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Chapter Three

It was during their final day of travel that Darcy first observed the transformation beginning to take place in his sister.

The carriage had stopped at a particularly scenic viewpoint overlooking a valley, and as they partook of a light repast in the beautiful summery air, he noticed Georgiana venture an opinion without being directly addressed.

Elizabeth had responded with such genuine interest and encouragement that Georgiana, rather than retreating into her customary silence, had continued speaking, her voice growing firmer with each sentence.

“I believe that Turner’s approach to light is revolutionary,” Georgiana said, a faint flush of animation colouring her cheeks. “Though my drawing master considers him quite controversial.”

“I have seen only reproductions of a few of his works, but they left a remarkable impression,” Elizabeth replied, her eyes bright with interest. “There is something almost truthful in his depiction of nature that transcends mere representation, would you not agree?”

“Yes! Exactly so.” Georgiana’s hands, usually folded primly in her lap, moved expressively as she spoke. “It is as though he captures not merely the appearance of a scene, but its very essence.”

Darcy leaned against the carriage, content to observe this exchange without intruding upon the two women who commanded his affection.

That they might form a bond had been his dearest hope; that they were doing so with such apparent naturalness exceeded his most optimistic expectations.

Elizabeth, with her particular gift for putting others at ease, had approached Georgiana from the first with a warmth that was neither overwhelming nor condescending.

She had spoken to her as an equal, with none of the artificially simplified conversation that some adults directed at girls of Georgiana’s age.

Now, watching them share the small meal of bread, cheese, and apples that the cook at the last inn they stopped at had provided for their refreshment, Darcy marvelled at the easy rhythm that had developed between them.

Elizabeth passed the choicest apple to Georgiana without comment, while Georgiana automatically handed over the crusty end of the bread that she knew, from their previous meals together on the journey, Elizabeth preferred.

“Tell me more about your music studies,” Elizabeth said, settling herself more comfortably on the travelling blanket. “Your brother speaks very highly of your talents.”

Georgiana glanced at Darcy, and he saw with a pang that she was seeking his permission or encouragement to discuss her accomplishments, a habit born of her natural modesty.

“Georgiana has been blessed with a natural ear and remarkable sensitivity,” he said, providing the reassurance she sought. “Though she undervalues her gifts.”

“My brother is too generous in his assessment,” Georgiana replied, returning her gaze to Elizabeth. “But I do love music deeply. I find it expresses what cannot be said in words.”

“A sentiment with which I wholeheartedly agree,” Elizabeth said, “though my own modest abilities hardly do justice to the compositions I attempt.”

“Perhaps we might play together at Pemberley?” Georgiana suggested, then immediately looked as though she regretted her boldness.

“I should like nothing better,” Elizabeth assured her quickly, “though you must promise not to laugh at my fumbling attempts beside your expertise.”

“I would never!” Georgiana exclaimed, genuinely distressed at the very idea.

Elizabeth laughed, a sound that never failed to stir something profound within Darcy’s chest. “I know you wouldn’t, dear Georgiana. I was teasing. We shall be excellent musical companions, I am certain.”

Darcy watched his sister’s shoulders relax, saw the small smile that curved her lips at Elizabeth’s use of the endearment “dear Georgiana.” It was a minor thing, perhaps, but to Darcy, who had spent long hours of late observing his sister’s every mood, it represented a significant advance in her comfort with Elizabeth.

After Wickham’s betrayal, Georgiana had retreated into herself, her natural reserve hardening into something closer to fear.

She had become even more reluctant to express opinions, to engage with strangers, to trust in her own judgments.

Darcy had done what he could to restore her confidence, but he was acutely aware of his own limitations in this regard.

His natural gravity, combined with his role as both brother and guardian, made it difficult for him to provide the particular kind of gentle encouragement that Georgiana required.

Elizabeth, he realised, possessed precisely the qualities needed to draw Georgiana out of her shell. She was warm without being overwhelming, principled without being rigid, and she possessed a gift for listening that made others feel valued and understood.

As they returned to the carriage, Darcy found himself reflecting on the peculiar alchemy that Elizabeth seemed to work upon those in her orbit.

