Elizabeth’s heart gave an unexpected flutter, and she scolded herself for it even as she rose. “Thank you, Hill. I shall be down shortly.”
As the housekeeper withdrew, Elizabeth crossed to the glass. She adjusted a wayward curl and pulled her loveliest shawl from London over her shoulders with a nervous energy she could not quite explain. She glanced at her reflection and then laughed quietly at herself. How absurd to fuss over her appearance now, as though Mr. Darcy had not seen her at her most bedraggled, utterly dishevelled and her hems covered in mud when she had arrived at Netherfield to care for Jane. If anything, that image of her would be etched into his memory more vividly than whatever impression she might make now.
Still, she could not deny wanting to look her best, not for vanity’s sake—well, not entirely—but because something in the way he treated her made her feel cherished. She pressed her fingers to her cheeks, which had grown warm with the thought, and took a steadying breath.
This was love.
As it settled in her mind, the admission felt less daunting than it might have before Jane’s wedding. She had despised him all autumn and then had been confused by him for more than a month. Now she wondered how well she really knew herself. Had she been wishing for his good opinion all along?
She had believed she was well on her way, that her heart was no longer hers alone. But now her feelings had grown too strong to ignore.
With one last look in the glass, Elizabeth left her room and made her way downstairs, anticipation building with every step.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Darcy had become very comfortable at Longbourn. He had been courting Miss Bennet every day for a fortnight and was treated nearly as one of the family. Mrs. Bennet set an excellent table, and after weeks of no appetite, it was a relief to find that he was rather hungry. He had even convinced Miss Bennet to at last play a game of chess with him and was not surprised to find her a formidable opponent, though he had ultimately prevailed.
He was sitting across from where she and Georgiana were working on clothes for the tenants’ children, half listening to the lively chatter of the Bennet sisters and half replaying each of the moves he had been required to counter. The fire crackled merrily in the hearth, and the light from the flames cast a golden glow over the room. Fitzwilliam was seated near Mrs. Bennet, an amused smile tugging at his lips as Miss Kitty and Miss Lydia bickered over the merits of fashion and colour. They were always on about the same four or five topics—it would have driven him mad to listen to it all, but Fitzwilliam, who had seen so muchdarkness in the army, did not mind at all. He even claimed that while the subjects were the same, the conversation never was.
“And yellow looks far better on me,” Miss Lydia declared with an air of finality.
The youngest Bennet thought every item of clothing in every shade looked best on her. Darcy swallowed and winced. His throat hurt, and his chest was beginning to feel a bit heavy as well.
He had begun feeling a cold coming upon him after they arrived at Longbourn earlier in the day, and now it was becoming obvious that it would not be disappearing on its own. It was most unfair, for he was finally eating and sleeping well again. Now he would have to remain away for a few days just when things were going so well.
“Tea, Mr. Darcy?” Miss Bennet asked quietly from next to him. He had not seen her leave her sewing. She held out a cup. “It might soothe your throat.”
He took the delicate china from her hands and smiled his thanks. Of course she would notice.
“Papa is still sneezing,” she informed him. “I hope he has not given you his cold.” She returned the smile and then poured a cup for her father before returning to the table and beginning to pour for everyone else, beginning with Fitzwilliam and Georgiana.
All the while, the two youngest Bennet girls were arguing.
“You are just saying that because yellow is your favourite colour,” Miss Kitty said with exasperation.
“Well, of course!” Miss Lydia replied with a haughty shrug. “It suits me so well.”
Miss Mary, seated in the corner with her ever-present book, glanced up with a faint snort. “No, Lydia, it is your favourite because it was the colour of the baby blanket you carried arounduntil you were eight years old. It was in pieces before Mrs. Hill managed to toss it in the fire.”
“Really, Mary!” Miss Lydia cried, her cheeks flushing with indignation. “It is no such thing. I am no longer a child!”
Miss Kitty muttered in an undertone, “I beg to differ.”
Miss Mary ignored them both. “I wonder if the colour of one’s baby blanket determines one’s preferences later in life. Could a childish presence linger so long as to influence one’s likes and dislikes when we are grown?”
“Or perhaps our preferences are already formed when we are children and that is why we refuse to give away our favourites,” Georgiana replied, pulling her needle through the cloth.
Miss Bennet smiled silently as Miss Kitty turned to Mr. Bennet, who was for once out of his book room. The eldest Bennet sat at the far end of the room and an air of studied detachment, a book in his right hand and turning pages with his left.
“What about you, Papa? What is your favourite colour?”
Miss Bennet shook her head. “It will not do to ask Papa, Kitty. His baby blanket had four colours: blue with yellow, green, and silver embroidery. I am afraid it will neither prove nor disprove Miss Darcy’s theory.”
A faint ringing sound filled Darcy’s ears, drowning out the noise around him. Four colours. Blue. Yellow. Green. Silver. His mind raced back to a winter’s evening just after his majority, when his father had shown him a small, carefully preserved blanket. His head began to throb.
“Your grandmother embroidered this,” his father had said, running his hand gently over the fragile fabric. “It is an exact copy of the one she made for my elder brother, when she believed she was giving birth to only one babe.” The embroidery had been intricate, the edges trimmed in three distinct colours of thread.
The original blanket had disappeared with the first twin.
