“About which horse she ought to be cheering for,” George supplied quickly. “And she was so taken with my advice that she gave me leave to call on her and her mother the next afternoon.”
I surveyed him dryly. “Her mother is not the worry. It is Lord Belmont who ought to concern you. I cannot think he would lightly approve of his only daughter being courted by the second son of a mere country squire. Particularly one with a—forgive me, George—a reputation such as yours.”
“Would you believe he fancies me?”
I went to the sideboard and poured some brandy, offering a glass to Bingley. “No.”
“You see, Bingley? I told you he would not believe me. Very well, have it your way, brother. I shall tell Lord Belmont that you did not care to meet him next week when he brings his family on a tour of Matlock and Dovedale.” He flicked a bit of imaginary dust from his sleeve and strolled toward the door.
I spun around, the brandy sloshing slightly in my glass. “Lord Belmont is coming to Derbyshire?”
George kept walking. “Oh, yes. They are expected to break their journey in Duffield on Tuesday next, and from there, I believe they meant to journey on as the ladies felt comfortable—a month in the Peaks, at least. Lady Belmont said she most particularly desired to tour Matlock and Pemberley, as she heard there was nothing to the natural beauty of the grounds. There you have it.” He shrugged and walked out the door.
I blinked, my brandy utterly forgotten. “What the devil?” I breathed.
“I will say,” Bingley mused, “the lady does appear to be quite taken with George.”
My head snapped around. “What? She does?”
Bingley lifted a shoulder in a helpless gesture. “Perhaps I am no fit judge. I have courted very little myself, and I find, more often than not, I ascribe more feeling than is truly present, but it did appear to me that she was fond of him. She blushed a great deal and touched her hair whenever he spoke to her, and once, I saw her permit him to touch her hand. Is that affection or merely gentle manners from a noble young lady?”
“It is astonishing, that is what. Do you know who she… or rather, who Lord Belmont is?”
He shook his head innocently. “Should I? I mean, of course, apart from their rather impressive names?”
I cleared my throat and tossed back a larger gulp of brandy than good manners permitted. “He is no mere earl or viscount. He is The Most Honourable The Marquess of Belmont. Highly favored by Prince George, powerful in the House of Lords. Whatever land in Berkshire is not owned by the crown belongs to Belmont… well… almost.” I was pacing the floor by now, worrying my empty glass between my fingers and frowning at the carpet. “And he has been one of the primary voices in Parliament regarding factory regulation.”
“Oh.” Bingley’s voice sounded pale, and when I glanced back at him, his face matched. “I say… he is rather an important fellow, then, is he not?”
“For more reasons than one. Bingley, if George truly has got himself mixed up with Lady Lucilla, he is farther over his head than he knows. Lord Belmont would be a fool to permit George to court his daughter. If she marries anything less than an earl—or a future earl, at the minimum, it would be nearly scandalous.”
“But if she did…?” Bingley posited.
“If she did…” I blew out a sigh. “Either it would be everything I could wish for—a chance to speak to Belmont directly regarding my concerns for the new laws being proposed—or I would suspect Belmont is using George for something.” I twisted my glass in my hands, and a wry thought came to me. “I suppose, either way, George has finally found a way to make himself useful tosomeone.”
Four
Elizabeth
Themorningwedepartedfor Lambton dawned bright and clear, as if the weather itself approved of our excursion. I stood before my small trunk, meticulously packing, each item a silent testament to the anticipation bubbling within me. Jane watched me with a bemused smile.
“Lizzy, do remember we are going to assist Aunt Gardiner, not attend a season in London,” she teased, folding a shawl with her usual precision.
“I am well aware, Jane,” I replied, tucking a book into a side pocket. “But one never knows what adventures might find us, even in Lambton. Why, we might go out walking, or Aunt’s sister may receive callers… best to be prepared, right?”
“Have you seen Mr. Westing’s estate? What is it like?”
I folded my gowns and thought for a moment. “I do not recall Farthingdale, but it must be close to Pemberley. From what I understand, the estate itself is about the size of Longbourn or perhaps a little smaller. But Lambton is decidedly smaller than Meryton, so if you were entertaining thoughts of meeting handsome gentlemen…”
“Lizzy, you know that is not why I agreed to come. I wanted to help, nothing more. But I do confess that I could not pass up a chance to see the place where you and Aunt grew up. From the way you both talk, there is no place in the world as lovely as the Peaks.”
“There is not.” I tucked a pair of stockings into the crevice between two gowns and straightened. Another pair of boots would be good, but I had not brought my sturdy and worn walking boots from Longbourn. My flimsy town boots would have to do. Besides, it was not as if…
Not as if I would be running through the hills and dales like a girl of thirteen again. My mind wandered back to the days spent at Pemberley. To George Darcy, with his laughing blue eyes and a smile that could stop a girl’s heart.
How we used to race through the halls, our footsteps ringing out like the joyous toll of a bell. How vividly I remembered the games we played, hiding in secret nooks, the thrill of being discovered mixed with the delight of concealment. George, with his mischievous grin and boundless energy, was always the ringleader, and I, ever willing to follow in whatever adventure he concocted.
Did he remember me with the same fondness, or had time erased those carefree days from his memory?
