My temper flashed. “I beg your pardon, my lord. But merely because I weigh concerns beyond profit does not make mine a ‘game.’ And if you would hear me out—”
“Oh, certainly! Regale me with more tales of your workers’ paradise by the stream.”
I mastered my irritation with effort. Losing my temper would only affirm his dismissal of my position as youthful ignorance. “That is not my objective,” I replied levelly. “I agree laws should not choke businesses struggling to stay afloat. I only propose accountability that prevents the workers from being misused. It is a delicate balance.” I held his skeptical gaze. “If you truly wish the good of the realm, ought you not seek wisdom wherever it may be found, Lord Belmont? Not just from privileged voices in London?”
Slowly, he sat back, eyes still piercing but less combative. “You have courage to challenge me so bluntly, Darcy. I begin to see why my headstrong daughter is enamored of your family’s charms.” He stroked his chin, musing now rather than mocking. “Very well, I shall consider these issues of regulation more carefully before I vote. Your insights may balance other biases.” He eyed me for a long minute. “As for George, I can find no fault in either of you. Provided he proves deserving of Lucilla’s regard in time.”
I released a careful breath. There could be no better outcome from this first true test of George’s position. If he continued thus... I inclined my head in return. “I am certain he will strive to do just that, my lord.”
Belmont’s eyes glinted. “See that he does.”
I gathered my courage as the last chimney faded from view. “Forgive my boldness, my lord, but I struggle to comprehend your acceptance of George as Lady Lucilla’s suitor. Their attachment appears genuine, yet surely you harbored... doubts regarding his suitability?”
Lord Belmont barked a laugh. “Doubts? Grave ones, I assure you! When Lucilla first wrote naming your brother as her beloved, I fully intended to nip this folly in the bud.”
My breath caught. “What changed your mind, my lord?”
His gaze grew distant, lingering on the horizon. “My daughter can be willful, and she made an ardent case. It does carry some weight, with me, at least, that she recently attained her majority. She is no naive girl of sixteen. Still, I remained unmoved... until I recalled...” He shifted, suddenly awkward. “Well, let us just say I found cause to reconsider.”
Puzzled, I waited for him to elaborate. But Lord Belmont offered nothing further. Whatever private grief or obligation had softened him towards George, he seemed disinclined to confide his reasons. I bobbed my head, accepting the unspoken boundary. “I see. Well, for George’s sake, I thank providence for your change of heart.”
We spoke little for the remainder of the drive. My mind churned fruitlessly, seeking any clue illuminating the mystery of Lady Lucilla’s abruptly successful courtship. Had Winston pleaded his friend’s case? Or had the countess’s gentle influence swayed her husband?
I was shaken from my fruitless speculations as we passed through a pretty hamlet. With a small shock, I recognized Farthingdale’s sloping fields and humble manor house nestled beyond. And there, framed clearly in an upstairs window, sat Elizabeth bent intently over a book.
My heart performed an odd stutter-step at the unexpected sight of her. Oblivious to my gaze, she turned a page, eyes dreamy and far away. Did she still think of our bizarre reunion yesterday? Before I could wrest my attention away, a second jolt of surprise struck. For there, peeking from the carriage house, stood a horse I would recognize anywhere—Bingley’s tall chestnut, Jupiter. Unexpected warmth rushed through me. So, while I guided noblemen about the countryside, wise Bingley had been making much cozier acquaintances. I was happy for him, truly, though an unfamiliar pang stirred, watching Elizabeth disappear from view as we drove on.
I risked a sidelong assessment of Lord Belmont, but he seemed absorbed in cataloging woodland acreage, with no indication he had marked Jupiter’s presence. For propriety’s sake, I held my tongue. But internally, I wished both my friend and the fair Miss Bennet happy progress in their... friendship.
Elizabeth
Ileanedagainstthewindow frame, the open book in my lap long forgotten. My eyes followed a pair of sparrows flitting through the rambling back garden while my thoughts danced elsewhere. Namely, Pemberley. And two gentlemen currently under that venerable roof.
