Page 4 of The Same Noble Line (Darcy and Elizabeth Happily Ever Afters)

T he carriage lurched as it turned off the Great North Road, and Darcy steadied himself, acutely aware of his sister Georgiana’s presence across from him. Beside him, Bingley’s eyes sparkled with curiosity, his earlier reticence melting into a thoughtful expression as he turned to Darcy.

“Tell me, my friend, what has changed your mind about the Bennets?”

Darcy blinked, momentarily confused. He had not been sleeping well. “Changed my mind?”

Bingley nodded. “I know you agreed with my sisters that Miss Bennet was not a suitable match for me.”

Darcy’s pulse quickened as he tried to remain composed. He had thought it, but . . . “Bingley, I have no recollection of ever saying such a thing.”

For a moment, Bingley studied him with intense focus. “Ah,” he finally said, as though fitting a puzzle together. “Perhaps it was my sisters who told me you had agreed. But you did say Miss Bennet smiled too much, did you not?”

Darcy bit back a sigh. He had said other things too, cutting, sardonic insults in the name of displaying his superiority. Now, half suspecting, half dreading that the Bennets might indeed be his cousins, he made a sound of impatience. “I may have said so once—months ago. Such first impressions, however, mean little. I have come to think very highly of the two eldest Bennet sisters. However,”— he paused, holding Bingley’s gaze with firm caution—“before paying so much attention to Miss Bennet, you should be certain her feelings are the same as your own. Consider how embarrassed she would be if they were not.”

Bingley relaxed. “I have no fear of that. I am certain that if I inquire, she will tell me the truth. And then at least I will know.”

“If you are so sure, why did you not simply return to ask?”

His friend’s brows pinched together. “Because my appearing at Longbourn alone to speak with Miss Bennet would have been seen as confirmation that I would propose. I do not know her feelings on the matter, and I would not have her mother insist upon Miss Bennet either accepting me or Mrs. Bennet publicly declaring me a scoundrel.”

“Yes, we know enough of Mrs. Bennet to believe her capable of both.”

Bingley shook his head. “I am pleased to open Netherfield for you and your family, of course. It suits my own purposes exceedingly well, for now I shall not be appearing at Longbourn alone. But to own the truth, Darcy, I am surprised. I believed you would never again return to Hertfordshire, for you did not appear to enjoy your time there any more than Caroline.”

Across from them, Georgiana’s keen interest in this conversation had not escaped Darcy’s notice.

Darcy considered his response carefully. “I have two reasons. First, Wickham is still attached to the militia there.” He offered Georgiana a brief, apologetic glance. “I only saw him once, but I regret not acting. I wish to ensure he does not take advantage of the townspeople.” He did not mention that they ought also to be concerned about their daughters. Georgiana was now aware of Wickham’s dalliances, but there was no need to broach that topic in her presence again.

Bingley nodded slowly, though his expression grew thoughtful. “And the second?”

Darcy hesitated. “The second reason,” he finally said, choosing his words with care, “is to better acquaint myself with the Bennets.”

His friend’s eyes widened, and his expression brightened. Darcy knew instinctively that Bingley had misunderstood.

“My dear friend,” Bingley exclaimed, “I cannot tell you how grateful I am for your support, particularly knowing your sentiments about Mrs. Bennet and the younger sisters.”

Darcy did not correct Bingley’s generous interpretation of his actions. He assuaged his guilt by telling himself he would have come to assist Bingley had his friend confidently announced he wished to ally himself with Miss Bennet. His thoughts shifted to Miss Elizabeth, as they often did, now. He recalled that wretched assembly and how his first impressions of Miss Elizabeth had been entirely in error. She was an active woman, of which he approved, and a clever one. And yes, for all the protestations he had made before he allowed himself to become acquainted with her, Miss Elizabeth was also beautiful.

Georgiana cast him a sympathetic smile, though she could not know his thoughts. Darcy sat in silence, lost in contemplation as the carriage rumbled onward, Bingley’s cheerful chatter fading into the background. The answers he sought awaited him in Hertfordshire. There was nothing for it but to move forward.

