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“There will be more than enough time for that,” replied Mrs. Gardiner. “To own the truth, I might have thought you were eager to visit Pemberley. You are acquainted with the master of the estate, after all.”

“I will confess to some curiosity,” said Elizabeth. “Given the accounts I have heard of the place, any words seem destined to be prosaic in the face of reality.”

“Should we go, I have no doubt the experience will satisfy you, Lizzy,” said Aunt Gardiner. “The house is fine as I am certain you expect, but Pemberley’s true beauty is in its situation, for it lies among some of the finest woods I have ever seen.”

“If it satisfies even our discerning niece, it will surprise me to no end,” teased Mr. Gardiner. “Lizzy is indefatigable in pursuing such wonders.”

“You know me well, Uncle,” laughed Elizabeth. “Since you have given the place such an excellent report, I am now impatient to see it. When shall we depart?”

The moment she saw the place, Elizabeth had no choice but to allow merit in every particular of Mrs. Gardiner’s description.

After they entered past the gate, the road wound on for so long that Elizabeth wondered if they would reach the house before they must turn around and return to Lambton.

On all sides she found her gaze caught by wonders indescribable in the human tongue, for the groves and fields, meadows and a river plunging over a small rise, the waterfall entering a beautiful pool below brought such delight to her heart that she thought it would burst.

When the house came into sight at length, she felt her breath taken away once again, for a handsome building rising beside a natural lake enhanced the beauty of the place, the awkward taste of a negligent hand marring nothing of the scene.

The house was constructed of the gray stone she saw in abundance in the area and rose on three levels, the large portico over the door inviting weary travelers to partake in the beauties that lay inside.

Even Blenheim Palace did not match Elizabeth’s affinity for the place, for even if it was larger and grander, there was something about Pemberley that spoke to her soul.

“Well, Lizzy?” asked Mrs. Gardiner, though her grin told Elizabeth she had witnessed every bit of her reaction.

“You are correct, Aunt,” said Elizabeth. “It is the finest estate I have ever seen and not lacking at all in woods enough to please even me.”

“Then let us apply to see the place,” said Uncle Gardiner. “If we wait, I suspect our niece will lose all interest in the house, and I know my dear wife will not wish to walk so far as Elizabeth.”

The housekeeper was a matronly sort of woman who agreed to welcome them without hesitation, willing to show them through the house.

As they proceeded through the rooms, Elizabeth acknowledged that Mr. Darcy had excellent taste, though she supposed some of the décor was the doing of the man’s late mother.

There was little of the useless finery she had seen at several other locations they visited, for everything was elegant and tasteful.

In the music room stood a beautiful pianoforte the housekeeper informed them had just been delivered for the master’s sister, bringing to mind Miss Bingley’s claims of the girl’s talent.

If nothing else, Miss Darcy would not lack a quality instrument on which to practice.

When they reached the long gallery where the paintings of past masters and mistresses lined the walls, the housekeeper directed them to the image of the current master.

As she looked up into his features, Elizabeth recalled the instant attraction she had felt for him, and the feelings his handsome mien evoked that had given way to her perception of his character.

Now, with the figure of the man looking down on her, seeming to see into her innermost parts, a more positive feeling than she had ever experienced for him settled into her heart.

She might never see him again, but now that she had seen something of the man’s home and how he conducted his business in the obvious prosperity and order of the estate, she could acknowledge that he was an estimable sort of gentleman.

A matter of interest occurred when they returned below stairs, for Mrs. Gardiner caught sight of several miniatures, prized and cared for, and approached to investigate. “Lizzy,” called she, “I have just found a painting of one I believe we have met before.”

A belated understanding of who that might be swept over Elizabeth—she thought of Mr. Wickham even less than she had considered the Bingley party, especially since he had departed from the neighborhood with the regiment.

After Christmas, Mr. Wickham had pursued Miss Mary King, a young woman who had just inherited ten thousand pounds, and when her uncle had taken her to Liverpool, he had even followed her there.

In the neighborhood, there were rumors that her uncle had discovered something about Mr. Wickham he did not like and had acted to remove her from any perceived danger.

While these rumors remained unconfirmed so far as Elizabeth knew, the event had taught Elizabeth that she cared for Mr. Wickham no more than any other man.

