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Elizabeth’s laughter filled the room, bright and uninhibited. “He did, though the journey was not without its complications. Perhaps one day we shall tell you the full account.”

“I should like that very much,” Georgiana replied, and Darcy was struck by the genuine curiosity in her voice.

For an instant, he glimpsed the child she had been at ten years old, before their father’s death had left her solely in his care.

How eager she had been then, full of questions about everything from astronomy to poetry, her natural reticence balanced by an insatiable desire to understand the world.

That curious spirit had been all but extinguished following Ramsgate, replaced by a guardedness that pained him to witness.

But now, watching her lean toward Elizabeth with open interest, Darcy saw glimmers of her former self emerging. It was as though Elizabeth had somehow found a key to unlock parts of Georgiana that had been sealed away, even from him.

“Sister, you must not believe everything Elizabeth says,” he said, attempting to maintain a serious expression. “She has been known to exaggerate for dramatic effect.”

“Only when the story warrants it,” Elizabeth protested, her eyes meeting his with such intimate understanding that his breath caught momentarily.

Georgiana glanced between them, observing their exchange with newfound perception. “I think,” she said carefully, “that I should very much like to hear both versions of events.”

“A diplomatic solution worthy of our cousin the colonel,” Darcy remarked, pleasantly surprised by her assertion.

Elizabeth had accomplished what governesses, masters, and his own careful guidance had failed to do: she had made Georgiana feel secure enough to begin emerging from behind her protective barriers.

“Perhaps we might continue our musical endeavours after luncheon,” Elizabeth suggested then, gathering the sheet music into a neat pile. “I fear I have monopolised your practice time quite shamelessly.”

“Not at all,” Georgiana assured her quickly. “I have enjoyed it immensely.”

“As have I,” Elizabeth said, her smile warm and genuine. “Though I maintain that your brother’s contribution would have elevated our performance considerably, and one day soon we shall persuade him to join us.”

“If by ‘elevate’ you mean ‘render nearly unrecognisable,’ then I must concur,” Darcy replied dryly.

This prompted another peal of laughter from both women, the sound harmonising as beautifully as any duet they might have played. Darcy found himself smiling in response, unable to maintain even the pretence of dignity in the face of their shared mirth.

The moment crystallised a realisation that had been forming since Elizabeth’s arrival at Pemberley: his ancestral home, for all its grandeur and history, had never truly felt complete until now.

There had always been a stillness to the great house that he had mistaken for proper order, a hush that he had interpreted as dignified rather than hollow.

Elizabeth’s presence had altered everything.

“I believe Mrs. Reynolds mentioned that luncheon would be served in the small dining room today,” Darcy said, offering his arm to Elizabeth as Georgiana gathered her music books. “Perhaps afterwards we might show Miss Elizabeth some more of the gardens.”

“Oh yes,” Georgiana agreed with unexpected enthusiasm. “The roses are particularly fine this year. Mother’s white roses are blooming already.”

Elizabeth accepted his arm, her hand resting lightly against his sleeve in a manner that, despite its propriety, sent a current of warmth through him.

“I should like that very much. I confess I have seen shamefully little of Pemberley’s famous gardens since my arrival, though the rain has been a convenient excuse for my laziness. ”

“You have hardly been lazy,” Darcy countered, leading them from the music room. “Your correspondence alone would exhaust many people.”

“Letters to my aunt and sisters hardly constitute labour,” Elizabeth replied.

As they entered the small dining room where they habitually partook of luncheon, Darcy allowed himself to imagine how Pemberley might look in a year’s time: Elizabeth firmly established as its mistress, Georgiana continuing to blossom under her guidance, perhaps even the patter of small feet echoing down the long galleries.

The vision filled him with a contentment so profound it bordered on reverence.

Pemberley had always been more than merely a house to him; it represented the legacy of generations, a responsibility he had shouldered since his father’s death with solemn dedication.

But now, watching Elizabeth gracefully take her seat at the table, he understood that Pemberley was transforming into something new; not just a great estate to be preserved, but a home to be lived in and loved.

After their luncheon, Georgiana and Mrs. Annesley excused themselves to go and practice Georgiana’s Italian, and Darcy rose from his chair.

