Page 37 of Better Luck Next Time (First Impressions #3)

July, 1816

The sun hung low over the Hertfordshire countryside, casting a warm, golden glow across the fields as the carriage rolled steadily along the familiar road to Longbourn. Inside, Elizabeth—rather, Lady Pemberley, his bride of four years, sat beside him, her gloved hand resting lightly atop his. Across from them, their daughter, a lively girl of three with his blue eyes and her mother’s unruly curls, pressed her small hands against the window, delighting in the passing scenery.

“Is this the place where you lived, Mama?” Jane asked, her dark curls bouncing as she craned her neck to see out the window.

Elizabeth brushed a fond hand over their daughter’s shoulder. “Only for a short time, love. Just long enough to learn something important.”

Jane’s eyes sparkled with curiosity as she turned. “What, Mama?”

Elizabeth’s gaze drifted beyond the carriage window, past the hedgerows and blooming orchard, to the house that was fast approaching—a tidy country home tucked beneath the swelling green of Hertfordshire trees.

“That family is more than blood,” she said. “It is safety. It is laughter. It is the place you run to when the world turns upside down.”

The little girl made a thoughtful hum, leaning close to the windowpane with that expression on her face that Elizabeth always claimed matched his exactly. “Did you run away here?”

“Yes,” Elizabeth said softly. “And someone came to find me.”

Darcy had not spoken. He was watching… listening… soaking it all in. His cravat was slightly skewed—thanks to the tiny hands that had insisted on helping him dress—and his expression purposely hooded.

But Elizabeth could read him far too well, and she was already prepared to laugh at whatever he might say.

“You found Mama?” the girl asked, lifting her chin to him.

His brow rose, but his lips quirked. “I did,” he said, voice dry and warm at once. “Though she made it very difficult. She is rather slippery.”

“I am not!” Elizabeth laughed.

“You are,” he said, settling one gloved hand over hers. “I am surprised I did not lose you entirely.”

“You almost did,” she replied.

He sobered. “Yes. Almost.”

The carriage came to a gentle halt before the house, and the door swung open to reveal Mr. Bennet already standing on the front steps, his expression a mix of amusement and anticipation as he rocked eagerly up on his toes and back to his heels.

“Welcome home, Lizzy,” he greeted, his eyes twinkling as they landed on Darcy’s wife. “Darcy—or rather, Lord Pemberley, always a pleasure, but first, let me greet this young lady.” He tugged at the fronts of his trousers and squatted slightly. “Do you remember me, Lady Jane?”

The child curtsied with practiced grace. “Grandpapa. Mama says you may call me Just Plain Small Jane.”

Mr. Bennet chuckled, bending down to scoop her into his arms. “Well, now, Small Jane! An honorary grandpapa, am I? I shall make no complaints. You have grown since I last saw you. Have you been keeping your parents on their toes?”

Elizabeth laughed, linking her arm into Darcy’s. “She has, indeed.”

Darcy extended his free hand, which Mr. Bennet shook warmly. “Welcome, welcome, sir. The chess board is waiting, so which of you shall I have the pleasure of matching wits with first?”

“I shall claim the honor,” Darcy replied with a respectful nod. “I fear once you play her again, I shall never see the two of you again for the rest of our visit.”

Darcy followed Mr. Bennet into the familiar drawing room, the memories of past visits flooding his senses. The room was bathed in the soft glow of the afternoon sun, highlighting the subtle changes that time had wrought upon the Bennet household.

“Oh, my dear, dear Lizzy!” Mrs. Bennet exclaimed, enveloping Elizabeth in a tight embrace. “And Mr. Darcy! Such an honor to have you here. You are very welcome, very welcome indeed!”

Elizabeth exchanged a knowing glance with Darcy, who offered a polite smile. Over the years, Mrs. Bennet’s effusions had become a source of gentle humor between them. Tea was called, and Darcy’s fingers trailed just at the small of Elizabeth’s back as he escorted her into the drawing room.

Jane Bingley sat on the settee, posture straight, hands folded neatly in her lap. Her expression was sweetly mellow as always, but her eyes followed every move her son made. Charles Bingley crouched beside her, balancing William on one knee while the boy galloped a wooden horse up his father’s sleeve. The child’s laugh broke across the room, high and clear, and Bingley’s grin matched it without effort. They looked absurdly alike—same hair, same eyes, same wild energy barely contained in either frame.

Mary, now Mrs. Thornton, had returned to Longbourn for the evening. Marriage to the local rector had drawn gentler lines around her once-sober expression, and she sat with Elizabeth near the hearth, laughing quietly over some remembered absurdity. Their heads tipped close together, shoulders brushing now and again, the ease between them something that had not always been there—but had clearly been earned.

Lydia and Kitty had both married and settled in distant counties, their visits to Longbourn becoming increasingly infrequent. Their absence was felt, but the letters they sent spoke of contented lives and growing families.

