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“I would be most grateful,” Darcy said. “The house should be ready for occupancy by next month, fully furnished and with a small staff already engaged. The Wallaces will be arriving from York with minimal household goods.”

Colonel Fitzwilliam nodded. “Consider it arranged. I assume the financial arrangements will follow the same pattern as their current situation?”

“Yes, though with appropriate adjustments for London prices,” Darcy confirmed. “I will instruct my solicitor to contact you regarding the specifics.”

“Very good. I shall write immediately and have an answer for you within the week.” The colonel hesitated, then added, “May I ask how Mrs. Darcy’s sister is faring otherwise? Her confinement approaches, does it not?”

“Around Christmas, yes. According to Mrs. Darcy, her sister is in good health and spirits, particularly now that Mrs. Annesley has joined their household.”

“Excellent. Mrs. Annesley is a woman of superior understanding and discretion. She will be invaluable during this delicate time.” Colonel Fitzwilliam smiled slightly. “It appears you have thought of everything, cousin.”

“Hardly everything,” Darcy admitted. “This situation continues to present new challenges. I merely attempt to anticipate those within my power to address.”

“A skill at which you excel,” the colonel observed. “Now, will you accept my challenge to a game of billiards? I find strategic thinking is often enhanced by parallel occupation of the hands.”

Darcy accepted the cue his cousin offered, though his mind remained partially engaged with the Lydia situation.

The complex web of arrangements necessary to maintain the fiction of her respectability sometimes felt like a never-ending responsibility.

Yet he had committed himself to this course when he married Elizabeth, accepting that her family’s welfare was now inextricably linked with his own.

When he rejoined Elizabeth later that morning, she had completed her letter to Lydia and sealed it for the afternoon post. “I have been as firm as I dared,” she told him.

“I emphasized the fashionable practice of limited social engagements during the later stages of confinement, and suggested that she might find London society more enjoyable after she has fully recovered from childbirth.”

“Well reasoned,” Darcy approved. “And Colonel Fitzwilliam has agreed to arrange suitable housing in London for them.”

“I am continually grateful for your management of these matters,” Elizabeth said, her eyes warm with appreciation. “You have shown remarkable generosity and foresight in protecting my family’s interests.”

“Our family’s interests,” Darcy corrected gently. “Your concerns are mine now, as they have been since our marriage.”

The genuine smile that lit Elizabeth’s face at his words was reward enough for any trouble or expense these arrangements might entail.

For her happiness, Darcy would readily undertake far greater challenges than managing Lydia’s precarious situation.

It was, after all, a small price to pay for the joy Elizabeth had brought into his life.

The Meryton assembly rooms had changed little in the year since Darcy had last stood within their modestly proportioned walls.

The same yellowed chandelier cast its warm glow over the gathered company, the same faded curtains framed the tall windows, and the same local musicians sawed enthusiastically at their instruments in the corner.

Yet everything else felt utterly transformed.

Where once he had surveyed this provincial gathering with barely concealed disdain, Darcy now stood with Elizabeth’s hand tucked comfortably in the crook of his arm, watching the dancers with genuine interest rather than critical detachment.

The difference, he knew, lay not in the assembly rooms or their occupants but within himself.

“A penny for your thoughts, Mr. Darcy,” Elizabeth said beside him, her eyes bright with that particular sparkle that never failed to warm his heart. “You look unusually contemplative for a country assembly.”

“I was merely reflecting on the curious nature of time and perspective,” he replied, allowing a small smile to touch his lips. “It seems both an eternity and merely moments since I last attended an assembly in this room.”

“Ah, yes.” Elizabeth’s tone took on a mischievous quality that alerted him to impending teasing. “I believe that was the occasion when you declared me merely ‘tolerable, but not handsome enough to tempt you.’ How mortifying it must be to find yourself now married to such a mediocre specimen.”

A year ago, such a reference to his admittedly ungracious remark would have filled him with uncomfortable remorse. Now, secure in their mutual understanding, he could appreciate the gentle humour in her reminder.

“A grave error of judgment,” Darcy acknowledged, turning to face her fully. “Though in my defence, I was clearly suffering from a temporary blindness that affected my faculties of discernment.”

“Is that so?” Elizabeth tilted her head, her eyes dancing with amusement. “And have you recovered from this affliction, sir? Am I handsome enough to tempt you now?”