The entire Bennet household gathered at the windows as Mr. Bingley, Mr. Darcy, and two others stepped out of a large, gleaming black carriage. Elizabeth thought the young woman must be Miss Darcy, but she did not know who the other man might be. He did not look like either Mr. Bingley or the Darcys. He had sandy-brown hair and was of medium height, but his lean figure bespoke strength.

Truthfully, she was surprised that anyone had accompanied Mr. Bingley on his first visit to Longbourn, let alone Mr. Darcy who had never ventured to her home during his months of residence last autumn. She had not expected ever to see the man again.

Mrs. Gardiner turned to Elizabeth with a bright smile. “Well, Lizzy, this is a timely arrival. Now we shall see whether Mr. Wickham’s sketch of the Darcys is a faithful one.”

Elizabeth did not reply, but she offered her aunt a little smile.

As the Netherfield party reached the door of the drawing room, her mother’s voice echoed with barely contained excitement as she urged her daughters forward. Her father, however, held his ground. When Mr. Bingley greeted him with a warm smile, Papa responded with a cynical twist of his mouth.

“Mr. Bingley,” he said, “welcome back to Hertfordshire. I trust London was suitably diverting?”

Mr. Bingley flushed, understanding perfectly. “It was very lively, sir,” he replied, casting an apologetic glance toward Jane, who gave him a gentle, encouraging smile. “But I am happy to have returned. My sisters send their regrets. They are visiting a friend for the festive season, so I am afraid we four must represent Netherfield.”

Her father raised an eyebrow at this and then nodded. “Then we are fortunate to have you here.” He waved at the Gardiners. “I believe you have met the rest of my family, but this is Mr. Gardiner and Mrs. Gardiner, our brother and sister from London. They came to spend Christmas with us.”

The Netherfield party made all the proper salutations.

“Mr. Bennet, Mrs. Bennet, Miss Bennet, Miss Elizabeth, Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner,” Mr. Darcy said gravely, ignoring her younger sisters who had taken up their own pursuits on the far side of the room, “may I introduce my sister, Miss Darcy, and my cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam?”

Elizabeth curtsied while her mother exclaimed with pleasure. It required a nearly heroic effort not to wince, but she managed it.

Her father turned to greet Colonel Fitzwilliam and Mr. Darcy with polite formality. While the rest of the party began to converse with the Gardiners, he disappeared from the room, leaving everyone else to entertain their guests.

“Well, he would be a fine one for reconnaissance,” Colonel Fitzwilliam observed quietly to Mr. Darcy when he realised they had been abandoned. “Hardly noticed him slipping away.”

Elizabeth blushed at her father’s rudeness, but there was nothing to be done. She had not been meant to hear that exchange, and so she dared not offer an apology. She forced her eyes away from the cousins and towards her eldest sister, who was now speaking with Mr. Bingley. Jane’s face was radiant with a quiet joy as Mr. Bingley renewed his attentions, and witnessing her happiness lifted Elizabeth’s spirits. Mr. Darcy’s presence, however, still bewildered her. She knew he was staying at Netherfield, but even so, his arrival with Mr. Bingley was unexpected. Yet here he was—standing in her family’s drawing room, his family in tow, conversing politely with Uncle Gardiner about the fishing at Pemberley, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

It was not long before Mamma’s effusive chatter rose above the more reserved conversations. She fussed over Mr. Bingley and Colonel Fitzwilliam with unrestrained delight while her eyes darted toward Mr. Darcy with apprehension. Mr. Darcy, for his part, bore it all with a polite nod, his gaze steadfastly avoiding Elizabeth, though it occasionally lingered on Jane.

Elizabeth realised that she had been very nearly staring at Mr. Darcy and turned away.

