Page 19

Elizabeth

M orning light streamed through the tall windows of Pemberley’s breakfast room, casting golden patterns across the polished table where Elizabeth sat with Jane’s letter spread before her.

Two weeks had passed since Colonel Fitzwilliam’s departure, and Elizabeth had postponed reading her sister’s correspondence, knowing it would address the Wickham situation.

Her fingers trembled slightly as she broke the seal and unfolded the parchment.

Wickham’s name leapt from the page immediately.

Dearest Lizzy,

Your letter brought me such pleasure, though I confess to disquiet at its contents. This matter of Mr Wickham troubles me deeply. If he is indeed the same man who imposed himself upon our acquaintance in Meryton, then your continued silence on the subject may prove unwise.

I urge you to consider revealing your knowledge of Wickham to Mr Darcy. Particularly after receiving your second letter with the news from Mr Darcy’s cousin. Secrets, even those kept with the best intentions, cast long shadows.

Elizabeth’s grip tightened on the paper, creasing its edge. Jane’s gentle reproach mirrored the doubts that had plagued her own conscience. How could she confess now, after weeks of calm? Would such a revelation not destroy the fragile understanding that had developed?

Her gaze dropped to the next paragraph, where Jane’s perceptiveness struck closer to the heart:

Forgive me if I speak too boldly, but your letters suggest a growing attachment to Mr Darcy. Your descriptions reveal an admiration that might, in time, deepen into something more profound. If such feelings develop, how much more difficult might it become to acknowledge this omission?

Elizabeth placed the letter on the table. Had her feelings become so transparent, even in ink? She continued reading as Jane shifted to more ordinary matters:

We have had some excitement here despite your absence. Mr Bingley arrived a fortnight ago with his sisters and a Mr Hurst. The neighbourhood has been in a flutter, and we made their acquaintance at Tuesday’s assembly.

Mr Bingley possesses every quality one could wish for—handsome features, cheerful temperament, and pleasing manners.

Mama will have told you that he stood up with me twice.

We have been invited to take tea at Netherfield tomorrow.

I find him most gentlemanlike, but pray do not tease me about this acquaintance.

And what’s more—he knows your Mr Darcy! He called him his dearest friend. Is that not a remarkable coincidence?

A smile tugged at Elizabeth’s lips. Despite Jane’s attempt at nonchalance, her enthusiasm for Mr Bingley shone through her measured words.

The prospect of Jane forming an attachment to her husband’s closest friend sparked an unbidden vision—future visits between their families, shared celebrations at Pemberley, a connection between her old life and new that Elizabeth had scarcely dared imagine.

She would have to tell Jane Mr Darcy was well acquainted with Mr Bingley, something she had forgotten about thus far.

Footsteps echoed in the passage, and Elizabeth gathered the letters into a neat pile as Darcy appeared in the doorway.

“Good morning, Elizabeth.” His voice carried a softness reserved solely for her, the same subtle shift she had noticed whenever they were alone.

“Good morning,” she replied, tucking the letters into her pocket. “Did you sleep well?”

“I did.” Elizabeth hesitated, more words hovering unspoken. “Jane has written,” she said instead, careful to keep the letter hidden lest Wickham’s name catch his eye. “She has met your Mr Bingley and speaks of him in terms that suggest genuine admiration. He has invited her to tea at Netherfield.”

A smile transformed Darcy’s usually solemn face. “Bingley has never been able to resist a pretty face. But do not worry—he is an honourable man.”

“Do you think we might visit soon?”

“Would that not mean seeing your family as well as mine?” Darcy’s question held no mockery, merely sensible consideration.

“Yes, but it cannot be avoided forever.”

“Let a few more weeks pass, and then we shall make arrangements.” He studied her face before adding, “I’ve come to ask if you might join me this morning. We always walk, but there is more of Pemberley to see on horseback.”

Elizabeth hesitated. “That would give me great pleasure, except for one rather significant impediment. I scarcely know how to sit a mount without embarrassing myself.”

“You’ve never learned to ride?” Surprise flickered across his features.

“My father considered it an unnecessary expense. And my mother feared one of us would break our necks and ruin our marriage prospects.” Elizabeth braced herself for the disdain she half expected, another reminder of the differences in their upbringings.

Instead, Darcy’s expression shifted to one of determination. “Then we must remedy this at once. Pemberley has several horses perfectly suited to beginners. If you’re willing, I can teach you myself.”

