When the dinner hour arrived, Elizabeth descended to the dining room with considerable trepidation. The formal table, set with crystal and silver that gleamed under the chandelier’s light, seemed designed for elaborate entertaining rather than intimatefamily meals. She felt acutely aware of her modest dinner dress and simple jewellery as she took her place at the foot of the table, with Mr Darcy presiding from the opposite end and Ambrose seated between them.
The distance between them made conversation awkward, while the elaborate service of multiple courses created a formality that left Elizabeth longing for the cheerful chaos of Longbourn’s dining room. There, conversations overlapped and laughter punctuated every meal, creating a pleasant atmosphere that made even the simplest fare seem like a feast.
Here, the choreography of servants and the echoing vastness of the room seemed to swallow their tentative attempts at discourse. Elizabeth picked at her beautifully prepared food while homesickness washed over her in unexpected waves.
“You seem subdued this evening,” Mr Darcy said, his perceptive gaze noting her discomfort. “I hope the day’s journey has not overtired you?”
“Not at all,” Elizabeth replied quickly, then hesitated before adding, “I confess the grandeur is rather overwhelming. At home, our dinners are less… formal affairs.”
Understanding flickered in his dark eyes. “Perhaps we might dispense with some of the ceremony when dining en famille? I should not wish you to feel uncomfortable in your own home.”
The kindness in his offer touched her unexpectedly. “That is very considerate of you.”
“Do you play the pianoforte?” he asked, clearly seeking safer conversational ground. “I noticed you examining the instrument in the music room with some interest.”
“I do, though I fear my abilities are quite modest compared to what such a fine instrument deserves. At home, we have only an old spinet that requires considerable coaxing to remain in tune.”
“You must make use of it whenever you wish. Music brings life to a house in ways that mere decoration cannot achieve.”
Their conversation gradually grew more natural as they discovered shared interests in literature and differing opinions on various authors. When Elizabeth defended her admiration for a novel he considered frivolous, their debate carried an echo of their earlier intellectual sparring, though tempered now by mutual respect rather than antagonism.
“But surely you cannot admire such melodramatic plotting?” He protested, though his tone carried more amusement than criticism. “The heroine’s tribulations are so exaggerated as to strain all credibility.”
“Perhaps you lack sufficient imagination to appreciate romantic sensibility,” Elizabeth retorted with something approaching her old spirit. “Not every story need be a treatise on moral philosophy to possess merit.”
Ambrose, who had been following their exchange with the fascination children reserve for adult disagreements, suddenly piped up with innocent curiosity. “What’s melodramatic? Does it mean when Miss Francesca uses her important voice to tell me I’ve been naughty?”
The unexpected question dissolved their mock-serious debate into shared laughter, creating the first moment of union they had experienced as a family. Elizabeth caught Mr Darcy’s eye across the table and saw answering amusement there, along with something deeper that might have been gratitude for her presence in his ordered world.
Perhaps, she thought as the evening drew to a close, there was reason for cautious optimism about their future together. They might never achieve the passionate devotion her romantic novels celebrated, but mutual respect and shared concern for Ambrose’s welfare could provide a foundation for contentment.
Yet as she prepared for her first night at Pemberley, Elizabeth reflected on the unexpected moments she had witnessed. Mr Darcy’s pride in his home, his consideration for her comfort, and the shared laughter over Ambrose’s innocent question. The events of the day had filled her with greater optimism for the future. However, Wickham’s threats still loomed over their domestic tranquillity like storm clouds on the horizon. She could only hope that their family would stand firm beneath the harsh glare of the legal scrutiny.
Chapter Thirteen
“The morning air carries such promise in this season, does it not?” Mr Darcy’s observation broke the companionable silence that had settled between them as they walked along Pemberley’s gravelled paths.
Dew still clung to the grass, catching the early sunlight like scattered jewels, while the gardens exhaled their mingled fragrances of roses and jasmine into the crisp autumn air.
Elizabeth adjusted her light shawl against the coolness, appreciating how the exercise had already begun to ease the stiffness that came from sleeping in an unfamiliar bed. “Indeed. At Longbourn, I often walked before breakfast, though our gardens are considerably more modest than these.”
“You are an early riser, then. I confess I am pleased to discover we share that inclination. There is something restorative about witnessing the day’s beginning before the world grows busy with its concerns.”
“I find that walking clears my mind. Some of my happiest memories involve exploring the countryside around Meryton, discovering hidden paths, and observing the changing seasons.”
Their conversation flowed with surprising naturalness as they continued their circuit of the grounds. Mr Darcy proved a knowledgeable guide, pointing out architectural features and sharing anecdotes about the estate’s history. She learned that he had spent his childhood summers exploring every corner of the Pemberley grounds and had a fondness for biological studies.
“The rose garden was my mother’s particular pride,” he said as they paused beside an ornamental lake where swans glided across the mirror-smooth surface. “She spent hours planning the arrangements, ensuring that something would be in bloom from spring through autumn. I have maintained her design exactly as she left it.”
“What a lovely tribute to her memory,” Elizabeth replied softly. “The care shows in every detail. She must have possessed both artistic sensibility and deep knowledge of horticulture.”
“She did indeed possess such knowledge. I suspect you would have found much in common with her.” His voice carried a note of wistfulness that touched Elizabeth’s heart. “I suspect I have much to learn from your guidance in many areas,” he continued, his tone growing more serious. “Indeed, I must commend you on the remarkable courage you have shown in accepting the role of mother to Ambrose. It was a surprise to witness you assume such responsibilities with so little preparation. My expectations were exceeded.”
The compliment, though well-intentioned, struck Elizabeth as somewhat condescending in its careful phrasing. His words suggested that he had thought her truly incapable of taking care of the child until proven otherwise.
“I appreciate your concern,” she replied with gentle dignity, “though I confess I have never considered caring for Ambrose to be particularly challenging. He is such a delightful child that affection comes quite naturally.”
His expression shifted, revealing his recognition that he had perhaps spoken awkwardly. “That was not… I did not mean to imply… Forgive me, Miss Bennet. I seem to possess an unfortunate talent for expressing myself poorly when I most wish to convey appreciation.”
