“Uncertainty?” Elizabeth’s eyebrows rose with surprise. “That was not how you appeared to me. You seemed supremely confident in your superiority to everyone present.”
“Far from it. I have never possessed the easy social graces that come naturally to men like Bingley. In unfamiliar company, I retreat behind formality rather than risk exposingmy inadequacies.” Darcy’s mouth curved in self-deprecating humour. “My cousin Richard takes great delight in reminding me of my social shortcomings. He claims I could make the most charming compliment sound like a criticism through sheer force of delivery.”
“Colonel Fitzwilliam sounds like a most diverting companion. I should enjoy meeting someone capable of teasing you so effectively.”
“You would like him immensely, I believe. His military service has given him an easy confidence with all manner of people, whilst his natural wit makes him welcome in any company. During our time at Eton, he possessed an uncanny ability to befriend even the most difficult masters whilst I struggled to exchange basic pleasantries.”
Elizabeth laughed, the first sound of mirth he had heard from her since London. “I can scarcely imagine you as an awkward schoolboy. You seem so completely in command of every situation.”
“Command born of necessity rather than natural inclination, I assure you. Richard used to say I approached social interaction like a military campaign—all strategy and no spontaneity.” Darcy’s expression grew fond with memory. “He once convinced me to join a group of boys sneaking out to the village tavern. I spent the entire evening calculating the probability of discovery and the likely punishments, whilst he charmed the publican into providing us with the finest meal we had tasted all term.”
“And were you caught?”
“Inevitably. My planning proved useless when faced with an unexpected patrol by one of the junior masters. Richardtalked our way out of serious punishment through pure charm, whilst I could only stand there looking guilty.”
Elizabeth’s delighted laughter filled the garden air like music. “I begin to see why you value his friendship so highly. He sounds like the perfect counterbalance to your more serious nature.”
“Indeed. Though I suspect you would prove equally effective at drawing me out of my natural reserve.” The words slipped out before he could consider their implications, carrying a note of intimacy that made Elizabeth’s cheeks flush prettily.
“My family often accused me of being too outspoken for a lady,” she said, deflecting his compliment with characteristic directness. “My mother despaired of my tendency to voice opinions rather than maintain decorative silence.”
“Tell me more about your family,” Darcy encouraged. “From your letters, they seem to provide considerable support during our current difficulties.”
Elizabeth’s expression softened with affection. “They are wonderfully chaotic and utterly devoted to one another. To outsiders, we might appear dysfunctional—Papa retreating to his library whilst Mama frets over our unmarried state, my younger sisters creating minor scandals with their exuberance, Mary lecturing us all on moral improvement. Yet beneath the surface chaos lies unshakeable loyalty.”
“How have they responded to news of our… situation with Ambrose?”
“With characteristic rallying around family in crisis. Mama immediately began planning ways to ‘expose that dreadful Wickham creature’ to society’s censure, whilst Papa offered to contribute to any legal expenses we might incur. Even myyoungest sisters have written expressing their outrage at the injustice.”
Her voice grew thick with emotion as she continued. “Jane’s letters have been particularly comforting. She possesses such wisdom about enduring hardship whilst maintaining hope. She reminds me that love persists even when physical presence does not.”
The mention of Ambrose cast a shadow over their previously light conversation. Elizabeth’s face crumpled slightly as the weight of their loss pressed upon her renewed spirits.
“Some days I wake expecting to hear his voice calling for us,” she whispered. “The silence where his laughter should be feels like a physical ache.”
Without hesitation, Darcy moved closer on their shared blanket, gathering her into his arms with gentle strength. “I know, my dear one. The emptiness follows me through every room of the house.”
She turned her face up to his, tears glistening on her lashes like captured starlight. “How do we bear it, Fitzwilliam? How do we continue when half our hearts have been torn away?”
Instead of answering with words, he lowered his head until his lips met hers in a kiss that spoke of shared sorrow, mutual comfort, and something deeper that had grown between them through their ordeal.
Her fingers curled into the fabric of his waistcoat as she returned his kiss with a sweetness that made his heart race. The scent of roses surrounded them, mingling with the faint lavender water she favoured, creating a cocoon of intimacy that shut out the world beyond their garden sanctuary.
When they finally parted, both were breathing unsteadily. Elizabeth remained within the circle of his arms, her head resting against his shoulder as they watched the afternoon sun filter through the roses above them.
“We bear it together,” he said finally, answering her earlier question. “And we hold fast to the belief that this separation is temporary. Our son will come home to us.”
“Promise me,” she whispered against his neck.
“I promise,” he replied without hesitation, though they both knew he was making a vow he might not have the power to fulfil. Yet in that moment, surrounded by the scent of roses and the warmth of shared hope, such promises felt not like falsehoods but like prayers that demanded to be answered.
The sound of approaching footsteps made them draw apart reluctantly. Morrison appeared through the garden archway, his expression carrying the particular gravity reserved for matters of significant import.
“Forgive the intrusion, sir, but Mrs Younge has arrived unexpectedly with Master Ambrose. She appears most distressed and requests immediate audience with you both, claiming matters of utmost urgency.”
The words struck Elizabeth like a thunderbolt, sending her thoughts reeling in a dozen directions at once. Ambrose—here, at Pemberley, when he should be hundreds of miles away in Yorkshire. Her heart lurched between wild hope and crushing fear as she struggled to comprehend what this unexpected development might mean.
“Mrs Younge?” she gasped, her hand flying to her throat. “But why would she… How did she come to have Ambrose with her?”
