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Chapter Twelve

The sight of Pemberley rising from the summer landscape never failed to stir something profound in Darcy’s breast, but today, returning with Elizabeth beside him after their journey to Leicester, the emotion was particularly acute.

The golden light of late afternoon bathed the stone facade in a warm glow, making the windows shimmer like welcoming beacons.

This was home, truly home now in a way it had never quite been before, not even in his childhood.

As their carriage rolled up the final stretch of driveway, he glanced at Elizabeth, finding her dark eyes already fixed upon him, a small smile playing about her lips as though she could read his thoughts.

Perhaps she could, in the peculiar way that had developed between them, a silent understanding that required no words.

“It feels different, returning this time,” he said quietly.

Elizabeth’s smile deepened. “How so?”

“The weight has lifted,” he replied, thinking of Lydia safely married to Captain Wallace, the crisis averted through their combined efforts. “I find I can breathe more freely now.”

“As can I,” she admitted, reaching for his hand. “Though I confess I shall not feel entirely at ease until we receive word from York that they have settled well.”

The carriage came to a halt before the grand entrance, and Darcy saw Georgiana already hurrying down the steps to greet them, Mrs. Reynolds following at a more dignified pace.

His sister’s face was alight with genuine pleasure, a sight that still surprised him sometimes when he recalled the timid, withdrawn girl she had been just months ago.

“You have returned at last!” Georgiana called as the footman opened the carriage door. “I have been watching for you since noon.”

Darcy descended first, turning to assist Elizabeth before embracing his sister. “The roads were in excellent condition, and we made good time.”

“Was the business in Leicester concluded satisfactorily?” Georgiana asked in a lower voice, her eyes searching his face.

“Most satisfactorily,” he confirmed. “Your sister by marriage is now respectably settled as Mrs. Wallace.”

Relief flashed across Georgiana’s features. “Oh, I am so glad. And was Captain Wallace... that is, did Lydia seem pleased with the arrangement?”

“More than pleased,” Elizabeth answered, joining them after giving instructions to the footman about their luggage. “In fact, I believe your brother and Colonel Fitzwilliam have found an excellent match for my sister. The captain is everything kind and considerate.”

This reassurance set Georgiana’s mind at ease, and she linked her arm through Elizabeth’s as they climbed the steps. “You must be exhausted from the journey. I have had tea prepared in the blue sitting room, and Cook has made those little lemon cakes you particularly enjoy, Elizabeth.”

Darcy followed the two women he loved most in the world, taking a moment to savour the picture they created together.

Elizabeth, with her graceful bearing and lively step; Georgiana, growing daily in confidence and elegance.

They had formed a bond that went far beyond the formal relationship of sisters by marriage, becoming true friends and confidantes.

He had hoped for this outcome, but the reality exceeded his expectations, as did so many aspects of his marriage to Elizabeth.

The month that followed their return passed in a pleasant rhythm of domestic tranquillity that Darcy had never before experienced at Pemberley.

Days that had once been filled with dutiful solitude were now animated by Elizabeth’s presence.

She moved through the grand rooms with increasing confidence, consulting with Mrs. Reynolds about household matters, conferring with the gardeners about subtle changes to the formal parterres, exploring the extensive library with genuine enthusiasm for its treasures.

More remarkable still was the transformation in Georgiana.

Under Elizabeth’s gentle encouragement, his sister had truly emerged from her shell, revealing a quiet wit and thoughtful intelligence that Darcy had always known existed but had never quite known how to draw forth.

He would come upon them sometimes, heads bent together over a book of poetry or a piece of music, their laughter floating through the corridors like a blessing upon the ancient house.

Mrs. Annesley remarked quietly to Darcy one day that she felt she was little needed now, but Darcy reassured her that her continuing education of Georgiana was still appreciated.

Darcy thought it an opportune moment to ask her if she knew of anyone suitable to be a companion to Lydia for the birth of her child, at which Mrs. Annesley immediately brightened and said she rather thought she might like to take the position herself.

They agreed that she would go to York later in the year, as Lydia’s confinement approached.