Mary, seated near the fire, looked up briefly from her well-worn copy of Strictures on the Modern System of Female Education, her expression one of quiet reproach. She only turned back to her reading after delivering a particularly solemn and largely unnoticed observation about the importance of humility to her two younger sisters. Kitty, meanwhile, was in the corner with Mrs. Gardiner, shyly displaying a ribbon she was carefully embroidering using a stitch her aunt had taught her. Mrs. Gardiner praised her work, and Kitty blushed, pleased with the gentle attention.

Not to be outdone, Lydia leaned toward the colonel with barely concealed excitement. “Colonel Fitzwilliam, you must tell me all about your adventures, for I am sure you have done the most thrilling things! Far more exciting than anything that happens in Hertfordshire.”

Colonel Fitzwilliam smiled politely, inclining his head. “Indeed, Miss Lydia, but as I have been assigned to Whitehall for the past months, I am afraid I have nothing to recount that a young lady such as yourself would consider thrilling.” His eyes twinkled slightly as he added, “I suspect you would find military life quite dull compared to the comforts of Longbourn. No dances or parties, only rain and mud and marches. The wives of my officers live lives of great sacrifice.”

Bless the man. Elizabeth was relieved that he had painted a more realistic portrait of a soldier’s life than had Mr. Wickham and the other militia officers. She paused, thinking that through. Mr. Wickham did embellish his life in the militia. He made it sound exciting and heroic. Never did he mention the duller routines of training and poor weather.

Lydia wrinkled her nose. “Marches? I do not think I should care much for that,” she conceded, before quickly brightening. “But I am sure a ball is never out of the question for an officer, no matter where he is!”

Mamma laughed indulgently and patted Lydia’s arm as though she had made the most astute of statements.

Colonel Fitzwilliam, clearly amused, shook his head. “Not a one, I am afraid.”

Her mother, undeterred, then directed a flow of cheerful conversation toward Miss Darcy. Jane, in turn, guided Mr. Bingley to the table where she was about to pour the tea. Elizabeth met Jane’s eye when her sister glanced up, but Jane shook her head once and turned to speak with her companion. Mary turned a page in her book and murmured an occasional affirmation under her breath while Kitty and Lydia, now a little subdued, listened as Uncle Gardiner and the other gentlemen carried the conversation forward.

Aunt Gardiner’s soft laughter drew Elizabeth’s attention. “My father was Mr. Manners,” she said, “a physician with a practice in Lambton. He often spoke of Pemberley’s harvest festivals, and I had the opportunity to attend a few as a child. Everyone in the community was invited, and I assure you that the kindness of the Darcy household was often remarked upon.”

Elizabeth braced herself for the sort of proud response Miss Bingley might have given, but again, she was surprised, for the tone of Miss Darcy’s gentle voice conveyed only longing. “Mrs. Gardiner, did your father know my parents?”

Elizabeth chastised herself for expecting the worst of a girl she did not even know.

“He did. I did not know them myself, but I heard many stories,” Aunt Gardiner said. “Your parents were well thought of in Lambton. I should be happy to tell you what I heard if you wish.”

“Oh,” Miss Darcy said, leaning forward eagerly. “I should like that very much.”

As Elizabeth listened to her aunt converse with the girl, it was easy to discern that Miss Darcy was not proud at all. She was only quiet. Mr. Wickham had been quite convincing in his depiction of her, but it now appeared that he had also been quite wrong.

Mr. Darcy wandered over with Uncle Gardiner and inclined his head respectfully. “Pardon me, Mrs. Gardiner. I could not help but overhear. Your father was Mr. Manners?” He smiled with a warmth that made Elizabeth blink.

“He was indeed,” Aunt Gardiner replied.

“I never met him myself, madam, but he was well-regarded—a good man and, as I heard more than once, a gifted physician.”

Uncle Gardiner smiled proudly at his wife.

“Thank you, Mr. Darcy,” Aunt Gardiner said, clearly delighted by the compliment. “He is greatly missed.”

Was this the same man who had disparaged the people of Meryton not so long ago? Who had stared at Elizabeth constantly in his quest to find fault?

Mr. Darcy’s gaze caught hers, but in her confusion, she looked away.

