I shifted restlessly. “So he appears. But you did not witness their reunion yesterday. I saw it—that old spark in George’s eyes. He has never looked thus, not even in Lady Lucilla’s presence.” I exhaled heavily. “I fear he will not forget Elizabeth Smith easily a second time.”
Matlock’s brows snapped together. “Confound it, you may be right! We cannot risk George sacrificing this golden opportunity and Belmont’s good graces on a whimsical fancy from the past, no matter how charming the lady.” He gripped my shoulder urgently. “Darcy, you must keep them apart!”
I stared, consternation rising. My own longing to reconnect warred powerfully against the duty to guard George’s prospects. I respected Elizabeth too much to simply cut her again with no explanation. Yet what alternative presented itself?
As if reading my thoughts, Matlock hastened to add, “At least until vows are exchanged and this match irrevocably settled. Once George marries Lady Lucilla, he will be safely anchored from lingering regrets over roads not taken.” His mouth twisted ruefully. “We must both wish the course of true love could run smoothly for once in this family. But the world little considers the yearnings of the heart.”
I studied the dark lawn sightlessly. The laughing girl with chestnut curls was now a whisper on the summer air—so near and yet as distant as those golden days of youth. Could I, in honor, forbid her the explanations my father denied? Or must practical considerations carry the day?
“You speak the truth, Uncle,” I replied heavily at length. “I shall… consider carefully how to proceed.”
Matlock nodded. “See that you do. Much depends on it.” He moved toward the door, then paused to glance back with a glimmer of his usual humor. “Unless you fancy testing your diplomatic skills against Belmont’s wrath, should this wedding disintegrate?”
The feeble jest barely stirred a flicker of wry response. My soul felt weighed beneath old regrets and present dilemmas as Matlock left me alone once more with the creeping autumn shadows. Past and present seemed fatefully intertwined across the years by three youthful players blindly dancing to melodies only time understood. Wherever this strange reel led, I sensed the coming movements must tread carefully indeed through a minefield of divided loyalties, dangerous secrets, and loves both old and new.
Perhaps I would write her a note. Yes, that would do. Something pleasant and intentionally vague, speaking of a desire to welcome her and her party for tea but failing to name a date. That way, I could take a day or two to see which way the wind blew with Belmont. He would not remain in Derbyshire forever, and once he and his family were safely returned to London, we could have that reunion with Elizabeth.
Elizabeth
Iturnedtheletterover in my hands, drinking in every graceful stroke of ink. Such bold, decisive penmanship compared to the haphazard scrawl I recalled as George’s. My eyes lingered over the signature—Fitzwilliam Darcy. Just that bold black name sent a tremor of anticipation through me.
“Well, Lizzy? Do not keep us in suspense!” Aunt leaned nearer where we sat, circled around the morning table, forgotten tea growing cold. “What does Mr. Darcy have to say?”
I released a shuddering breath I had not realized I had held. “He writes that nothing could give him greater pleasure than to formally receive us all at Pemberley.” My voice quavered with a surge of mingled excitement and trepidation. There! His own words, an irrefutable stamp marking seven years apart as mere illusion. I lifted my shining eyes to take in the answering delight dawning around the table.
Aunt pressed an anxious hand to her breast even as excitement pinked her cheeks. “Thank heaven! Perhaps your uncle’s fears were for naught. Is he not still the kindest young man breathing?”
I bent again hungrily over the letter, tracing each slanted word. “Indeed! Although he offers no specific date yet, he only makes... vague mentions that they currently have important guests whose convenience must be considered. But once departed...” My voice trailed off, imagination leaping ahead to tender reunions beneath Pemberley’s ancient oaks. I fairly tingled in anticipation.
Beside me, Jane cast a sympathetic look at my glowing cheeks. “It seems almost providential that you should chance to meet again. I am truly happy for you, dearest Lizzy. But you will not…” She leaned her head toward me. “You will not forgetus, will you?”
