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F itzwilliam Darcy could not believe his good fortune.

Elizabeth Bennet was here at Pemberley! He could not help staring at her; she was as lovely as he remembered her.

He wished he could see her eyes – were they as dark and dancing as he had thought?

He could not tell, as she was looking away from him.

She cleared her throat, nervously. “I am traveling with my aunt and uncle,” she began, nodding toward the older couple hovering anxiously nearby.

“My aunt was eager to see Pemberly, and we were assured that the family was not at home, Mr. Darcy, or we should never have presumed –“ She stopped, crimson-faced, clearly embarrassed down to her toes.

He cut her off at once, unable to bear the idea that she was uncomfortable in his presence.

“Please, Miss Elizabeth, I assure you that I am completely delighted to see you.

I never thought that I would ever have the good fortune –“ And now it was his turn to stop.

What could he say? That he never thought he would be fortunate enough to see her again?

To have the opportunity to win her friendship, if not her affection?

In truth, to have one more chance with her?

Now it was she who was hastening to reassure him. “You are kindness itself, Mr. Darcy, to be so forgiving.”

“Forgiving? Oh, no, Miss Elizabeth, it is you who are kind to forgive – that is, if you do forgive –“ And he stopped himself again. Heavens, had there ever been a more awkward conversation?

She began to smile, then chuckle. She looked at him directly now, her eyes dancing. How he had missed seeing them do so! His breath caught in his throat.

She said, smiling, “We should, perhaps, restrict our conversation to books, Mr. Darcy. We seem to have no trouble expressing ourselves in such discussions.”

He chuckled with her, relieved that her sense of humour – and her sense of the absurd! – had come to their rescue. “Will you not introduce me to your relatives?” He nodded toward the older couple.

The laughter in her eyes faded.

Lord, Mr. Darcy thought, what did I say?

Ah, these must be the relatives in trade, and she feared his disapproval.

He hastily added, “They live in London, do they not? I would very much like to meet them.” He was careful to smile at her as he spoke, hoping to indicate his genuine interest in her relations.

She looked relieved now, so his guess must have been accurate.

He waited as she motioned them over and performed the introductions.

He bowed politely and then asked about their travels, what they had seen, what they had enjoyed; he soon learnt that Mrs. Gardiner was from Lambton and was here to visit with old friends.

“May I ask, what was your maiden name, Mrs. Gardiner?”

“I was Madeleine Wakefield,” she replied.

“The bookseller’s daughter?” he asked, brows raised in surprise.

“You remember!” She was delighted.

“I am all astonishment! I remember you very well indeed, as well as your most excellent father!”

She smiled at him, warmly. “And I remember my father saying that your father was the most diligent collector of books he could ever hope to meet.”

“He was certainly that, and I have done my very best to follow his example. In fact,” and here he hesitated, not certain if he was overstepping, “Might you care to stay for tea? I would be delighted to show you the library. Many of your father’s books have found a home there.

” He hoped, very much, that the lady would consent.

How Miss Elizabeth would love the Pemberley library!

Mrs. Gardiner glanced at her niece, waiting to see her reaction.

Elizabeth was deeply confused. Mr. Darcy was being extraordinarily kind to the Gardiners, but could she count on that continuing?

Perhaps not. The landed gentry were not known for being welcoming to tradespeople, and she would not want the Gardiners to be slighted.

On the other hand, she knew her aunt would love to see the inside of the great mansion that was Pemberley, having spent her girlhood in its shadow.

Elizabeth decided to take the chance; she nodded at her aunt’s unspoken question.

“We would be delighted to stay for tea, Mr. Darcy,” Mrs. Gardiner said.