Page 31 of To Love And To Cherish (Pride And Prejudice Variation #3)

The late-morning sun streamed into the back salon of Professor Trent’s house, a quiet room set apart for the purpose of tutoring.

The large window overlooked a tidy courtyard and admitted both light and a breeze.

Elizabeth Bennet sat opposite Miss Ancilla Trent, a notebook in her lap and a cup of tea beside her.

"I've been working with Mr. Ludwig for fourteen weeks now," said Miss Trent, smoothing her skirts. "But I regret to say he’s made very little progress."

Elizabeth looked up in surprise. "Is he not intelligent?"

"On the contrary, he is exceedingly clever. But he lacks all motivation. His heart is not in Italian grammar; it’s in the soil of ancient Rome. He longs to scratch about in the dirt, uncovering coins and pottery shards. That is his love."

Elizabeth smiled. "But his father insists on a traditional path."

Miss Trent gave a small nod. "Yes. An attaché to the ambassador in Italy. It sounds respectable, but to Mr. Ludwig, it is a prison sentence. So our greatest task, Miss Bennet, is not to teach him Italian, but to teach him to want to learn it."

The door opened, and the subject of their discussion entered.

Mr. Gilbert Ludwig bowed. He was of moderate height, with agreeable features and a pale complexion better suited to libraries than to excavation pits. After greetings were exchanged, Miss Trent stood.

"Today, we shall practice polite conversation in Italian. It will help you hear the rhythm and accent of the language. Miss Elizabeth will assist us."

Elizabeth gave him a reassuring smile. "We were just speaking of museums. Perhaps if you imagined yourself there, it would encourage you to persevere."

Miss Trent added, "Indeed. You could spend hours at the Museo Pio-Clementino in the Vatican, or the Museo Borbonico in Naples, which houses many of the artifacts from Pompeii and Herculaneum.

There is also the Capitoline Museums in Rome.

What better way to study ancient life than to be surrounded by it? "

Elizabeth said gently, "Perhaps a few weeks of diplomacy might earn you the liberty to explore an excavation. You might even join one."

Mr. Ludwig paused, interest flickering in his eyes. "Are there such excavations still active?"

"Yes," said Miss Trent. "There is work ongoing at both Pompeii and Herculaneum. And you might find like minds among those who studied under Winckelmann or who have read the works of Ennio Quirino Visconti."

Ludwig’s brow lifted. "You think I could find a place in such company?"

"Not if you cannot conjugate Italian verbs," said Miss Trent with a wry smile.

They laughed.

She turned to Elizabeth and said in Italian, "Signorina Elizabeth, come ha imparato l'italiano?"

Elizabeth replied with a smile, "Mio padre mi ha insegnato la lingua."

Miss Trent turned to Mr. Ludwig. "Now you, sir. What did I say to Miss Elizabeth, and how did she reply?"

He studied their faces, then said, "You asked Miss Elizabeth how she learned Italian, and she said her father taught her."

Miss Trent laughed softly. "So you have learned something."

He grinned. "I understand everything you say. I simply cannot convince my tongue to obey."

They continued for three hours, alternating between translation, reading, and spoken practice. When the lesson ended, Mr. Ludwig took his leave with good humor.

Miss Trent called for the carriage, and the three women were soon driven to the Roman excavation site.

The dig was cordoned off with a barrier, behind which men worked with care, scraping layers of earth from ancient stone.

The women stood in silence, watching. The air held the scent of dust, and Elizabeth seemed to sense something older still, antiquity itself.

They moved on to a set of long tables shaded by a canvas awning, where fragments of pottery, bone, and coins lay arranged, each being carefully labelled for packing. In due course, they would be shipped to one of the museums in London.

"Extraordinary," Elizabeth murmured.

They were still studying the artifacts when a voice called out.

"Miss Trent! Miss Bennet!"

They turned to find Mr. Ludwig approaching with another gentleman at his side.

"This is my brother, Lord Dewsberry," said Mr. Ludwig. "I brought him along to see the site. I hoped he might speak to our father on my behalf."

He turned to Elizabeth. "Are you truly interested in ancient Roman artifacts?"

She smiled and replied in Italian, "Sì, amo studiare la storia, romana o altrimenti."