“Shall we all go on a walk?” Mr. Bingley inquired. “It is cold, but we need not stay out long.”

Mary did not look up from her book, but both Lydia and Kitty grimaced and shook their heads. It was too bitter for them.

Elizabeth was the first to enter the hall. Mr. Hill nodded at her request and went to fetch their coats. When he returned, his arms were full. Elizabeth reached out to take hers, but somehow Mr. Darcy was beside her and already reaching for it. Their hands met.

“Oh!” she said, pulling hers back, her voice louder than she intended.

“My apologies, Miss Bennet,” Mr. Darcy replied, bowing his head. He motioned to the six coats neatly draped over Mr. Hill’s arms. “I simply meant to aid your man by assisting you myself.”

Before either of them could speak further, Colonel Fitzwilliam entered, his gaze sweeping around the room as though searching for something. “Miss Bennet,” he greeted her with a polite nod. “Would your father be available for a visit by any chance?”

Jane and Mr. Bingley entered the hall with Miss Darcy.

“Yes,” Elizabeth replied, still distracted by Mr. Darcy’s gallantry. “He spends most days in his book room this time of year.” She did not add that he was to be found there in the warmer months as well.

“Perhaps when we return, Fitzwilliam?” Mr. Darcy asked quietly.

Colonel Fitzwilliam seemed satisfied with that, casting a quick, unreadable glance at his cousin before suggesting they all take advantage of the pleasant weather.

Elizabeth enjoyed the crispness of the winter air, but even she would not call it pleasant.

The group naturally divided into pairs as they walked across the fields: Jane with Mr. Bingley, both quiet and content; Elizabeth with Miss Darcy, who fell into step beside her; and Colonel Fitzwilliam and Mr. Darcy in the rear. Elizabeth took a deep breath, trying to dispel her unease, and offered Mr. Darcy’s sister a cheerful smile.

“Miss Darcy,” she began, “it is lovely to meet you. I hope you find the countryside agreeable.”

“Oh, I do,” Miss Darcy responded, her eyes brightening. “I have heard much about Hertfordshire, though I confess it is more charming than I imagined.” She glanced around them, her shyness giving way to something warmer. “Mr. Bingley has been so kind, and I am happy to be out of London with my brother and cousin. The city has many attractions, but it can become so confining.” She glanced up, her fair cheeks a becoming shade of pink. “But perhaps you prefer town and all of its diversions?”

Elizabeth was touched by how valiantly the girl was trying to engage her and was determined to help her along. “I do enjoy visiting London, but I do not believe I would wish to live there.”

Miss Darcy laughed softly. “Nor I, for I far prefer Pemberley, particularly in the summer.” Her hesitation was slight but noticeable, and Elizabeth wondered if anything bothered her. “I must thank you, Miss Elizabeth, for welcoming us here today. I have wanted to make your acquaintance for some time.”

Elizabeth’s surprise must have shown, for Miss Darcy’s cheeks turned an even deeper pink and she added hurriedly, “My brother has spoken of you.”

Elizabeth’s brows shot up. “Has he?”

Miss Darcy nodded. “Yes. He wrote to me while he was here.”

She recalled that Mr. Darcy had been working on a letter to his sister when she stayed at Netherfield. Elizabeth had rather enjoyed watching Miss Bingley attempting to fawn over the man, for he had clearly been an unwilling recipient of her praise. It had increased her respect for Mr. Darcy—a little—to see that he did not accept such compliments as either genuine or his due.

“Fitzwilliam often remarked on your kindness to Miss Bennet and how he enjoyed your performance on the pianoforte.”

“Not my impertinence?” Elizabeth replied airily while her mind raced to assimilate this information. It went against everything she had thought of Mr. Darcy, and it disconcerted her to hear it.

“He called it your forthright nature.” Miss Darcy smiled when this produced a chuckle from Elizabeth. “It was a compliment, I assure you. We both respond better to direct speech than pretty compliments that may not be sincere.”

