volunteered to take Georgiana and the girls back to the cottage in his truck.

After they left, a gentle quiet settled over the house.

The Darcys enjoyed a light supper, and Elizabeth sat down to read in the parlor as she did many nights.

William disappeared into his study, as he also did many nights, but after about a half hour, he returned with a bottle and two old-fashioned glasses in his hands.

The glasses clinked as he set them on the table, causing Elizabeth to look up.

“What is that?”

“Why, Mrs. Darcy, that is a glass and that is another glass—I’ve already used that one—and this is a bottle of Kentucky’s finest bourbon.”

“Bourbon? You mean bourbon whiskey?”

“Yes, ma’am.I thought perhaps you’d like to have a drink with me.”

“I’ve never drunk hard liquor before.”

“No, I would imagine not. It’s illegal, you know, to buy and sell whiskey in these United States. But never fear, I did not buy this bottle illegally. And I’m sure as hell not going to sell it—I like the bourbon too much.”

“How ever did you get it then?” she asked, more curious than shocked.

Her serious, staid husband’s voice was cloaked in amusement.

“Inquisitive, aren’t we?” He opened the bottle and poured one glass about two fingers deep.

The other he barely splashed with the amber liquid.

Elizabeth smelled it from where she was sitting—a sweet, thick, pungent scent.

He handed her the glass with barely a swallow in it and sat down beside her on the couch.

“Fitzwilliam gave it to me.”

“The sheriff?” She was incredulous.

“He confiscated it during an arrest and knowing how much I enjoy a glass of bourbon now and then, he brought it to me.Very neighborly of him, I thought. Go ahead, try some—just a little now. It’s strong.”

Elizabeth brought the glass to her lips, sniffing daintily.She wrinkled her nose, and he laughed. She took a tiny sip and carefully swallowed.

“Not bad, I guess—in small quantities.”

“A Northern girl who can drink bourbon. What an anomaly you are, Mrs. Darcy.” His steady gaze over the rim of his glass as he took a somewhat larger sip of his own made her light-headed. Or perhaps, it was the bourbon that did that.

He slid back on the brocade-covered sofa, laying his arm across the top. He crossed his ankle over one knee and rested his drink on the other.

They sat in silence for a minute.She took another, larger sip.

“Come now, we must have some conversation.”

“Some conversation?” She smiled, remembering their dance at Charles Bingley’s—was it only last fall?It seemed so long ago now. “Hmm, let’s see…” She took another sip and considered.

“Well,” she asked in a quiet voice, “maybe you could tell me how long Georgiana has been in love with Richard Fitzwilliam.”

He sputtered in mid-drink, sitting up on the edge of the sofa. “What did you say?”

“You heard me. Didn’t you notice today, the way she looked at him?”

“She’s not in love with Fitzwilliam. She couldn’t be—he’s fifteen years older than she is.”

Amused, Elizabeth couldn’t help teasing him. “Why would that matter?”

He shook his head.“No, you’re wrong. When she first came home, he helped us with…some legal things. I’m sure she’s fond of him, but she views him as a close family friend, that’s all.”

“I think I know a woman in love when I see one.”

He set his glass on the end table and leaned toward her.“And how would you know that?” he asked in a condescending voice. Then he paused, thinking. “Have you ever been in love? Perhaps with some all-star football player or handsome med student at Northwestern?”

“Me? Heavens, no, I was never in love before. I wasn’t particularly interested when I was in school, and after we moved here? Well, girls like me don’t have the luxury of infatuation.”

“Girls like you?”