“Does a walk still appeal?” he asked, gesturing toward the door.

“I should like to fetch my bonnet first, if you do not mind,” Elizabeth replied. “The sun may be agreeably warm, but I have no desire to end the afternoon resembling a farmer’s daughter after harvest.”

“I cannot imagine you looking anything less than lovely under any circumstances,” Darcy found himself saying, the words emerging before he had properly considered them.

Elizabeth’s eyebrows rose in mock surprise. “Mr. Darcy, I believe that was very nearly a compliment without qualification. You must take care, sir, or I shall begin to think you genuinely admire me.”

“I believe I have made my admiration abundantly clear,” he replied, offering his arm to escort her to the main staircase. “Though I admit to lacking your particular eloquence in expressing it.”

“You have other qualities to recommend you,” she assured him, placing her hand on his arm with an ease that still astonished him. “Not least of which is your patience with impertinent young ladies who tease beyond the bounds of propriety.”

“I find I have developed a marked preference for impertinence,” he admitted. “Particularly yours.”

They paused at the foot of the grand staircase, and Elizabeth glanced up at him with an expression that made his breath catch momentarily. “Then we shall suit admirably, for I have no intention of becoming entirely proper, even as mistress of Pemberley.”

“I should hope not,” he replied with feeling. “I shall await you here.”

As Elizabeth ascended the stairs to retrieve her bonnet and gloves, Darcy found himself marvelling at the transformation in their relationship.

Mere weeks ago, he had approached her with a proposal so ill-conceived and poorly delivered that her rejection, however painful, had been entirely justified.

Now she moved through his home with increasing confidence, her lively mind engaging with everything from the ancient tapestries to the newest agricultural implements with equal interest.

When she returned, appropriately attired for their walk, Darcy led her through the side entrance that provided the most direct access to the eastern gardens. The gravel path crunched pleasantly beneath their feet as they emerged into the bright afternoon sunshine.

“Tell me, Mr. Darcy,” Elizabeth said as they turned onto a winding path that led around the lake, “do you find Pemberley much changed by my presence?”

The question, asked with her characteristic directness, deserved an equally honest response. “Changed entirely,” he said. “Though perhaps not in ways visible to the casual observer.”

“How intriguing,” she replied, tilting her head slightly to study his expression. “Pray elaborate, sir.”

Darcy considered his words carefully. “Pemberley has always been ordered, quiet, dignified; qualities I valued without questioning their completeness. Your presence has revealed what was missing.”

“And what was that?” she asked, her voice softening.

“Life,” he said simply. “Joy. The sense that these rooms and gardens exist not merely to be maintained but to be enjoyed. Even the servants move differently when you are present.”

Elizabeth’s expression suggested she had not considered this perspective before. “Surely you exaggerate.”

“I do not,” he insisted gently. “You have noticed Georgiana’s transformation yourself.

But the effect extends beyond her. Mrs. Reynolds smiles more readily.

The footmen stand less rigidly at dinner.

Even Porter, who has been butler here since before my birth and whose face I had thought permanently fixed in stoic propriety, was caught humming yesterday. ”

“Humming!” Elizabeth exclaimed with delighted laughter. “How scandalous! What was the tune? Something suitably dignified, I hope?”

“‘The Lincolnshire Poacher,’ if I am not mistaken,” Darcy replied, allowing his own amusement to show. “Hardly befitting a butler of his standing.”

Their path now led them through an avenue of mature beeches, their branches creating a dappled pattern of sun and shadow on the gravel.

Elizabeth paused to admire the view that had opened before them as a bend in the path turned them back briefly towards the house: the lake glittering in the distance, the rolling hills beyond, the perfect symmetry of Pemberley itself rising from the landscape as though it had grown there naturally rather than been constructed by human hands.

“It is the most beautiful place I have ever seen,” she said quietly, and Darcy was struck by the genuine appreciation in her voice. There was nothing of artifice or flattery in her admiration; Elizabeth Bennet was not a woman to praise what did not truly move her.

“It has been in my family for ten generations,” he replied. “Each adding something to its character without overwhelming what came before.”