Page 46

E lizabeth's heart sank. She rose from her chair, feeling as though she were moving through a particularly vivid nightmare.

Mr. Darcy entered the room with his usual dignified bearing. His expression, initially one of eager anticipation as his eyes sought Elizabeth's, quickly shifted to wary confusion as he took in the scene before him.

"Mr. Darcy," Mrs. Abernathy said, rising to greet him with what composure she could muster. "How kind of you to call. May I present Mrs. Bennet, Elizabeth's mother, who has only just arrived from Hertfordshire."

Mr. Darcy bowed formally. "Mrs. Bennet, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance."

Mamma had gone momentarily still, staring at Mr. Darcy as though he were a particularly magnificent specimen in a museum exhibition. Then, recovering herself with alarming swiftness, she erupted into a flurry of movement and exclamation.

"Mr. Darcy! Oh, Mr. Darcy! This is indeed an honour!" She rose and executed a curtsy so deep it threatened her balance. "I cannot express my delight. To think that you and my Lizzy—well, it is beyond all my hopes and expectations!"

Mr. Darcy's eyes flickered to Elizabeth, who could not bring herself to meet his gaze, her embarrassment too acute to bear.

"I trust your journey to London was comfortable, Mrs. Bennet?" he inquired politely.

"Oh, tolerably so, tolerably so. What are a few discomforts when one's daughter is to marry the master of Pemberley?

I declare, the very thought makes my poor nerves flutter so.

" Mrs. Bennet pressed a hand to her breast. "You must tell me, Mr. Darcy, is Pemberley as grand as they say?

I hear there are fountains and a lake, and no fewer than thirty bedchambers! "

Elizabeth wished fervently that the ground would open and swallow her. "Mamma, perhaps we should allow Mr. Darcy to sit down before you interrogate him."

"Interrogate him?” Mamma seemed offended, but thankfully she recalled who was in the room with them and refrained from demonstrating it.

“Yes, of course, do sit down, Mr. Darcy.

Forgive me, I am all in a flutter, for my clever girl has always said she would never marry.

I suppose that was merely a show of resistance to heighten the gentlemen's interest, was it not? "

Elizabeth felt the blood drain from her face. She risked a glance at Mr. Darcy and found him watching her with an expression she could not decipher.

"Mrs. Bennet, I assure you that your daughter's conduct has always been beyond reproach.”

“Oh, of course it has, of course! I would never suggest otherwise, not for a moment.

" Her mother was almost simpering. "But you must admit, Mr. Darcy, that Lizzy has shown remarkable cleverness in securing your affections.

And such a grand estate! I must visit as soon as possible to advise on any necessary changes.

The mistress of Pemberley will need to make her mark, after all. "

Elizabeth could bear it no longer. "Mamma, you are fatigued from your journey. You will wish to retire to your room."

"Nonsense! I am in excellent spirits. Now, Mr. Darcy, we must discuss the wedding. I favour June, myself. The flowers at Longbourn are particularly fine then, though I suppose Pemberley's gardens are grander still."

Elizabeth looked desperately at Mrs. Abernathy.

"Mrs. Bennet," Mrs. Abernathy said steadily, "I insist that you allow yourself to be shown to your room. You have had a long journey, and a brief rest will refresh you." Before Elizabeth's mother could protest, Mrs. Abernathy had signalled to a waiting maid.

"Well, if you insist. Though I cannot imagine how anyone could need rest at such an exciting time!" Her mother allowed herself to be guided towards the door, pausing only to address Mr. Darcy once more. "We shall continue our discussion later, Mr. Darcy."

As the door closed behind her mother and Mrs. Abernathy, a heavy silence fell over the room. Mr. Abernathy cleared his throat awkwardly.

"I believe I have some correspondence to attend to in my study," he said, politely withdrawing and leaving Elizabeth alone with Mr. Darcy.

For a long moment, neither spoke. Elizabeth could not bring herself to look at him, certain that she would find contempt or, worse, pity in his expression. The shame was almost more than she could bear.

The day had started so promisingly.

"Miss Bennet," Mr. Darcy said at last, his voice unaccountably gentle, "would you care to join me by the window? The garden looks particularly fine this morning."

It was February. There was nothing blooming in the garden. But Elizabeth rose and moved to stand beside him at the window.