Thereafter, he had continued his campaign to break the hearts of all the young women in Meryton, but Elizabeth had paid little attention to him.

What he thought of this change was not apparent, but he did not seem to repine the loss of her company, for he spread his favors liberally among any woman who would pay him attention.

Elizabeth had not been unhappy to see him leave Meryton, for Lydia had taken to praising him to an extreme extent, one Elizabeth thought was not proper.

“That one, Madam?” asked the housekeeper, pointing to the image of Mr. Wickham. “That is my late master’s protégé, a Mr. Wickham.”

“Ah, then it is Mr. Wickham,” said Mrs. Gardiner. She turned to Elizabeth. “Did you not say something of his recent doings, Lizzy?”

“The miss knows Mr. Wickham?”

The housekeeper’s tone had grown colder, as if a mere acquaintance with Mr. Wickham cast doubt on her character.

“Yes, I am acquainted with him, as I also know Mr. Darcy.”

When confronted by the woman’s skepticism, Elizabeth explained: “Mr. Darcy stayed with Mr. Bingley at his leased estate in Hertfordshire last year. My father’s estate is nearby.”

The woman’s eyes widened. “I recall something of that.”

Elizabeth nodded. “As for Mr. Wickham, he joined the nearby militia regiment, but I do not know him any more than this. The regiment has since decamped to Brighton.”

Mrs. Reynolds nodded, her manner a little softened from before. “No one in the neighborhood thinks well of Mr. Wickham, for his behavior has been most improper. It may be best to avoid speaking of him in Lambton, as those there remember him with little affection.”

Elizabeth nodded, not trusting herself to respond.

While she had not thought of Mr. Wickham much in the intervening months, this news of him shocked her, for she had heard little of him that she would consider negative.

There was no reason to continue to belabor the point, so Elizabeth returned her focus to the matter at hand and pushed any thoughts of Mr. Wickham aside for further contemplation later.

When they completed the tour, the travelers exited to the gardens behind the house, enjoying them for a time until the lake she had seen drew Elizabeth’s attention.

They walked around the massive edifice, noting the stream feeding the small lake and a path next to it leading into the woods.

Part of Elizabeth longed to strike out on the path to see what treasures lay within, but she held herself back, knowing there was no opportunity for such discovery.

With regret, she turned away, though her longing did not escape Mrs. Gardiner’s attention.

“I apologize for your inability to wander as you like, Lizzy.”

“Not at all, Aunt,” said Elizabeth with a smile. “If I lived at Pemberley and called it my own, I could explore to my heart’s content. As I do not, there is nothing to be done.”

“Do you suppose you know the future mistress of this place?” asked Uncle Gardiner, though he appeared mischievous.

“That is unlikely,” replied Elizabeth. “Mr. Darcy will marry some woman of society; as I do not move in those circles, I cannot imagine I will ever meet her. Even Jane’s Mr. Harrington is not a member of such an august company.”

“You never know, Lizzy,” said her aunt. “I cannot suppose you ever thought to even make Mr. Darcy’s acquaintance.”

Elizabeth laughed. “Before last October, I did not even know the gentleman existed, so I suppose I must allow the veracity of your statement!”

“That is true,” said Mrs. Gardiner.

When they rounded the house, they walked along the lake for a time, enjoying the breeze in the heat of the August afternoon.

While Elizabeth’s aunt and uncle walked ahead of her, she stopped here and there to look out over the lake or inspect some beautiful flowers that grew at its side.

Soon they would need to leave, and Elizabeth knew she would never return; with a sigh of regret, she turned to follow her aunt and uncle.

That was when she noticed the gentleman dismounting from his horse, his stature and the shock of dark curly hair announcing his identity.

For a moment, Elizabeth wondered if her presence at his estate should embarrass her.

Then reason reasserted itself—she could not guess what his reaction would be, but her visit was an innocent one as they traveled north.

Elizabeth turned back to the lake to gaze over it one last time as Mr. Darcy approached her relations, and then she followed them toward the gentleman.

As she was gazing at him, she saw the exact moment when he caught sight of her.

The surprise the gentleman displayed upon seeing her was expected. His reaction to her presence was not.