Page 33 of Return to Pemberley

Darcy considered this alternative, his quill tapping a measured rhythm against the table's edge.

"Your observation is most just," he acknowledged, and with several precise strokes eliminated his original opening in favor of Elizabeth's proposal.

"I confess that diplomacy has never numbered among my principal accomplishments.

I find myself most fortunate in my choice of advisor. "

"How gallant you are this morning," replied Elizabeth, accepting the compliment with that mixture of pleasure and gentle mockery which constituted her particular charm.

"We must, I believe, take especial care to assure Mr. Blackwood that our purpose is not to resurrect ancient disputes for ceremony's sake, but to resolve them in such manner as justice may require.

Moreover, we should make perfectly clear that our invitation implies no confession of obligation—merely the desire for frankness and what I shall optimistically term 'harmonious neighbourly intercourse. '"

This final phrase she pronounced with the merest suggestion of irony, being well aware that the world seldom proved so accommodating, yet resolved to champion the principle through sheer persistence.

They continued thus, the letter advancing by careful degrees, each phrase subjected to mutual scrutiny and refinement.

Occasionally, Darcy's hand would encounter Elizabeth's as he reached for the inkwell, and she found herself not yet so accustomed to his proximity as to remain entirely composed by such contact.

Once, as they bent together over a particularly troublesome paragraph, their heads drew so near that the brush of his hair against her temple sent such disturbance through her senses that she momentarily lost command of her argument entirely.

Darcy, not wholly immune to similar distraction, recovered his composure first. "Do you find this concluding passage satisfactory?

" he inquired, indicating the manuscript.

"'Should you desire to examine the original documents, you may be assured of welcome at Pemberley at whatever time may suit your convenience.

It remains our earnest hope that this matter may be resolved in a spirit of equity and with due reverence for the memory of those whose names are joined to both our houses. '"

Elizabeth perused the lines with careful attention, her finger tracing each word as though testing for hidden flaws. "It is admirably done," she pronounced at length. "Serious without severity, generous without the least hint of condescension."

They addressed themselves to the ceremonial conclusion—Darcy affixed his signature with customary flourish, Elizabeth prepared the direction and selected the appropriate wafer, and together they observed as the wax yielded to flame and the weighty signet, bearing the Darcy arms, descended upon the scarlet pool.

"Very handsome indeed," declared Elizabeth, examining their handiwork. "I have always believed that wax appears most dignified when it retains some irregularity about the edges—it suggests authenticity of feeling."

"Or unseemly haste," countered Darcy, his eyes betraying the faintest glimmer of amusement. "Though in the present instance, I am perfectly content that the world should attribute sincerity to our motives."

The completed letter was dispatched with all the ceremony due a diplomatic mission.

The footman, summoned by bell, received the missive with due solemnity and was charged to ensure its delivery with both expedition and discretion.

Elizabeth observed its departure with mingled relief and trepidation; as the door closed upon their messenger, she regarded her husband with renewed gravity.

"Do you believe," she ventured, "that Mr. Blackwood will indeed come? Or might he regard our overture as mere formality—some stratagem to forestall legitimate claim?"

Darcy, perceiving her unease, captured her hand within his own.

"He will come without question," he replied with perfect certainty.

"A gentleman in his circumstances cannot prudently decline such invitation, particularly when his family name is so directly invoked.

Should he prove so foolish as to refuse, the world will at least acknowledge that we have conducted ourselves with honour. "

Elizabeth nodded, finding comfort in his assurance, yet the anxiety persisted—a persistent weight upon her spirits. "It is not the world's opinion that concerns me, but the prospect of disappointment—whether his or our own."

Darcy, ever sensitive to the subtle currents of her feeling, pressed her hand with gentle pressure. "Let us reserve our apprehensions for such matters as lie within our power to influence, and trust that when the moment arrives, we shall meet it with united purpose."

They remained thus for several moments, the morning sunlight streaming through tall windows and casting golden patterns upon the writing table.

The recent days' tumult seemed, for this brief interval, wonderfully distant; in its place settled a tranquillity which, if not quite peace, might at least answer to the name of hope.

Elizabeth was first to break the contemplative silence, her thoughts already advancing toward the next requirement.

"We must prepare, then, for his arrival.

Mr. Harrow should certainly attend—he alone possesses complete knowledge of the estate's history and can produce maps and ledgers at a moment's notice. "

"Most advisable," Darcy agreed. "And Mrs. Reynolds must receive explicit instruction to extend every courtesy to Mr. Blackwood, that he may harbor no doubt regarding our intentions."

"I shall speak with her directly," Elizabeth replied, her spirits considerably lightened by the prospect of purposeful activity. "She possesses that invaluable talent of rendering the most elaborate attention appear perfectly effortless."

The remaining hour was devoted to reviewing the particulars of Shepherd's Lot, rehearsing various contingencies, and—not infrequently—lapsing into companionable silence as they observed the industrious bees among the garden flowers or attended to the distant melody of Georgiana's morning practice.

The letter's completion had relieved the worst of their tension; what remained was merely the anticipation of response.

As the day advanced, Elizabeth permitted herself brief reflection upon the nature of true partnership.

She perceived in her husband's steady composure and her own restless energy not opposing forces, but complementary elements of unified purpose.

It gratified her to think that even in so delicate a matter as this, they might create something which, if not perfect, was at least entirely their own.

As afternoon shadows began their slow procession across the lawn, a servant appeared with intelligence that their letter had been received, and that Mr. Blackwood had responded in the affirmative: he would present himself at Pemberley at the earliest practicable moment.

Elizabeth perused the reply, conscious of her quickening pulse. She glanced toward Darcy, who returned her gaze with satisfaction tempered by quiet pride.

"Then the die is cast," she observed.

"Indeed," he replied, and his tone carried the implicit promise that whatever the outcome might prove, they would confront it with perfect unity of spirit.

O n the morning appointed for Mr. Blackwood's visit, the atmosphere about Pemberley was at once ceremonial and charged with expectation, as though the entire establishment had received instruction in diplomatic protocol yet remained uncertain of the particular customs prevailing.

The avenue had been swept of every errant pebble, and Mrs. Reynolds, having conducted her customary reconnaissance of the entrance hall with military precision, pronounced herself satisfied—though Elizabeth, observing these preparations from an upstairs window, remained unconvinced that any amount of human exertion could truly master the estate's natural grandeur.

The appointed hour arrived, and with it the modest equipage bearing Thomas Blackwood into view.

Nothing in its approach suggested ostentation: the horse, while well-tended, lacked the lustrous perfection of Pemberley's stable, and the coachman's livery favored utility over ceremony.

Yet the gentleman who descended bore himself with such dignity as seemed, if not precisely to match the setting, then certainly to propose an alternative standard of worth.

He appeared a man of middle years and moderate height, his hair and whiskers touched with grey but not yet surrendering to age, his frame spare as a country hedge yet upright as any cathedral pillar.

His coat, though fashioned in an earlier mode, was brushed to absolute perfection; his boots, while clearly not new, bore evidence of recent and careful attention.

Only in his hands might an observer detect uncertainty—large, capable hands that gripped his hat brim as though it alone could anchor him against sudden tempest.

Mrs. Reynolds, stationed immovably at her post, received Mr. Blackwood with such courtesy as she rarely bestowed upon visitors of ambiguous station.

"You are most welcome to Pemberley, sir," she pronounced with grave formality, and with a meaningful glance toward the footman, signaled for their guest to be relieved of outer garments and conducted, by appropriate stages, toward the library.