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“Just keep smiling,” thought Elizabeth to herself. “Just keep smiling... and for heaven’s sake, think of some other topic of conversation to introduce.”

Although she herself had no experience with fox hunts (in her memory, Mr. Bennet had never bestirred himself to attend such an event, much less host one at Longbourn), Mrs. Darcy had assumed it would be much like any other day of sport and socializing, albeit one that ladies might attend if they so desired.

Elizabeth’s equestrian skills might have improved over the last year, but she had no interest in jumping over hedges and fences, much less participating in any sort of activity in which the hounds would chase such a graceful creature to the point of exhaustion and then rip it to pieces.

Mr. Darcy had pointed out that foxes hunted the lambs in much the same manner, but he could not deny that there were more humane ways to eliminate vermin.

In the end, she had bowed to the tradition of the hunt while being thankful that her position as hostess made it entirely acceptable for her to remain at the house.

All of which had led to Elizabeth’s current position.

Not three hours ago, those ladies preferring to stay behind had farewelled the hunt.

It had been a grand sight—she could easily understand why so many artists chose it as their subject matter—but even so, nothing as static as paints could reproduce the vitality of the gathering; the huntsmen with their polished horns glinting in the morning sun, the hounds lifting their noses to sniff the morning breeze, and the horses, coats shining and ears pricked, appearing as eager as their riders to be underway.

And above all, her handsome husband, dressed in his scarlet coat as befitted the master of the hunt.

From the moment that he vaulted into the saddle of his tall dapple grey, it seemed to Elizabeth as if all the other riders turned to him, arranging themselves like iron filings to a magnet .

Her gaze had been so bright and admiring that Darcy had caught his breath upon catching her eye.

His thoughts only returned to the present when she had touched her fingers to her lips and blown him a kiss.

Understanding both the message and the promise, he had burst into a great grin before their line of sight was broken by the riders milling around him.

“Release the hounds!” he called, and the golden sound of the horns melded with the dogs’ gleeful chorus and not a few whoops from the riders.

Feeling the excitement, the horses pranced and soon the mêlée was racing across the fields.

Elizabeth had continued watching until she saw her husband and his grey fly over a hedge and into the woods.

Recalled to the present, she had turned back to those ladies who had chosen to remain behind.

It was a motley mixture of the elderly and the timid, spiced with several whom Lizzy suspected to prefer the natural world to be kept under glass jars.

“Well ladies, shall we go back in? A fresh breakfast has been laid out for those of you who preferred not to join our brave hunters at their dawn repast.” Her archly worded invitation prompted no little laughter, for more than one lady had descended only in time to wave off the field from the front steps.

Several excused themselves to return to their dressing rooms but most followed Mrs. Darcy’s lead to the breakfast parlor.

Once she was certain that her guests were happily situated and well-provisioned, Elizabeth excused herself to check with Mrs. Reynolds on the preparations for the evening’s ball.

Once they had confirmed that enough white soup had been made, the pigs were roasting on their spits, and all those other little details deemed necessary to make the event a success were being seen to, Mrs. Darcy relaxed a little and put away her list. “I have no idea why I bother to check, Mrs. Reynolds. As always, you have managed it as if Pemberley was accustomed to hosting such gatherings once a month rather than for the first time in nearly two decades.”

The housekeeper accepted the compliment on behalf of all the staff with modest words but a pleased glint in her eye.

“I’m sure no one would want to do it too often, but ‘tis exciting for those below stairs as well, to have so many new faces mixing about. I thought young Sally might burst into flame, her face went so red when one of the Somersets’ footmen asked her where the gun room was.

” Once their amusement subsided, Mrs. Reynolds added, “T’was a blessing that you found Lady Edna’s diaries.

I’m not ashamed to say that I wouldn’t have been half so well prepared without your notes from them. ”

Elizabeth beamed. Her discovery of a trunk containing journals written by her husband’s late grandmother had given her a great deal of pleasure, in addition to practical information about the estate.

That lady had been meticulous in recording the various events and traditions held at Pemberley from the day she arrived as a new bride.