Mrs. Annesley would retire again at her leisure, as Georgiana would no longer need her once she began her Season in London.

The approach of the annual harvest festival in early September brought new energy to Pemberley. This tradition, dating back generations, was always well-attended by tenants and neighbours alike, but this year carried special significance as the first such celebration with Elizabeth as mistress.

“I confess to some nervousness,” Elizabeth admitted to him the evening before the festival, as they sat together in the library after Georgiana had retired. “Your tenants have known you all your life, while I am still very much a stranger to most.”

“They have seen you about the estate these past months,” Darcy reminded her. “And those who have met you already hold you in high regard.”

Elizabeth smiled, though a hint of uncertainty remained in her eyes. “It is different, though, is it not? This will be a formal occasion where I am expected to fulfil certain duties as mistress of Pemberley.”

“You will fulfil them admirably,” he assured her. “You have a natural way with people that I have always lacked.”

“Your way is not lacking, merely different,” she countered loyally. “Your tenants respect you deeply.”

“Respect is one thing,” Darcy acknowledged. “But they will love you, Elizabeth. That is a gift I could never offer them.”

The morning of the festival dawned clear and mild, perfect weather for the outdoor celebrations.

From his dressing room window, Darcy could see the servants erecting long trestle tables on the south lawn, while others hung lanterns and garlands of late-summer flowers from temporary wooden structures.

The familiar sight filled him with an unfamiliar anticipation.

This year, for the first time, he would not merely preside over the festivities alone; he would share the duty with his wife.

Elizabeth appeared at breakfast dressed in a gown of soft green that complemented her complexion beautifully, her dark hair arranged with simple elegance beneath a modest straw bonnet.

Georgiana, too, had taken special care with her appearance, wearing a pale blue dress that made her look more grown-up than her not-quite-seventeen years.

“You both look charming,” Darcy said, rising as they entered the breakfast room. “The very picture of Pemberley’s ladies.”

Elizabeth’s smile at his compliment warmed him as they took their places at the table. “Your steward came by earlier with some final questions about the arrangements,” she informed him. “I hope I did not overstep by making decisions in your absence.”

“You could never overstep,” Darcy assured her. “Pemberley is your home now, and you its mistress. Your judgement in these matters is as valid as my own.”

The morning passed swiftly in final preparations, and by noon, the first tenants began to arrive.

Darcy stood with Elizabeth, greeting each family by name as they approached.

He was struck by the ease with which she conversed with everyone, from the elderly tenant who farmed the northernmost fields to the young children who stared up at her with shy curiosity.

She remembered details about their lives that he himself sometimes forgot, and inquired after family members with genuine interest.

“Mrs. Davis, how lovely to see you,” Elizabeth was saying to the wheelwright’s wife. “Has your daughter recovered from her cough? I sent some of my mother’s remedy last week, but have not had a chance to inquire after its effectiveness.”

“Indeed she has, Mrs. Darcy, and we are most grateful for your kindness,” the woman replied, clearly touched by Elizabeth’s concern.

This scene repeated itself throughout the afternoon as more families arrived.

Darcy found himself observing his wife with a profound sense of pride and gratitude.

She brought to Pemberley qualities he could never have provided: warmth, accessibility, a natural empathy that bridged the inevitable distance between master and tenant.

As the afternoon wore on, traditional harvest games commenced on the lawn.

Children raced in sacks or tried to catch apples bobbing in water; young men competed in tests of strength and skill that had been part of the festival since Darcy’s grandfather’s time.

Older tenants gathered in groups, sharing ale and stories of harvests past. Through it all, Elizabeth moved with perfect grace, applauding the winners, consoling the disappointed, sharing laughter with the elders.

“Your wife is a remarkable lady, sir,” observed Mr. Yates, the vicar of Kympton, who had joined Darcy in watching a particularly spirited competition involving pitchforks and hay bales. “Seems to have settled into Pemberley as if born to it.”

“She has,” Darcy agreed, his eyes following Elizabeth as she presented a small prize to a triumphant young farmer. “Pemberley is fortunate indeed.”