Mrs. Bennet sat forward in her chair, hands clasped in rapture as she watched the two children in the corner—her grandson toddling after Small Jane with as much dignity as his little boots could muster. “Look at them,” she said breathlessly, as if witnessing the first rays of dawn. “So dear. So companionable. Do you see how he lets her lead? And she does it with such authority—like a true lady. It would not surprise me in the least if they took a particular liking to each other. Mark my words, there is promise in that pairing.”

Jane nearly dropped her teacup. “Mama, they are three.”

Mrs. Bennet waved a hand as if Jane had missed the point entirely. “And yet so advanced for their age. I only observe. It is a very fine beginning.”

Darcy, who had been studying his daughter’s regal little posture as she directed her companion to ‘guard the tea cakes,’ let out a quiet laugh. “A very fine beginning, indeed.”

Elizabeth turned to him slowly, one brow raised with suspicion. “Are you encouraging her?”

He lifted his teacup to hide a smile. “I am saying only that she has a discerning eye.”

“For mischief,” Elizabeth murmured.

Darcy tilted his head thoughtfully, watching Jane gesture to William as if conducting a miniature parliament. “Yes, and for strategy.”

Mr. Bennet, having observed the exchange with amusement, rose and moved to the sideboard. “Well, let us toast to the future, whatever it may hold.” He poured generous measures of port, distributing the glasses among the adults.

Bingley lifted his glass, his expression turning earnest. “To family and enduring friendships.”

“Hear, hear,” Darcy concurred, the warmth of the moment settling comfortably around him.

“How are the renovations at Pemberley coming along?” Bingley asked. “It has been nearly four years since you reclaimed the estate, and I imagine much has been accomplished.”

Darcy’s demeanor brightened at the mention of his home. “Indeed, much has been done, though there remains work ahead. The east wing has been fully restored, and the gardens are finally beginning to resemble their former glory. Mitchels says the orchard is recovering at last from ten years of neglect, so we expect a bounty this autumn, and we were able to purchase back two tenant farms that had been sold off. I regret to say the cottages both required extensive repairs, but all will be well in hand before winter. As for the drawing rooms and the study—you recall the state they were in before? You would hardly know them now. We have focused on preserving the character of the estate while incorporating some modern comforts.”

Elizabeth smoothed her hand over his. “And the library has become a particular point of pride. My husband has taken great care in curating a collection that would rival any in England.”

Darcy glanced at his wife, his heart fit to burst at his wife’s tender boasts, and trying for all his might not to let it be obvious. He probably failed. “It is a joint endeavor. Elizabeth’s discerning taste has been invaluable in selecting volumes that enrich our collection.”

Mrs. Bennet clasped her hands together, sighing contentedly. “Oh, how wonderful it is to hear of Pemberley restored and thriving once more. You have both done a remarkable job, I am sure.”

Darcy inclined his head. “Thank you, Mrs. Bennet. It has been a labor of love, and sharing it with family makes it all the more rewarding. I do hope you will all join us for Christmas this year. We feel it is finally fit to serve guests once more.”

The lady of the house looked fit to swoon. “Oh, how splendid! We shall all come—shall we not, Mr. Bennet? Even Kitty might be coaxed to make the journey, if she believes there shall be music and mince pies.”

Mr. Bennet gave a long-suffering sigh, but his eyes gleamed. “I shall come, so long as you promise not to force me to discuss lace and bows and the like while we are there.”

“My dear, you do try my patience!” the lady sighed. And then she giggled.

Elizabeth laughed, tucking her arm through Darcy’s. “I believe you are safe on that score.”

Jane turned to whisper something to her husband, then stood, already gathering her son’s little hand in hers. “Come, William. It is time we were back at Netherfield before the lamps are lit.”

William groaned softly but obeyed, sleepily peeking up at Small Jane on the way out and whispering something about her toy pony.

“Goodnight,” Jane said warmly, embracing Elizabeth. “We shall see you tomorrow.”

Mary stood as well, and Elizabeth rose to embrace her. “Come back tomorrow,” she said. “You shall help me officiate the rematch.”

Darcy frowned. “Rematch? What is this?”

“I refer to your imminent defeat, and the vain hope you will cherish of vindicating yourself tomorrow,” Elizabeth said, brushing his lapel. “We all know Mr. Bennet is going to trounce you at the chess board this evening. It is tradition now to keep score, as if it were sport.”

“You mean to say you have been documenting my misfortunes?”

“Meticulously,” Jane added sweetly.

Darcy turned toward Mr. Bennet with mock severity. “And you permit this?”

Mr. Bennet only sipped his drink. “Permit it? I encourage it. It is the closest I come to having my wits recognized.”

“Come along then,” Elizabeth said, gesturing toward the chessboard. “Your fate awaits.”

Darcy offered a hand to Mr. Bennet. “Shall we?”

“You are awfully eager to lose,” Mr. Bennet said.

“I am terribly fond of routine.”

