Elizabeth heard the rustle of clothing and footsteps as her unwelcome guests took their leave through a different door. Only when the front door closed with decisive finality did she emerge from her hiding place, her heart racing with a mixture of indignation and admiration.
Mr Darcy stood before the fireplace, one hand braced against the mantelpiece, his shoulders rigid with barely contained tension. He looked up as she approached, his expression a combination of surprise, embarrassment, and something that might have been relief.
“Mrs Darcy. I must apologise for subjecting you to such an unpleasant scene. I had hoped to spare you the details of Wickham’s latest scheme.”
“You need apologise for nothing,” she said, moving to stand beside him. “I heard enough to understand exactly what manner of man we are dealing with. Your response was everything it should have been—dignified, protective, and entirely honourable.”
Something in his posture relaxed at her words, the rigid tension leaving his shoulders. “I confess myself surprised byyour reaction. Many would consider my refusal to negotiate rather inflexible.”
“Then many would be fools,” Elizabeth replied with spirit. “You protected Ambrose from a man who sees him merely as a source of profit. Your sense of duty is admirable beyond measure.”
His mouth curved in the first smile she had seen from him since the arrival of their unwanted guests. “If I had known your compliments possessed such restorative power, I might have proposed to you even sooner than I did.”
“My compliments?” she felt warmth bloom in her chest at his teasing tone. “I fear you have been more often on the receiving end of my criticism than my praise. It was most unfortunate timing on your part.”
“Then I can only hope the reverse shall be the case henceforth,” he replied, his eyes holding hers with some tenderness within. “However, I confess myself deeply concerned about Wickham’s parting words. His threats are rarely idle, and that document he produced…”
“You doubt its authenticity?”
“If it were genuine, he would have allowed proper examination rather than snatching it away like a guilty child. No, I suspect whatever marriage he claims is either fabricated entirely or obtained through fraudulent means.”
Elizabeth reached out instinctively, covering his hand with hers where it rested on the mantelpiece. The gesture seemed to startle them both with its intimacy, yet neither withdrew.
“Whatever schemes he devises, we shall face them together,” she said in a confident tone. “Ambrose has a family—a real family that will not be intimidated by the likes of George Wickham.”
They settled into chairs before the fireplace, the silence between them companionable rather than strained. The flames cast dancing shadows across their faces as they each lost themselves in contemplation of the challenges ahead.
Elizabeth studied Darcy’s profile in the flickering light, noting the determined set of his jaw and the protective energy that still marked his posture. Whatever trials awaited them, she knew with absolute certainty that this man would never abandon those under his care.
Chapter Sixteen
The next day
“Your riding has improved considerably since our first outing,” Darcy observed as they cantered across the meadow beyond Pemberley’s formal gardens. “You no longer grip the reins as though expecting your mount to bolt at any moment.”
Elizabeth laughed, the sound carrying clearly in the crisp morning air. “I confess Buttercup inspires far more confidence than the spirited mare you initially suggested. She possesses the temperament of a favourite aunt—patient with my inexperience yet willing to indulge the occasional adventure.”
Their daily rides had become a cherished ritual over the past fortnight, providing blessed respite from the tension that still lingered after Wickham’s unwelcome visit.
She had discovered unexpected pleasure in these excursions, not merely for the exercise and fresh air, but for the opportunity they afforded to know her husband better away from the formal constraints of drawing room conversation. They had recently taken to calling each other by name, a step that confirmed the progression of their relationship.
“Buttercup is indeed well-suited to a novice rider,” he agreed, reining in his bay gelding as they approached a stone bridge that spanned a narrow stream. “Though I suspect you might soon be ready for a more spirited mount. Your natural balance has developed remarkably.”
She felt a flush of pride at his praise. During their first tentative rides, she had clung to the pommel with white knuckleswhilst Darcy offered patient instruction on posture and rein management. Now she could maintain her seat through a brisk canter and even attempt small jumps over fallen logs without embarrassing herself entirely.
“Perhaps next week we might venture to the upper pastures,” he continued, gesturing toward distant hills that rolled away like green velvet beneath the autumn sky. “There are views from the ridge that few visitors to Derbyshire ever witness.”
“I should like that very much. This estate seems to hold endless surprises.”
They dismounted to rest the horses beside the babbling stream, Elizabeth accepting Darcy’s assistance with the easy familiarity that had developed between them. His hands lingered at her waist perhaps a moment longer than strictly necessary, though neither acknowledged the brief contact.
“My great-grandfather constructed this bridge,” he said, running his hand along the weathered stone balustrade. “The original crossing was merely stepping stones that became treacherous during spring floods. He commissioned foreign craftsmen to create something both beautiful and enduring.”
Elizabeth studied the elegant arches and decorative scrollwork that transformed a simple river crossing into a work of art. “How wonderful to have such tangible connections to one’s ancestors. At Longbourn, our family history extends back perhaps three generations before dissolving into speculation and half-remembered stories.”
“These connections bring both comfort and burden,” he replied thoughtfully. “Every improvement I make to the estate must be weighed against the legacy I shall leave forfuture generations. Sometimes the weight of such responsibility feels…”
He paused, seeming to struggle with how to express thoughts he rarely voiced aloud.