I squeezed her slender fingers, my heart too full for speech. “Forget you, who have become my sister as surely as if you were flesh and blood? Never! The only greater felicity awaiting would be seeing you as happy as I am at present. And Ithinkthat happiness is not far around the corner for you.”
Jane giggled and blushed behind her teacup. “Mr. Bingley is thinking of taking Netherfield. Can you fancy that? He would be our neighbor!”
“There, you see? Providential.”
We finished breakfast amidst animated speculation about mysterious guests whose convenience must not be encroached upon. Aunt seemed inclined to take a poor view of anyone who dared stand in the way of our reception even a day longer than necessary. But I counseled patience. We had waited this long to regain what was lost—what harm in a short delay more?
Still, as soon as I was able, I slipped outdoors, suddenly restless as a caged bird. I must walk, and walk hard, until equanimity returned.
Some hours later, the summer sunshine had burned away the last shreds of mist clinging to hollows and copses. My rapid steps carried me unerringly through remembered woodland paths barely changed by intervening years. How easy here to slip back into that carefree young girl endlessly racing through Pemberley’s leafy sanctuary. I had not intended this destination when I first fled the house. Yet somehow, my feet knew where my soul longed to wander this day.
A glimpse of Greek columns through the trees brought me up short. I lingered at the edge of the tree line, suddenly timid. It would be nothing to cross the lawn and proceed inside those soaring doors as though seven years had never passed. Surely no one could begrudge me simply drinking my fill of memories long denied? Brushing aside wisps of ivy, I ventured one step, then another, onto close-clipped grass. Soon, I was skimming the perimeter of Pemberley’s rear lawns, pausing frequently to soak up half-forgotten vistas of stream and meadow limned in summer’s verdant crown.
A fountain’s cheerful splashing drew me irresistibly to circle a copse until the ornamental gardens lay open before me. There indeed stood the marble statue fount I recalled dotting cool jets of water into the air high enough that George could run through without a single drop striking his golden head. My feet carried me to its edge before I quite realized, eager fingers already trailing in the crystalline water.
Laughter rang out from a little distance, and I lifted my head. A bright grouping of ladies strolled just visible between sculpted hedges—elegant morning gowns marking them as gentlewomen of quality. Perhaps they were even those important guests Aunt endlessly speculated about over breakfast. And was that…Georgewith them? It could be… The gentleman was about the right height. But he was using a walking stick and escorting one of the ladies on his arm. Well, that settled it. George always said walking sticks were pompous affectations.
From the opposite direction, striding across turf I knew led towards the Grecian gardens, came a more isolated figure. I knew that proud carriage and unfashionably tousled black hair that poked out from his hat immediately. Joy sparked through me, and I straightened, hand lifting in an eager wave.
“Mr. Darcy!” My cry rang clear as bells across the autumn air. His dark head jerked up, astonishment washing over his stern features. I watched him check mid-stride and turn toward my voice as if not quite trusting his senses. The two ladies in the rear of the group, wandering through the topiary, glanced around in mild curiosity. But I had eyes only for Fitzwilliam Darcy as he swiftly changed course toward me, a wondering look of doubt breaking like sunrise over his face that probably echoed my own delight.
“Miss Elizabeth?” Disbelief weighted his rich voice as he drew up hastily before me. “What… what brings you here today?” His wide eyes devoured every aspect like a drowning man sucking in air. Before I could reply, he seized my outstretched fingers, pressing them fervently between both palms. “By heaven, I had not thought to find you here!”
Confused pleasure surged through me at words I could only interpret as gladness despite his evidently shocked countenance. My face stretched wide in an irrepressible grin. “Pemberley was always open to visitors. Have I no right to presume to ramble this particular acreage uninvited? Unless you will set the dogs on me for old time’s sake?”
The tease broke past his astonishment at last, wrenching a rusty chuckle forth. But all too swiftly, sobriety shuttered his features once more. He flicked an uneasy glance toward that merry party still meandering through garden paths, then abruptly offered me his arm.