E lizabeth carried her daughter up the narrow staircase with careful steps, Jane’s small arms looped around her neck, her breath warm against her collarbone. The little girl had fallen asleep curled beside the hearth, her head tipping to Elizabeth’s shoulder the moment she was lifted, one soft sigh escaping her lips before sleep reclaimed her.

The old guest room was waiting—cool, quiet, and filled with that peculiar mixture of lavender and beeswax that always marked Longbourn. Mrs. Hill had seen to everything. Fresh blankets were folded at the foot of the bed, a ceramic basin gleamed on the washstand, and a small oil lamp flickered in the corner, casting long golden shadows across the walls.

Elizabeth settled Jane down gently, brushing a kiss to her forehead before straightening. Four years ago, she had stumbled into this room half-intoxicated, disoriented, and running for her life. This very bed had held her while she had hidden from the world—now it held her daughter, blissfully unaware of the storms her mother had weathered to arrive here.

She lingered a moment longer, watching the steady rise and fall of Jane’s chest, her small hand fisted in the blanket. Then, with one last whispered goodnight, she turned down the lamp.

The hallway creaked beneath her feet as she padded toward the room Mrs. Hill had prepared for them. There had been no suggestion of separating her from her husband, nor would Elizabeth have accepted one. The room was simple, familiar. And it was the one she and Jane had shared that long-ago spring when the arrival of company necessitated it.

She undid her cuffs and stays by touch, the rhythm of it instinctive. A soft laugh escaped her lips as she considered returning downstairs. She could picture them now—Mr. Bennet leaning over the chessboard with one brow raised, her husband frowning at his own side as if he could still commandeer a victory. Unless Darcy had finally learned to cheat, which was unlikely, his defeat was as inevitable as the tide.

So she turned instead to the small dressing table and removed the pins from her hair, one by one, setting them in a little porcelain dish. Her curls fell into loose snarls about her shoulders, and she crossed to the window to draw back the curtain.

Netherfield shimmered faintly in the distance, its windows lit like stars against the dark. The years had changed so much. And yet—here she was. Here they were. Safe. Together.

She exhaled and leaned her forehead lightly against the cool glass, the night quiet but for the rustling hedgerow beyond the orchard. Some while passed like that, as she pondered the whims of fortune and the things that mattered.

At length, the soft creak of the door behind her drew her attention. She did not move, only smiled faintly as she watched her husband’s reflection in the darkened window.

Darcy entered quietly, his stride careful and almost impossibly light on the uneven floorboards. He removed his coat and laid it across the bench, then loosened the buttons of his waistcoat. His expression was thoughtful, content. He looked like a man who had, at last, come home.

He tugged at his cravat, pausing just long enough to glance toward the bed. He froze when he saw it empty, his brow tightening faintly. Then he looked toward the window and saw her there, haloed in moonlight.

“Still awake?” he asked softly.

Elizabeth turned, her smile deepening. “I was waiting for you.”

He crossed the room in a few long strides, but she met him halfway. Her fingers found his suspenders, sliding them from his shoulders with the ease of long practice. Her palms splayed across his chest, warm through the linen of his shirt, and she stroked over the planes of his muscles. Heavens, he felt good … solid and strong and so very hers . And since he was hers, she might as well pull him in for a kiss, just to make sure he remembered.

He chuckled low in his throat. “Careful,” he murmured against her lips. “The floorboards groan. The bed creaks. And if you are not cautious, you shall have a red face come morning… and perhaps another child come spring.”

She kissed him again, smiling against his mouth. Then she stood on her toes, her lips brushing his ear. “Too late for that,” she whispered.

He pulled back slightly, brow furrowing—until she caught his hand in hers and pressed it gently to her stomach.

His breath stilled. His gaze searched hers.

Then—slowly, wondrously—he smiled. “Truly?”

She laughed, blinking back tears. “I have suspected for about a month. I hope it is a boy.”

He touched her cheek, reverent. “I do not care what it is. The title can go hang. I am not anxious for an heir.”

She kissed his nose. “Neither am I. But our daughter is wild and headstrong and far too clever. She may need a brother to keep track of her.”

He grinned. “Ah. Am I no longer sufficient for that task?”

Elizabeth wrapped her arms around him, pulling him flush against her. “Your talents,” she murmured, “are unrivaled. But you are mine alone, my love, and I do not intend to share.”

He kissed her—softly, then more deeply, until she sighed into his mouth and felt him melt beneath her hands.

When at last he pulled away, he pressed a kiss to her palm and wrapped her tightly in his embrace. Together, they looked out the window.

“I kept watch here once,” he said quietly. “From that very garden, just beyond the hedge. I stood there and wished with all my heart that I could be in this very room with you.”

Elizabeth reached for his chin and turned his face back to hers. “And if you had been?” she whispered. “What would you have done?”

His eyes gleamed, and with a growl of pure affection, he swept her into his arms.

“I would have done this,” he said—and carried her to the bed to prove it.

Hungry for more Darcy and Elizabeth sweetness? Lose yourself in Make Your Play and find out what happens when two old rivals make a marriage pact!