The prospect of appearing clumsy before him gave Elizabeth pause, but her curiosity quickly overcame her hesitation. “I would like that very much, though I warn you, I may prove a difficult student.”

“I doubt that exceedingly.” He flashed a smile. “One hour to change, and I’ll meet you at the stables.”

***

Dressed in a borrowed riding habit that had belonged to Georgiana, Elizabeth approached the stables.

Darcy stood in conversation with the head groom; a dappled grey mare already saddled nearby.

The tall leather boots pinched her calves, and the heavy skirt of the habit felt foreign after her usual muslin dresses.

“This is Persephone,” Darcy said as she approached. “She belonged to my mother—gentle in temperament but spirited enough to make riding enjoyable. She’ll serve as your introduction to horsemanship.”

Elizabeth stroked the mare’s velvety muzzle, meeting the liquid darkness of her eyes. “She’s beautiful.”

“She is.” Darcy’s gaze shifted from the horse to Elizabeth, travelling from the borrowed hat perched atop her dark curls to the way the riding habit accentuated her slender figure. “The habit suits you.”

Heat bloomed in Elizabeth’s cheeks at the simple compliment, and she turned back to the horse to hide her reaction.

After several circuits of the paddock under his watchful eye, Darcy declared her ready for a proper ride.

“You possess a natural seat,” he observed as they rode side by side along a flat trail that wound through Pemberley’s expansive grounds.

Elizabeth laughed, the sound rising unfettered in the crisp morning air. “Perhaps I was an Amazon warrior in a previous life, riding into battle alongside the ancient Greeks.”

“It wouldn’t surprise me.” The corners of his eyes crinkled with amusement. “You have the fearlessness that distinguishes the finest riders.”

“Fearlessness, or simple ignorance of the dangers?” Elizabeth quipped, though the admiration in his voice pleased her more than she cared to admit.

They rode for nearly an hour, venturing beyond the immediate grounds.

Eventually, they reached a natural plateau where the path widened into a small clearing.

Darcy dismounted and helped Elizabeth down, his hands encircling her waist. After her feet touched the ground, they stood close enough that she could detect the scent of his shaving soap—sandalwood and something distinctly his own.

“This is one of my favourite views of Pemberley,” he said, stepping back and gesturing towards the valley.

From their elevated position, Pemberley sprawled below in all its glory—the grand house nestled perfectly into the landscape, the lake reflecting patches of sky, formal gardens giving way to parkland.

“It’s magnificent.” The words felt inadequate for the vista before her.

“I come here when difficulties arise,” Darcy said, his voice low. “Seeing Pemberley like this—the whole estate at once, yet knowing every acre intimately—restores perspective to my troubles.”

“I understand why.” Elizabeth studied his profile, struck by this glimpse into his private self. “It would make a perfect setting for a painting—or one of my stories.”

“Your fiction and life begin to merge,” Darcy observed with a slight smile. “Has your writing progressed since coming to Pemberley? I notice your notebook accompanies you everywhere.”

“It has, though in unexpected ways. The house itself has inspired a new tale.” Elizabeth hesitated, then turned to him, ready to share the news she’d held close since yesterday. “In fact, I’ve received encouraging word. Nocturne Publishing has expressed interest in my manuscript.”

Darcy’s eyebrows rose, genuine pleasure lighting his features. “That’s excellent news. Why didn’t you mention it earlier?”

“I received their letter only yesterday and wasn’t certain how you would respond.”

“We married partly so you could continue your literary pursuits, Elizabeth. I’m delighted for you.” A note of pride entered his voice. “When must you send the complete manuscript?”

“In two weeks’ time. I submitted sample chapters, but the remainder needs copying in a clear hand before I can send it.”

“It will go by express,” he promised, and the simple support in his words warmed her.

“That gives me more time. Thank you.”

She accepted his outstretched hand as they walked along the stream that cut through the woods, their horses secured to posts nearby.

“This is the stream I fell into as a boy,” Darcy admitted, his voice softening with memory. “The bridge is just a little way down that direction.”

“Did you come here often?”

“As a child, yes. It was before my parents died, when the world seemed safer. Everything changed soon after, though I didn’t know it then.”

Something in his tone made Elizabeth want to reach towards him, to offer comfort through touch. Her hand moved of its own accord, then faltered as she remembered the boundaries they originally established. What was she thinking?