Interspersed with wry witticisms, Lady Edna’s records documented not only a life at Pemberley, but also the eager investigations into its history and traditions of one who had obviously fallen in love with the estate on first sight.

“I wish I could have known her,” mused the newest mistress.

The enjoyment Elizabeth derived from her predecessor’s diaries had inspired her to begin her own, written in much the same style and recording not only the events some might consider of historical significance, but also those little day-to-day happenings that some future Mistress of Pemberley, newly arrived, might find of interest, much as she herself had.

Lately, Lizzy found herself pausing in her writing to gaze out the window, hand cupped over her belly where a new life had begun to grow, imagining the future.

She and Mrs. Reynolds exchanged a few more thoughts before Mrs. Darcy admitted that she should return to her guests.

Unfortunately for her, a group of otherwise well-bred ladies had gathered in the drawing room to drink tea, embroider, and trade increasingly horrific tales of death and disfigurement that had occurred during past fox hunts.

Suddenly very grateful that Georgiana had chosen to ride with the hilltoppers (a secondary group of riders who bypassed most of the rougher riding, preferring to observe from afar), Lizzy noted that she was not the only one who appeared discomfited by the bloodthirsty stories.

Taking advantage of a brief pause, she inquired, “Duchess, would you care for more tea?” When the lady declined, Elizabeth turned to her other guests.

“Well then; yesterday I promised Her Grace a tour of Pemberley House and this seems an opportune time. Would any of you care to join us?” She was pleased when the promise of seeing Pemberley rapidly overtook any interest in recalling how many bones old Lord so-and-so had broken after coming off his horse and being dragged by the stirrup for a furlong.

The hunters returned at half past four in the afternoon, a muddy, windblown group made rowdy with their success. The gentlemen fell upon the late luncheon set out on trestle tables in the courtyard with an enthusiasm only barely surpassed by that of the hounds at the water trough.

Even as Elizabeth circulated among her guests, her eyes were continually drawn toward her husband.

She had never seen Mr. Darcy behave in such an open, almost ebullient manner in such diverse company.

Observing him finish his mug of ale while laughing at some story the Marquess of Worcester was relating to Richard Fitzwilliam, she motioned for a footman with a full pitcher to follow her as she joined his group.

“Gentlemen, may I congratulate you on a successful hunt?” The boyish grin that her husband turned upon her sent a tingle down her spine, but that was nothing to when he wrapped one arm around her waist and kissed her full on the mouth in complete disregard to propriety.

“Elizabeth! T’was an excellent morning, indeed! I cannot fathom why we haven’t done this before!” he enthused, ignoring the looks of astonishment (and in some instances, envy) he was receiving.

Lizzy laughed happily and responded, “Remember that sentiment this evening at the ball, my dear husband.”

Will was far too content with the world to let such a thought diminish his high spirits. “As long as I have the pleasure of dancing with you, my dearest, loveliest wife, I can have no complaints.”

Darcy might have kissed her again then and there had not his words been met with an exaggerated groan from his cousin.

“A romantic—who would ever have thought that my cousin, of all men, would turn out to be a great, sopping romantic! Does he have a garret in the attic where he goes to compose sonnets in honor of your eyes, Elizabeth?” teased Richard.

Recalling a verse on just such a subject that he had attempted not a week before, Darcy blushed a little but responded gamely, “I fear I have not the talent to do them justice, no matter the setting, Fitzwilliam.”

Worcester grinned, glad to hear such warm and genuine sentiments expressed by the family that his younger brother wished to join.

However, noting that Mrs. Darcy was becoming genuinely embarrassed, the Marquess took pity on her and, raising his tankard in the air, quickly gained the attention of the entire company.

“Ladies and gentlemen, please join me in a toast to our most excellent host and hostess.”

Instantly the yard was filled with enthusiastic cries; “Hear, hear! To the Darcys!” Not much later, the guests began to disperse, returning to their rooms to bathe and rest until it was time for the ball.

The Master and Mistress disappeared as well, though it may be assumed that resting was not their primary concern.