“I am. I hope to find Elizabeth much improved.”
Bingley nodded, his smile faded. “She is strong, and much too clever by half. Do not lose heart, Darcy. She will recover.”
Darcy appreciated his friend’s reassurance while recognizing the danger of allowing his hope to rise.
Bingley continued, “My sisters intend to depart for London today. But Jane and I discussed the matter and have decided to postpone our wedding tour untilElizabeth is fully recovered. You are welcome to stay here with us.”
“I could not impose on your hospitality.” Could not bear to see them so happily settled. “I will take a room at the Meryton Inn.”
Bingley’s back straightened. “With Lady Catherine taking over the establishment? I will not hear it. Pray do not leave on my account when this house is so big, and my wife and I have all the privacy we desire.” His cheeks flushed fiery scarlet.
Darcy’s heart pinged with envy … and hope.
Twenty minutes later, he dismounted at Longbourn.
Hill opened the door before Darcy’s feet touched the ground. The haste with which the older man saw to his duties, as well as the furrow creasing his brow and crinkling around his eyes, gave Darcy pause.
“Good day. Am I too early?”
Shaking his head slowly, his eyes drooping, Hill said, “Mr. Bennet suggested you would call early today.”
Darcy thought his heart would burst if he waited a second longer. “How is Miss Elizabeth?”
“That, I cannot say, sir.”
Tottering between despair and hope, Darcy followed the house servant into the drawing room where Elizabeth sat on the settee in front of the window, Mrs. Bennet positioned precariously on a chair opposite her.
The matron rose as soon as he entered the room. “Mr. Darcy, how lovely to see you so early. Does Lizzy not look fine?”
Soft morning beams glowed against Elizabeth’s skin, shimmering against her silky curls. He wanted to twirl a tendril between his fingers as he had done before, but he clasped his hands in front of him, mourning the loss of the freedoms he had once enjoyed with his betrothed. With his Elizabeth.
Swallowing the lump in her throat, he answered, “She does.”
Pleased with his reply, Mrs. Bennet guided him to the chair nearest Elizabeth, talking a flurry as she pushed him forward.
Elizabeth met his gaze then.
And he knew. He would not need the forget-me-not ring today.
Elizabeth wokethe following morning with images of Mr. Darcy’s handsome face, tall strength, and unexpected humor fresh in her mind. Stretching under the warmth of her covers, her heart fluttered and loped in her chest. Surely, this was a promising beginning.
Slipping her hand under her pillow, she pulled out the piece of paper covered with his name and her many signatures. Mrs. Elizabeth Darcy. She rubbed her finger over the letters, the name rolling off her tongue.As smooth as a worn book cover and as sweet as a strawberry tart.
Eager to reaffirm what she hoped to be true, she donned a wrap and ran out to the hallway, nearly stumbling into Mrs. Hill. Grabbing the housekeeper by the shoulders, Elizabeth asked, “Please, Mrs. Hill, ask me a question about Mr. Darcy. Anything you please.”
After a few stammering starts, Mrs. Hill said, “What is his favorite meal?”
Elizabeth twisted her lips. “I hardly know.” Was that something she was supposed to know? Had previously known?
Mrs. Hill patted her cheek. “I daresay it was not the right question to ask, Miss. I believe it was your mother who informed me of his preference for roasted pork.”
Dashed hopes deflected, Elizabeth kissed Mrs. Hill’s cheek before continuing down the hall to the first open door.
Lydia lounged in her bed with a breakfast tray teetering on her legs. With all she had eaten the day before, it was a wonder she could consume more. She had fallen asleep on the settee, and Papa had had to help Thatcher carry her upstairs to her bed.
“Lizzy,” she greeted, slathering butter on her roll and spooning a blob of berry preserves on top.
“Ask me a question about Mr. Darcy,” Elizabeth said, sitting on the end of Lydia’s bed.