"I must apologise for my mother," she said quietly, her voice barely above a whisper.

"There is no need," Mr. Darcy replied, his voice warm with understanding. "Families are seldom what we might wish them to be, as my own relatives demonstrated rather amply last evening."

A pained laugh escaped her. "Your family at least meant well, however misguided their methods."

"As does yours, I suspect." He turned to face her, and to her amazement, there was no disgust in his expression, only a tenderness that made her breath catch. "Your mother loves you and wishes for your happiness, even if her understanding of what will bring you happiness differs from your own."

"You are very generous," Elizabeth murmured, still unable to meet his gaze.

"Not at all. I merely recognize that we cannot choose our relations, only how we respond to them." His hand moved slightly, as though he might reach for hers, but he restrained himself. "Miss Bennet. Elizabeth. I wished to tell you last evening . . ."

"Yes?" she prompted when he hesitated, finally raising her eyes to his.

His expression softened, and something in it made her heart beat faster. "The music I played—"

The door burst open again, and her mother reappeared, having somehow escaped Mrs. Abernathy's attempt to settle her.

"I have had the most wonderful idea for the wedding breakfast!

Roast pheasant and trout, with a special cake shaped like your Pemberley!

What do you think, Mr. Darcy? Lizzy? Is that not inspired? "

Elizabeth closed her eyes in despair, but to her surprise, she felt Mr. Darcy's hand brush against hers.

"Mrs. Bennet," he said with remarkable patience, "When the time comes, Elizabeth may have anything she wishes other than trout." He turned to Elizabeth and said firmly, “No trout.”

She closed her eyes and let out a pained little laugh.

"Oh! How gracious! Lizzy, did you hear? Mr. Darcy agrees with my idea for the cake! I knew he would appreciate it." Her mother clasped her hands in delight. "And the wedding gown! I was thinking ivory silk with Brussels lace. Nothing less will do for the future Mrs. Darcy."

This was beyond enough. “Mamma, I believe Mr. Darcy said that it would be anything that I wished. And what I wish just now is to be alone with him. You may leave the door open when you go.”

"Well!” Her mother opened her mouth to respond to Elizabeth’s instructions, but Mr. Darcy interrupted whatever horrible thing Mamma was about to say.

"Mrs. Bennet," he said, his voice steady and authoritative, "while I appreciate your enthusiasm, these are matters that should be decided between your daughter and myself, at a more appropriate time."

Her mother looked momentarily taken aback but recovered quickly.

"Goodness, I would not dream of interfering.

I merely offer a mother's guidance. And speaking of guidance, Mr. Darcy, you must tell me about your housekeeper at Pemberley.

I hope she is amenable to direction. A new mistress must establish her authority, after all. "

Mr. Darcy's expression remained impressively neutral. "I have every confidence that your daughter has all that is required to manage my households admirably, Mrs. Bennet."

Elizabeth felt a surge of gratitude when Mrs. Abernathy returned, looking somewhat harried. "Mrs. Bennet, your room is ready now. Come with me."

"Oh, very well, if you insist." Finally, Mamma allowed herself to be led away, though she continued to speak volubly as she went. "I have so many ideas about the wedding trip! Italy is very fine."

As the door closed behind her mother, Elizabeth turned to Mr. Darcy with an expression of such genuine distress that he moved a step closer.

“Do you think we could send my mother to Italy?” she inquired plaintively.

He chuckled. “You did warn me, but I do not think anything could have quite prepared me for that scene.”

“I am so very sorry, Mr. Darcy. She means well, I know she does, but she expresses every feeling that she has at the very moment that she has it. She never stops to consider whether what she has to say ought to be given voice.”

He shook his head. “Then your mother and I have something in common.”

Elizabeth stared at Mr. Darcy. “Hardly, sir. When you speak out of turn, it is at a volume unlikely to be overheard. And you do not press on heedlessly when everyone about you is begging you to stop.”

“But we have established that I speak nonsense at times?” Mr. Darcy asked with an impish smile that she had never seen him wear before.

“Nonsense may be too strong a word . . .” she said playfully, her cheerfulness returning to her in some small way.

Her mother’s voice, pitched high, filtered back to them.

He reached for her hand, then, and lifted it to his lips. "I should leave you to attend to your family," he said gently, and Elizabeth was grateful. "But I wish you to know that nothing your mother has said alters my feelings or intentions in the slightest. I merely await your own decision.”

