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Chapter Six

Darcy could not recall a morning when the breakfast room at Pemberley had seemed more radiant.

The winter light streamed through the tall windows, casting a gentle glow upon the polished silver and fine china, but it was Elizabeth who truly illuminated the chamber.

His Elizabeth. His wife. The thought still struck him with wonder, even after the night they had just shared.

She sat across from him, buttering a piece of toast with delicate precision, occasionally glancing up to meet his gaze, a becoming blush spreading across her cheeks when she did so.

Darcy found himself quite unable to focus on the excellent fare laid before him.

His tea grew cold as he watched Elizabeth’s every movement: the way she tucked an errant curl behind her ear, how her lips pursed slightly as she considered which preserves to select, the graceful turn of her wrist as she poured more tea.

Each ordinary action seemed imbued with extraordinary significance this morning.

“Would you care for more coffee, brother?” Georgiana’s voice broke through his reverie.

Darcy blinked, suddenly aware that he had been staring rather fixedly at his wife for what must have been several minutes. “Thank you, no,” he replied, clearing his throat. “It is... quite sufficient.”

Elizabeth’s eyes danced with suppressed mirth as she took a deliberate sip from her own cup.

The private message in her glance was unmistakable to him alone: she was fully cognisant of his distraction and found it amusing rather than discomfiting.

This silent communication between them, still so new yet already so natural, caused his heart to swell with contentment.

Last evening had been... Darcy felt warmth creep up his neck at the memory.

Their earlier hesitancy and awkwardness had given way to something profound and tender.

Elizabeth had come to him with the same courage and honesty that had first captured his heart, transforming what might have been merely a duty into something sacred.

He had awoken before dawn to find her nestled against him, her dark curls spread across his pillow, her breathing deep and peaceful.

For several minutes, he had simply watched her sleep, still scarcely believing his good fortune.

“Elizabeth, you must try this jam,” Georgiana said, passing a small crystal dish. “Mrs. Reynolds had it made from last summer’s blackberries. It is quite delicious.”

“Thank you, Georgiana,” Elizabeth replied, accepting the dish with a warm smile. “I confess I have developed quite an appetite this morning.”

The innocent comment sent Darcy’s thoughts spiralling in a decidedly improper direction, and he hastily reached for his coffee cup to hide his reaction.

When he dared look up again, Elizabeth’s eyes met his, and he could see she had not missed the effect of her unwitting double entendre.

A slight widening of her eyes, a barely perceptible bite of her lower lip, told him her thoughts had followed a similar path.

“You both seem in excellent spirits this morning,” Georgiana observed, glancing between them with obvious delight. “I cannot recall when I have seen you look so well, Fitzwilliam. Marriage clearly agrees with you.”

Darcy nearly choked on his coffee. “I... that is...” he stammered, unused to being so transparent, particularly to his younger sister.

“The morning light is particularly flattering today,” Elizabeth interjected smoothly, though Darcy did not miss the laughing glint in her eye as she turned to Georgiana.

“Will you play after breakfast, Georgiana? I believe you mentioned wishing to practise a new sonata, now you have mastered the last one.”

“Oh yes,” Georgiana agreed readily. “Would you care to turn the pages for me, Elizabeth? I should value your opinion on the third movement, which I find most challenging.”

“I would be delighted,” Elizabeth replied, her composure far exceeding Darcy’s own. “Though I warn you, my musical knowledge pales in comparison to yours. I may only be able to offer enthusiasm rather than expertise.”

Darcy had worried, briefly, about how his sister would adjust to sharing his attention with Elizabeth, but those concerns had proven groundless. Georgiana had blossomed in Elizabeth’s presence, growing more confident and animated with each passing day.

“I thought perhaps we might ride out to the western fields this afternoon,” Darcy said, finally finding his voice.

“The steward mentioned the drainage improvements are nearly complete, and I should like to inspect them. Would you care to join me, Elizabeth? The views from the western ridge are particularly fine.”

“I should like that very much,” Elizabeth replied.

“Though I must warn you, I may require additional instruction in horsemanship. My skills are rather rudimentary compared to what I imagine is expected of the Mistress of Pemberley. Nor have I been on a horse these two or three years; I may be quite rusty, I fear.”