Elizabeth was intrigued. Miss Darcy’s gentle smile was free of artifice or malice, but now she was more conflicted than before, if such a thing were possible. If Mr. Darcy had spoken of her with any regard, why had he always behaved so coldly with her? They had once spent half an hour in the library at Netherfield entirely alone before she and Jane returned home, and though she had greeted him politely, he had only nodded in reply. He had not said even a single word to her.

Over Miss Darcy’s shoulder, Elizabeth glimpsed Mr. Darcy watching them, his gaze steady and unreadable. It unsettled her more than she would admit. As Georgiana looked ahead, distracted by Jane’s sweet laugh, Elizabeth wondered what he could possibly be thinking. And why did she care?

As she listened to Miss Darcy’s gentle voice beside her, describing what they had done in London for Christmas, Elizabeth listened and determined to be fair. Mr. Darcy might be proud, confusing, and infuriating, but his sister was little more than a girl and so very eager for companionship and connection. Elizabeth resolved to make her feel as welcome as she could.

As they strolled out of the garden and across the frosty fields towards the river, Elizabeth found herself surprisingly at ease with Miss Darcy. But before long, Mr. Darcy fell into step beside them, and Miss Darcy, casting a warm glance between them, murmured a quick excuse and dropped back to join Colonel Fitzwilliam.

For a moment, silence settled between Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy, but then he spoke, his tone more candid than she remembered. “I trust Longbourn is as well maintained as ever?”

Elizabeth hesitated, sensing a deeper inquiry beneath the unusual question. “Yes,” she replied lightly. “Though I daresay the maintenance is rather more in Mr. Garret’s capable hands than my father’s.” She knew there were several issues that required tending to—a fence, the ha-ha, a flooded field—but her father would likely wait until the spring to correct them.

Mr. Darcy’s brows drew together as if he had expected as much. “Is Mr. Bennet an engaged landlord?” His tone was calm, but there was a faint tension in his gaze, an unusual restlessness.

Elizabeth chose her words carefully. “My father prefers the study to the fields. Like many gentlemen, he trusts the day-to-day affairs to his steward. He does, however, pay close attention to the estate’s expenditures and profits.”

Mr. Darcy’s expression grew more serious, though he nodded politely. “Pemberley has a steward too, of course, though the property is a good deal larger.”

Elizabeth felt a twinge of discomfort, but for once, she did not think he intended to insult Longbourn’s size. In fact, it seemed as though his thoughts were far away. “Longbourn has its benefits and its challenges,” she answered diplomatically, keeping her tone bright. “I suppose every estate does. As a gentleman so dedicated to Pemberley, you must be familiar with such responsibilities.”

A trace of something like anxiety lingered in his eyes. How very odd.

“Pemberley was my father’s life work, and it has become my own as well, Miss Elizabeth.” He looked away, a slight frown creasing his brow. “There is much to consider, many people for whom I am responsible. Not only those in my employ, but those whose livelihoods depend upon the estate’s prosperity. As Pemberley goes, so go Kympton and Lambton. It requires a great deal of advance planning, and even then, things can and do go awry.”

Elizabeth tilted her head. His manner, usually so composed, felt raw, almost vulnerable. “I wish my own father planned more, to be honest.” She offered what she hoped was an encouraging smile. “You carry more than Pemberley on your shoulders, Mr. Darcy.”

He glanced at her, a hint of frustration flickering in his expression, though he maintained his composure. “I do, Miss Elizabeth,” he replied, his voice heavy with some meaning she could not grasp.

When he fell silent, Elizabeth was relieved. Mr. Darcy had spoken more freely with her in these few minutes than he had all of last autumn. And though he had been courteous, his questions left her feeling as though she had been subjected to a careful sort of interrogation. She could not shake the sense that there was more to his questions than simply making conversation.

As they continued their walk, her mind whirled with questions of her own, and she found herself casting sidelong glances at Mr. Darcy, feeling an unexpected sympathy for him. Whatever could have unsettled him so?