He watched her mouth intently and grinned. "Miss Elizabeth, you are not very discriminating. Nothing is more fascinating than ancient Roman life and culture."

Then, turning to Lord Dewsberry but still speaking to Elizabeth, he said, "I hoped to impress upon him how important this work is. If he speaks to our father, perhaps I will be permitted to stay."

Miss Trent folded her arms. "I thought we had come to some understanding about the benefits of traveling to Italy. You could study the collections firsthand, perhaps even hire yourself out as a laborer in an excavation in Pompeii or Herculaneum."

Mr. Ludwig grew thoughtful. “Perhaps that is a possibility,” he said slowly. “I might find my way into such work. Yes, I think I shall try."

From that day forward, Mr. Ludwig applied himself to Italian with new vigor. Within a fortnight, he declared himself ready to remove to Italy and finish his studies there.

With their pupil now eager to pursue his own future, Miss Trent, Elizabeth, and Mary King were able to bring forward their journey to Scotland by several weeks.

Elizabeth received her first letter from her father the morning before their departure. She excused herself and carried it upstairs to read in private.

My Dear Lizzy,

Mary’s wedding was a sweet occasion. Her Mr. William Bennet has cleaned up very nicely.

He had a new wardrobe made while staying at Longbourn.

Though our tailor is humble, his work is of good quality, and the well-fitting clothing, Brutus haircut, and side-whiskers suit your cousin very well.

He and Mary make a fine couple, and I daresay she is very happy.

Mary has spoken to me of Mr. Darcy’s intervention, how he turned both your mother’s and young William’s attentions toward her and away from you.

Mr. Darcy himself explained the part he played in persuading Mr. Bingley to act.

If not for his influence, I daresay Bingley would still be pacing the edges of the matrimonial question well into next year.

It is plain to me, however, that Mr. Darcy moved not solely for their sakes, but for yours.

He confessed as much, saying he had no choice but to act swiftly or face the full force of your displeasure.

For this, and for your quiet management of the entire affair, I thank you most sincerely.

Elizabeth read her father’s words once more, her eyes lingering on the passage that detailed Mr. Darcy’s involvement.

He had acted. And with very good effect.

For Mary, for Jane, and for her. He had turned her mother’s ambition away from herself and toward a more suitable match for William Collins.

He had urged Bingley to make his proposal at last. And he had done it, her father said, because he feared her displeasure.

She folded the letter and held it in her lap, a slow warmth blossoming in her chest. So, he had acted. And he had done so with discernment, delicacy, and an unspoken wish to make amends.

He did this for me. The thought rang gently but firmly through her mind. He told Papa so.

A quiet smile touched her lips. Well, now we are even, she thought. He has made amends for his insults. And I do forgive him.

She looked toward the window, where a pale northern sun filtered through the trees.

The resentment that had rankled in her heart was gone, lifted like mist at dawn.

In its place was a calm sense of gratitude.

He had done what she could not, and now her dear Jane was married to the man she loved.

Her mother, satisfied at last that Longbourn was secured through Mary’s marriage, might leave Lydia in peace to find her own way.

And I? Elizabeth drew a breath and released it slowly. I may go forward, not bound by resentment, not burdened by worry for my sisters. I am free. Free to meet my own future with peace and contentment.

She turned the folded letter in her hands, her thumb tracing the edge absentmindedly.

In her heart stirred the faintest echo of something unspoken, some quiet wish she dared not name aloud, for there were still moments, too many, if she were honest, when her thoughts returned to Mr. Darcy.

Not the proud man of the Meryton assembly, but the one who had acted so decisively on her behalf.

The one who had observed, understood, and intervened with kindness, with resolve, and without any thought of acclaim.

Had he truly done it only to earn her forgiveness? Or was there a deeper feeling he had left unsaid?

She closed her eyes for a moment and allowed herself to imagine what might have been, if only the world were more generous, and rank and fortune did not separate hearts.

But she was no heiress, no titled lady. And Mr. Darcy, by every measure of society, must marry a woman whose name and wealth matched his own.

No, she told herself gently. He has done what honor demanded. I am grateful, but I shall wish for nothing more.

And yet, even as she turned her thoughts toward Scotland and the fresh purpose that awaited her there, the memory of his eyes, so dark and searching, remained with her still.