Darcy allowed his gaze to travel appreciatively over his wife’s appearance.

Elizabeth wore a gown of deep violet silk that complemented her complexion beautifully, her dark hair arranged in an elegant style that framed her expressive face to perfection.

The necklace of perfectly matched cream pearls he had given her as a wedding gift adorned her throat, glowing softly in the lamplight.

“You are not merely handsome enough to tempt me,” he said, his voice dropping to ensure his words remained private. “You are enchanting enough to utterly captivate me, as you well know.”

A becoming blush coloured Elizabeth’s cheeks at his unusually expressive compliment. “Well, Mr. Darcy, it seems your powers of observation have improved considerably over the past year.”

“As has my appreciation for country assemblies,” he replied with a slight bow. “Particularly when attended in your company.”

Their exchange was interrupted by the approach of Mrs. Bennet, resplendent in a turbaned headdress adorned with ostrich feathers that quivered alarmingly with each enthusiastic gesture.

“Lizzy! Mr. Darcy!” she exclaimed, her voice carrying clearly over the ambient conversation. “There you are! Sir William Lucas has been most particular in his desire to speak with you, Mr. Darcy.”

Darcy maintained his composure with the practised ease of a man who had learned to weather Mrs. Bennet’s effusions without visible reaction. “I should be pleased to speak with Sir William again,” he replied politely.

“Oh, excellent! Most excellent!” Mrs. Bennet beamed, taking his free arm without ceremony and effectively separating him from Elizabeth.

“You must allow me to introduce you properly to everyone, Mr. Darcy. Not everyone had the opportunity to meet you at the wedding, you know, and there has been such curiosity about Lizzy’s grand marriage. ”

Before he could formulate a graceful refusal, Darcy found himself being led through the assembly room, Mrs. Bennet’s grip on his arm surprisingly firm for a woman of her years. Elizabeth followed a few steps behind, her expression a mixture of sympathy and suppressed amusement at his predicament.

“Mrs. Long, you remember my son-in-law, Mr. Darcy of Pemberley,” Mrs. Bennet announced to a thin woman in an outdated gown. “Ten thousand a year, as I’m sure you recall, and the most magnificent estate in Derbyshire. The gardens alone cover fifty acres, is that not correct, Mr. Darcy?”

“The formal gardens are somewhat more modest,” Darcy replied with careful neutrality, “though the grounds are extensive.”

“So modest!” Mrs. Bennet trilled. “Such a distinguished gentleman, yet so unwilling to boast of his consequence. But I assure you, Mrs. Long, Pemberley is everything grand and elegant. Lizzy wrote to me of the picture gallery alone for three full pages!”

Mrs. Long murmured something appropriately impressed, her eyes travelling over Darcy with undisguised curiosity. Before she could engage him in conversation, however, Mrs. Bennet had already moved on to her next target, a portly gentleman whom she identified as the new apothecary.

“Mr. Burrows, you must meet my son-in-law, Mr. Darcy. His family physician in London is consulted by the very highest circles, even attending members of the royal family, I understand.”

This was news to Darcy, who had never heard any such claim regarding Dr. Morrison, but he merely inclined his head politely as Mrs. Bennet continued her embellished portrait of his supposed grandeur and connections.

And so it continued around the perimeter of the assembly room, Mrs. Bennet presenting him to what seemed every resident of Meryton as though he were a prized stallion at auction.

His wealth, his property, his connections, even his tailor were described in increasingly exaggerated terms until Darcy began to wonder if he would recognise himself in her descriptions.

A year ago, such an exhibition would have mortified him beyond endurance.

Now, though he could not claim to enjoy being the object of such effusive, often inaccurate praise, he bore it with patient fortitude.

Elizabeth’s presence just behind them, her occasional suppressed laugh when her mother’s claims grew particularly outlandish, provided both moral support and a reminder of why he willingly endured such displays.

Finally, having completed nearly a full circuit of the room, Mrs. Bennet released him to address some matter regarding the refreshment table. Darcy found himself momentarily at liberty, with Elizabeth quickly rejoining him.

“My most profound apologies,” she said, her eyes sparkling with mirth despite her contrite tone. “I fear Mama was determined to extract full value from your presence tonight.”