“We have several very quiet and gentle horses, and Fitzwilliam is an excellent teacher,” Georgiana assured her. “He taught me to ride, and I was terribly frightened of horses as a child.”

“Was he patient?” Elizabeth asked, the corner of her mouth quirking upward.

“Exceedingly so,” Georgiana answered earnestly. “Though he can be quite particular about proper form.”

“Indeed?” Elizabeth’s eyebrow arched delicately. “I shall endeavour to meet with his approval, then.”

The seemingly innocent exchange carried undercurrents that made Darcy’s collar feel suddenly tight.

The way Elizabeth pronounced “approval” suggested she was recalling his many opinions on proper deportment, opinions he had so rudely expressed during their earlier acquaintance.

Yet there was no reproach in her teasing, only affectionate amusement at how far they had come.

“I have every confidence in your natural abilities,” he managed to reply, his voice lower than he had intended.

The butler entered with measured steps, carrying the morning’s post on a silver salver. “The mail has arrived, sir,” he announced, presenting the tray first to Darcy.

“Thank you, Porter.” Darcy accepted the stack of correspondence.

Darcy sorted through the letters quickly. Several business correspondences that could wait, an invitation from a neighbouring family that would require a response, and two letters addressed to Elizabeth in different hands. He passed these to her immediately.

“Thank you,” Elizabeth said, her eyes brightening at the sight of the letters. “Oh! One is from Jane, and the other...” She examined the second letter carefully. “From Lydia, the first I have received from her.”

Darcy observed the slight furrow that appeared between Elizabeth’s brows as she mentioned her youngest sister.

He knew Elizabeth had been diligently writing to her youngest sister, including many observations of Pemberley, as Lydia would need the information to maintain the illusion in her own letters home that she was staying with them.

Georgiana had even kindly made some little sketches to enclose of the house, several rooms and a few servants so that Lydia might enhance her descriptions, but this was the first time Lydia had made the effort to write in return.

“Perhaps she merely wishes to share news,” Georgiana suggested hopefully. “Leicester is quite distant from her former home. She may be feeling the separation from her family.”

“Perhaps,” Elizabeth agreed, though her tone suggested scepticism. She tucked both letters into her pocket. “I shall read them after breakfast, I believe.”

“Of course,” Darcy replied, understanding her reluctance to share potentially troubling news at the breakfast table. “We have no appointments this morning. You may read your letters at leisure.”

As the meal concluded, Darcy found himself once more captivated by the simple sight of Elizabeth rising from her chair.

The way she moved, with natural grace rather than affected elegance, stirred something profound within him.

When she caught him watching her yet again, she rewarded him with a smile so genuine and intimate that it seemed to stop the very beating of his heart.

“Shall we meet in the music room in half an hour, Elizabeth?” Georgiana asked, already moving toward the door.

“Yes, certainly,” Elizabeth replied, her eyes still holding Darcy’s. “I believe I shall retire to my sitting room to read my letters first, if that suits.”

“Perfectly,” Darcy said, understanding her unspoken invitation. He lingered a moment or two so that Georgiana did not see them going together and perhaps feel left out.

Darcy paused at the threshold of the mistress's sitting room, momentarily arrested by the sight of Elizabeth curled in the window seat, a letter open in her hands.

The summery morning light, softened by the sheer curtains, seemed to create a halo around her dark curls.

Her expression was one of intense concentration, her brow slightly furrowed as her eyes moved rapidly across the page.

She had not noticed his presence yet, and he hesitated to disturb her, savouring the opportunity to observe her unguarded moments.

Here was his wife, still so new a concept, yet already as essential to Pemberley as its ancient stones and verdant grounds.

He cleared his throat softly, and Elizabeth looked up, her serious expression melting into a smile that never failed to quicken his pulse.

“Forgive me,” he said, stepping into the room. “I did not mean to interrupt your concentration.”

“Not at all,” she replied, shifting slightly to make room for him on the window seat. “I have just finished Lydia’s letter. It is... surprising.”

Darcy settled beside her, close enough to feel the warmth of her presence. “Surprising? In what manner?”

Elizabeth handed him the letter. “See for yourself. I scarcely recognise my sister’s hand in these sentiments.”