“What if heisserious about her?” I wondered aloud. “I know it seems almost farcical, but he was speaking of her in a way I have never heard from him before.” I met my uncle’s gaze. “If he truly is… serious… what happens to him when Belmont inevitably puts a stop to his designs? Or worse, what if Belmont is simply toying with him for… I cannot know what.”
“And just what could his reason be for something like that?” Matlock shook his head. “No, Belmont is not an evil man. Well! No more so than any other man with so much power. He hasn’t the time to amuse himself with your brother. Either he tolerates George’s attentions to Lady Lucilla because, up to now, George has not distinguished himself as a serious contender, or because he means to permit something more permanent. Either way, there is no harm in letting George have his way in this.”
“And then what? Let him propose marriage? Be publicly humiliated when her father sends him packing?”
“Might do the lad some good to be humbled a little.” My uncle poured me a drink from his decanter, whether I wanted it or not, and gave it to me. “Your skepticism is warranted, Fitzwilliam, but think of the future. This could be good for George, and beneficial for your interests. Do all you can to make Belmont’s visit to Derbyshire a memorable one.”
As I left Matlock’s estate, his advice echoed in my mind. The drive back to Pemberley was filled with contemplation. Could I, in good conscience, encourage George in this pursuit? And what of my own interests in the matter? I kneaded my eyes with my fingers and sighed.
George was going to prove my undoing someday. I was sure of it.
Elizabeth
Twodayshadpassedat Farthingdale, and they unfolded with the serene predictability of country life. Aunt Gardiner was nearly constantly at her sister’s side, so she had authorized Jane and me to take over the management of the house, to a point. We consulted with the maid, helped with Anne Rose, and dabbled in a bit of cooking—for the estate was not large enough to keep a permanent cook, but Mr. Westing had hired a girl from the village to help during his wife’s indisposition.
However, today promised something different. Mr. Westing, eager to show us the beauty of his corner of Derbyshire, had proposed a tour of Black Rocks. Jane and I, along with Uncle Gardiner, climbed into the carriage with a picnic basket. I clasped Jane’s hand and could hardly contain a squeal of delight.
“Have you seen them before?” Jane asked.
“Oh, many times. We all used to come here before Fitzwilliam went away to school. After that, George and I came back once, but it was not the same without Fitzwilliam.”
Jane looked at me quizzically. “But I thought you said George was the adventurer and his elder brother was dull.”
“Not when it came to the rocks. George was afraid of heights, but Fitzwilliam used to climb to the top of the tallest rocks and tell us all that he could see from up there.” I laughed. “And he used to tell tales of knights charging over the cliffs and dales in battle to thrill us—claiming they were things he had read in his schoolbooks. Now that I think of it, I fancy he made most of them up, but he was always so serious in other matters that we believed every word. Oh! And now I shan’t speak anymore. Just let me drink all this in.”
Jane chuckled and fell quiet beside me. The path to Black Rocks wound through lush fields, gradually giving way to a more rugged landscape. Towering rock formations loomed above us, their dark silhouettes stark against the soft blue of the sky. The beauty of the place was almost overwhelming, with the wildness of nature on such a grand display.
“Oh, Lizzy, you were right!” Jane exclaimed, her eyes wide with wonder as we approached the craggy cliffs. “It’s magnificent!”
I couldn’t help but agree. The majesty of the rocks, formed by centuries of wind and weather, stood as silent sentinels to the passage of time. “It’s like something from another world,” I mused aloud, my gaze following the jagged lines of the rocks as they pierced the sky.
Mr. Westing had the carriage stop as he pointed to the sharp ridge a little way off. “They say the view from the top is quite spectacular, but I should not wish to tire the ladies.”
“Oh, we are accustomed to walking,” Jane replied quickly. “I know Lizzy would not miss it.”
I glanced down at my boots, tilting my foot to examine the thin sole and fine leather. Well… “No.” I lifted my head and smiled widely. “I wouldn’t miss it.”
“Lizzy,Idohopethe cobbler can help. I feel it was my suggestion that led us to climb those rocks.”
The door jingled as I opened it. “Nonsense, Jane. It was an adventure. I would wear out a hundred pairs of boots for the pleasure of seeing that view,” I replied as we approached the counter. It was a funny business, walking while the heel of my boot was flopping loosely, but I managed not to fall again. “Besides, I know Mr. Watson, the cobbler. He was always friendly—he used to give us candies when we came to town with Mr. Darcy on errands. I am sure he will be quite helpful.”
But Mr. Watson was not immediately visible. I leaned over the counter and stood on my toes, trying to see behind the corner that led to his workbench. “Mr. Watson?” No answer. I called him again, with the same effect. At last, I picked up a little brass bell from the counter and gave it a ring.
We heard a muffled curse and a chair squeaking, and the cobbler emerged with a look of perfect indifference. “What can I do for you ladies?” No preamble, no genuflection. Just a blunt question.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Watson!” I beamed. “It is so good to see you again.”
His cheek twitched, and then his gaze swept me up and down. “It is, then?”
“Ah, perhaps you do not remember me. It has been some years, after all. I am Elizabeth Bennet—well, you knew me as Elizabeth Smith.”
He blinked.
“I… used to live at Pemberley? We came here quite often with Mr. Darcy.”
Something flickered in his eyes, but it was not recognition. “As you say, madam.”
I sighed. “Well, I was out climbing earlier today, and I damaged my boot. I was hoping you could repair it.”