Elizabeth shook her head, unable to believe him. "You cannot mean that. No man of sense could hear such ludicrous things and not reconsider his choice."

"Have we not just established that I am capable of being nonsensical?" he replied, rubbing one thumb lightly over her knuckles. "I find my choice reinforced rather than weakened."

"How can that be possible?"

"Because," he said softly, "in witnessing your mother's . . . enthusiasm , I understand better the strength of character you have developed. To maintain such dignity and grace despite”—he paused to consider his next words, which Elizabeth thought was evidence that he had learned his lesson from their quarrel in the park— “such challenges as you have overcome speak to a fortitude I can only admire. "

Elizabeth felt a warmth spreading through her chest at his words. "You are remarkably understanding."

"I am learning to be," he admitted. "Though I confess, your mother's suggestion of a cake shaped like Pemberley did test the limits of my composure."

A reluctant laugh escaped her. "I can only assure you that I have no intention of commissioning such a monstrosity."

Mr. Darcy did appear a little relieved at that statement. “Just keep her away from Milton, and all should be well.” Then his expression grew serious once more. "Before I go, Elizabeth, I meant what I began to say earlier. Last night, when I played for you—"

A knock at the door interrupted him, and Mr. Abernathy reappeared, grimacing when he realised what he was likely interrupting. "I beg your pardon, but I believe Colonel Fitzwilliam has arrived to escort you to your appointment with your solicitor, Darcy."

“He is half an hour early. Tell him to wait,” Mr. Darcy said impatiently, then sighed, his annoyance evident though controlled. "Please, Abernathy?"

But the colonel was already entering the room, and it was clear he was uncomfortable in the Abernathys' home.

Mr. Darcy turned back to Elizabeth. "I shall call again tomorrow, if I may. There is much still to be said between us."

"I would like that," she replied softly. “I promise that we shall have privacy, even if I must lock my family in a closet.”

He bowed over her hand, his fingers lingering on hers a moment longer than strictly proper.

As he turned to leave, Elizabeth remained by the window and watched him go. Despite the morning's mortifications, she was not so very upset. Mr. Darcy had witnessed her mother at her most outrageous and had not been frightened away.

Perhaps she could trust his constancy after all.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a soft sound. Turning, she saw Arabella entering the room, her eyes still red-rimmed from tears. She wandered to the window and watched as the gentlemen’s carriage pulled away from the house and out into the London streets.

"Oh, Arabella," Elizabeth said, moving to embrace her friend. "I am so sorry for my mother's thoughtless words."

"It is not your fault," Arabella replied, returning the embrace.

Elizabeth took her hand. “Colonel Fitzwilliam is a gentleman of excellent character. The fact that he serves his country should be a point of pride."

Arabella gave a small, sad smile. "Try telling that to my father. He sees only the danger and instability of a military life. The colonel asked me last night whether I would marry him and I said yes, if he leaves the army. I do not yet know what his answer will be."

"Oh, Belle. If the colonel's affections are as genuine as yours, there will be a path forward."

"Perhaps," Arabella conceded, though she did not sound convinced. "But enough of my troubles. Your mother's arrival certainly created a stir."

Elizabeth grimaced. "That is a charitable way of putting it."

"From what I saw, Mr. Darcy seemed to bear it remarkably well."

"Yes," Elizabeth agreed, a note of wonder in her voice. "He did. Far better than I could have hoped."

"Because he loves you," Arabella said simply. "When one truly loves, such obstacles become merely inconveniences to be overcome. I hope you can see that now."

Elizabeth squeezed her friend's hands, hearing in those words Arabella's thoughts about her own situation as much as Elizabeth's.

As they stood together in the breakfast room, each contemplating the challenges ahead, Elizabeth found herself thinking of Mr. Darcy's music from the night before.

It had been passionate, tender, filled with a yearning that echoed in her own heart.

Arabella had seen it clearly before she did, but now Elizabeth understood.

They could face it all, together. Whatever came, she no longer doubted the strength they could forge between them.

She was still afraid of what would come.

But tomorrow, when he called again, perhaps they would finally have the chance to speak honestly of their feelings without interruption or constraint.

And if he still wished it after a night of contemplation, she intended to tell him that she was willing—no, that she wanted —to marry him.