“Hopeless? Nonsense!” the woman replied with a warm smile. “You’ve got the heart for it, which is more than half the battle. You must come again next year—by then you’ll be leading the dances instead of following!”
As the sun began to sink toward the horizon, painting the square in golden light, Elizabeth felt a profound sense of contentment settle over her. Watching Mr Darcy swing Ambrose around in an impromptu jig while villagers clapped encouragement, she had realised how thoroughly her life had been transformed. She belonged here—not just at Pemberley, but in this larger community of people who had welcomed her with open hearts.
***
The journey home passed in comfortable fatigue, Ambrose drowsing against Elizabeth’s shoulder while she and Mr Darcy shared quiet observations about the day’s pleasures. The easy companionship between them felt natural now, built through countless small moments of cooperation and shared concern for the boy in their care.
“Thank you for suggesting the expedition,” Elizabeth said as Pemberley’s familiar silhouette came into view. “I cannot remember when I have enjoyed an afternoon more thoroughly.”
“Nor I,” he replied with quiet sincerity. “It has been enlightening to see you in your element among the villagers. You possess a gift for connecting with people that I confess I have always envied.”
The carriage drew to a halt before the main entrance, where footmen waited to assist their descent. Elizabeth gathered the sleeping Ambrose in her arms, smiling at his peaceful expression. Such moments of complete happiness seemed almost too precious to trust, yet she found herself hoping that their little family might enjoy many more such simple pleasures.
Her contentment evaporated the moment they crossed the threshold into Pemberley’s entrance hall. Morrison, the butler, stepped forward with his usual dignity, but she detected a subtle tension in his bearing.
“Mr Darcy, madam,” he said quietly, “I must inform you that Mr Wickham and Mrs Younge have arrived and are waiting in the Blue Drawing Room. They insisted the matter was of utmost urgency and would not be turned away.”
Elizabeth felt Mr Darcy stiffen beside her, his jaw tightening at the unwelcome news. The peaceful spell of theirafternoon dissolved like morning mist, replaced by the cold reality of the threat that still hung over their small family.
“Thank you, Morrison,” he replied with careful control. “Please inform our guests that we will join them presently.”
As the butler withdrew, Elizabeth noticed how Ambrose stirred restlessly in her arms, his peaceful slumber disturbed as though he could sense the sudden tension that had descended over their return. The child’s instinctive reaction to danger, even in sleep, only strengthened her resolve to protect him from whatever new scheme Wickham had devised.
Chapter Fifteen
“My dear Darcy!” Wickham’s voice carried across the Blue Drawing Room with theatrical warmth as Morrison announced their entrance. “And the lovely Mrs Darcy, how radiant you look this evening. Marriage clearly agrees with you both.”
Elizabeth felt Ambrose tense in her arms at the sound of that familiar, unwelcome voice. The child had awakened during their brief wait in the entrance hall, his sleepy confusion replaced by wariness as he recognised the man who had so recently disrupted their peace.
Mrs Younge stepped forward with an elaborate curtsy that managed to convey both deference and subtle calculation. “Indeed, what a picture of domestic felicity you present. It warms the heart to see dear little Ambrose thriving in such loving care.”
“Your concern is noted,” Mr Darcy replied with arctic politeness, positioning himself in front of his family. “But I confess myself curious about what urgent matter could require such an unexpected visit.”
Wickham’s smile widened, though it never reached his eyes. “Ah, straight to business as always. How refreshingly direct. Though perhaps we might discuss such weighty matters privately? I’m certain Mrs Darcy has other demands upon her time this evening.”
Elizabeth recognised the dismissal for what it was, an attempt to separate her from whatever scheme he had devised. “Perhaps I should see Ambrose to his room,” she said. “The day’s excitement has quite worn him out.”
“An excellent notion,” Mr Darcy agreed. “Miss Francesca will no doubt be waiting to assist with his evening routine.”
As Elizabeth made to leave, Ambrose tightened his grip around her neck. “Mama, can we please go?” he whispered. “I don’t like that man.”
“Hush, sweetheart,” she murmured against his hair. “Mr Darcy will handle everything. You shall be perfectly safe.”
When she reached the doorway, Miss Francesca materialised as if summoned by some invisible signal. “Come along, Master Ambrose,” the governess said. “Time for your bath and evening prayers.”
With her supposed excuse for departure removed, Elizabeth had little choice but to surrender the reluctant child to his governess. She lingered in the corridor beyond the drawing room, propriety warring with curiosity about whatever proposal Wickham intended to make. The need to understand the full extent of the threat facing their family overrode her scruples about eavesdropping.
Through the partially open door, she could observe the scene unfolding within. Wickham had settled himself in the finest chair with the casual presumption of an invited guest, whilst Mrs Younge remained standing next to him, her posture suggesting readiness to either support his arguments or flee if circumstances demanded.
“Now then,” Wickham’s voice carried through the partially open door, his tone shifting to something more businesslike. “I trust we can speak as gentlemen about this delicate situation. My paternal feelings toward the boy have been awakened and I find myself quite concerned about his future welfare.”
“Your paternal feelings,” Mr Darcy repeated with dangerous quiet, taking a position near the fireplace thatallowed him to observe both unwelcome visitors. “How remarkably convenient that they should manifest themselves after five years of complete absence.”
“Ah, but that absence was not by choice, my dear fellow. Had I known the child survived his mother’s tragic passing, I would have claimed him immediately. Natural affection demands no less.”
Elizabeth pressed closer to the door, her pulse quickening at his words. The calculated sincerity in Wickham’s tone was masterful—he sounded like a devoted father forced by circumstance to remain separated from his beloved child.
“However,” Wickham continued, “I am not an unreasonable man. I recognise that the boy has grown attached to this household, and I should hate to cause him unnecessary distress. Perhaps we might reach an accommodation that serves everyone’s interests.”
