Page 3 of Mrs. Gardiner: Matchmaker (The Pemberley Collection #3)

Darcy's mouth was dry, opening but closing again as he walked alongside Elizabeth Bennet, here on the grounds of his childhood home, Pemberley.

Elizabeth was here— here , at Pemberley.

When he first saw her, he thought he was seeing an apparition, that he was suffering from some strange seizure of fatigue, perhaps exhaustion from the heat, which must have been so severe that he was, like a man dying of thirst lost in the desert, seeing a mirage, a hazy vision, something there yet not there, tantalizing him with its tangible nonexistence.

But no—Elizabeth Bennet, the glorious woman he once loved, the incredible woman who once refused him, the beautiful woman who once—or still?—hated him; she was really here, walking along one of the many garden paths. And then Darcy tried to speak to her, fumbling and acting strange—he even asked about her parents, twice , like a stupid fool—and then he turned and left abruptly, rudely and silently, without warning.

How was it that a gentleman of his standing, of his name, of his fortune—how was it that he was completely transformed into a melting puddle of a man, all because of the mere sight of this woman?

Darcy then had gone inside and changed, snapping himself out of his foolish bumbling. Had he forgotten who he was? He was Fitzwilliam Darcy, Master of Pemberley. This was his home, his grand estate, everything the work of his family for many generations, and he was proud to carry the mantle himself now.

So why must he be made into a bumbling fool?

He knew he was no fool.

So he dressed, and quickly—he was determined in his course of action: to see Elizabeth again, before she and her companions departed. He would show her the truth: that he was a gentleman, and a true gentleman, at that.

Her admonishments from April rang through his mind with the cacophony of a high-pitched, clanging bell— "had you behaved in a more gentlemanlike manner"— and he vowed never again to give her any grounds to thrust an accusation such as that into his heart. He was to be the best gentleman she'd ever known. He knew he could be, and now was his chance to prove it.

When we saw her again, he begged an introduction to her friends. Turns out, they were the ones out of Cheapside. Very well then—he would not think badly of them (and he truly couldn't, as they carried themselves in a most fashionable way, and were much more pleasant than others he knew, such as Bingley's abhorrent sisters). He spoke to her uncle of fishing, and he cordially invited him to come back and fish on Pemberley's ponds.

He meant it, too—anything to show Elizabeth he was serious about showing them civility.

And that is how he found himself where he was now: walking side by side with Elizabeth, his nervousness coming back full force. His mouth was dried out, and he felt himself clamming up once more. It had been so easy to speak to Mr. Gardiner, but looking at Elizabeth made his heart pang, and he almost felt an actual, literal aching in his chest. This was ridiculous, of course, he told himself. To feel actual, physical pain from love?

Nonsense—but wait—did he just think the word love?

No. Surely he was not—surely, she had banished all of those feelings out of him when she delivered that horribly disastrous blow to his ego last spring.

But as he looked at her, it became wildly clear that his heart was still hers, in every way.