Since our surprise encounter yesterday, I had scarcely thought of anything else. The astonishment written on both Fitzwilliam and George’s faces seemed etched into my vision. Nor could I escape the memory of George’s impulsive grasp of my hands or the way his voice wrapped warmly around my childhood name. Things I had mourned as only echoes of the past for endless years.
My book slipped unheeded to the floor. How long I had ached for resolution with the Darcy family I was forced to abandon! And miraculously, here it was, delivered unexpectedly back within my orbit after seven years. Both Uncle Gardiner and harsh reality urged me to restrain my revived hopes. But neither could eclipse the glow kindled inside at regaining two figures who had filled my young world with affection and adventures untold.
I was roused from my reflections by approaching voices and a knock below. I straightened expectantly. Likely Aunt, come to remind me afternoon tea awaited. My confession yesterday of encountering the Darcys had set her predictably on edge. While sympathetic to past hurts, Aunt also took seriously Uncle Gardiner’s cryptic reasons for discouraging contact with old acquaintances in Derbyshire. Reasons never fully explained, despite my most persistent demands over the years. Well, their protective secrecy mattered little now. The cat was out of the bag, so to speak, and Aunt would simply have to make peace with my resolution to reunite with George and Fitzwilliam.
To my surprise, it was Jane’s gentle voice that responded below instead of Aunt’s. And unless I was mistaken, a masculine rumble answered. My brows lifted. Callers at teatime? How singular. Unless... Surely not again! My lips twitched while traversing the stairs. It would seem Mr. Bingley had wasted no time finding an excuse to call, conveniently while I was occupied upstairs, and she had to receive him alone. My poor Jane’s cheeks must resemble the roses in Mrs. George’sWesting's garden.
Sure enough, I entered the parlor to find Jane posed gracefully by the window, studiously arranging late blooms with only the kitchen maid for a chaperone. And her admirer was none other than one Mr. Charles Bingley. I nearly laughed aloud at his celerity in calling.
But any teasing remark died swiftly. This was no transient flirtation, if one judged by his animation and undisguised admiration. Sudden certainty flared within that I beheld a man already halfway lost to my sister's unassuming charms. And possibly, one intended by providence to be found by her own quiet heart long accustomed to stand in others' shadows.
"Oh, Lizzy!" Jane looked up, her gentle features suffused in a glow no amount of sunshine could impart. "Mr. Bingley has been good enough to call and inquire after my health."
"The gentleman sprang to his feet, all solicitous concern."“Indeed, I could not be easy until fully satisfied there were no lingering effects from the unfortunate fall.” His searching gaze lingered on Jane'sson’s face. "But I see Pemberley's fair roses cannot equal your bloom, Miss Bennet."
A tide of crimson confirmed my earlier suspicion of Jane's sentiments. But words failed her under such effusive compliments. Taking pity, I stepped smoothly into the gap.
"How thoughtful, Mr. Bingley! Jane is almost restored, apart from the occasional twinges she attempts to hide. I do believe it will be some days before the abrasion heals perfectly." My pointed look elicited a sisterly grimace. Turning apologetically to our guest, I continued, "Forgive me, I was meaning to have a word with our aunt. Unless Jane, you would like me to stay?"
Her wide eyes and faint headshake required no translation. Clearly, my presence would be more of a hindrance than help, and she did have a maid to sit with her. Laughing inwardly, I excused myself to the pianoforte room in search of Aunt. However, that lady was not indoors. Likely occupied with some matter in the still room that often stole hours without her notice. But no matter—returning to play the third wheel between Jane and her suitor held little appeal. Better grant them a few moments' privacy to nurture the delicate plant so full of hopeful promise.
Eventually, I discovered Aunt amid her herb pots, sighing over ailing plants that felt autumn's early chill. Brushing dirt from her apron, she straightened to greet me wryly. "Let me guess. Mr. Bingley is come inquiring after a certain maiden's health and requires no chaperoning?"
I grinned. "You know my sister too well. They are all propriety of course, but who am I to intrude on their tête-à-tête?”