She had a gift for illuminating the best qualities in others, for creating spaces in which they might reveal themselves without fear of judgment or ridicule.

It was one of the many reasons he had fallen so deeply in love with her, though he had fought against the recognition of that love until it was very nearly too late.

“Shall we continue our discussion of Turner’s techniques as we travel?” Elizabeth asked Georgiana as they settled themselves in the carriage. “Or perhaps you might tell me more about your favourite compositions for the pianoforte?”

“I should like that very much,” Georgiana replied. “There is a particularly beautiful sonata by Mozart that I have been practising. It presents a technical challenge, but when performed correctly, it produces the most extraordinary emotional effect.”

“How fascinating,” Elizabeth said, leaning forward slightly in her eagerness to hear more. “Please, do explain the particular difficulties. I find I appreciate music more deeply when I understand something of the skill required to produce it.”

As the carriage rolled forward, Darcy found himself content to listen as his sister described the intricacies of fingering and timing required by the composition.

Georgiana’s voice, usually so hesitant, grew steadier as she spoke of something she truly understood and valued.

Elizabeth asked thoughtful questions that revealed both her genuine interest and her more limited musical knowledge, creating a conversation in which Georgiana could shine without feeling self-conscious about her expertise.

The afternoon light slanted through the carriage windows, illuminating the scene before him: Elizabeth, her fine eyes bright with interest, and Georgiana, the tension gradually easing from her slender frame as she spoke of her passion for music.

It was, Darcy thought, precisely what he had hoped for when he had first dared to imagine Elizabeth as mistress of Pemberley.

Not merely a wife for himself, but a sister and friend for Georgiana, someone who could provide the feminine guidance and companionship that his sister so desperately needed.

Catching his gaze, Elizabeth smiled briefly at him.

It was a smile of shared understanding, of mutual concern for the young woman between them.

Darcy returned it, feeling a surge of gratitude so profound it momentarily overwhelmed his persistent doubts about the nature of Elizabeth’s feelings for him.

Whatever complications existed between them as husband and wife, in this matter at least, they were perfectly aligned: Georgiana’s happiness and wellbeing were paramount to them both.

It was, he decided as the carriage continued its journey towards Pemberley, a foundation upon which something enduring might yet be built.

“We are almost at Pemberley.” Darcy’s voice broke the quiet, making Elizabeth jump.

Georgiana had drifted off to sleep a little while earlier, snoozing against Mrs. Annesley’s shoulder, and Elizabeth had been silently enjoying the beauty of the Derbyshire countryside as they climbed steadily up a steep hill.

“I beg your pardon, I did not mean to startle you.” He smiled, making the dimple in his cheek she had only lately discovered existed appear briefly.

“Only a little. I was wool-gathering.” Glancing at the sheep dotting the hillside, Elizabeth chuckled quietly to herself. “Something I think you must do a great deal of, hereabouts. Shall I learn to card and spin?”

“If you wish it, though there is no requirement for you to do so.”

The carriage crested the top of the hill, and Darcy reached up and knocked on the roof. It almost seemed as though the coachman had been expecting the signal, for he at once drew the horses to a halt.

“Come,” Darcy said, opening the carriage door and stepping out. “Your first sight of Pemberley, Mrs. Darcy.”

She was almost afraid to take his hand and step out of the carriage, afraid to look on the estate of which she had heard so much. Of which she was now mistress.

Darcy did not let go of her hand, drawing her to stand beside him at the edge of the road. He did not speak, did not unnecessarily say “Look, there is Pemberley”; there was no need, for the house lay below them like a shimmering silver jewel in the green, verdant valley.

The afternoon sun shone bright on the silvery-grey stone, making it glow softly against the backdrop of ancient oaks.

Before the house, a small stream swelled out into a lake, the water a smooth silver in the light, the whole creating an image which looked very much like a Turner painting come to life, to Elizabeth’s mind.

She stared in awe, realising that Pemberley was even more grand than she had thought.

She had seen grand houses in Hertfordshire, but she did not think even Wrotham Park or Knebworth House could compare to this; it was vast, could even be described as a palace!