Elizabeth
IcradledthedelicateChina teacup, letting wisps of steam wreathe my face. The refreshing liquid seeped into my parched mouth and throat, still overheated from our lengthy walk outdoors earlier. I gladly drained my first cup, hoping the hot tea would revive me. Across from me, Mr. Darcy sat with one long leg casually crossed, his own replenished cup in hand. But his eyes seldom strayed to the refreshment. Instead, I sensed his pensive study drifting over and around me at regular intervals when he believed my attention fixed elsewhere.
Odd how a silence shared with George always brimmed with lively expectancy, both of us leaning in with quivering anticipation toward the next wild scheme or burst of infectious laughter. Quiet with Mr. Darcy felt akin to the hushed reverence of a cathedral nave—breaths measured and muted so as not to disturb some fragile sanctity held suspended in the vaulted air. When, at length, I lifted my eyes to meet my host’s thoughtful regard, curiosity drove me to break up the heavy silence.
“Forgive me, have I disrupted important affairs by descending upon your hospitality unannounced?”
Fitzwilliam blinked as though shaking off deeper ponderings before mustering a genial smile. “No, indeed. As I said, my time today is entirely my own.” He took a slow draught of tea. “And there are few friends whose company I should prefer.”
I hoped the steam would disguise my gratified flush at such uncharacteristic effusion. But honesty compelled an uneasy reply. “Even so, with prior engagements commanding your attention...”
Darcy’s expression shuttered subtly at the delicate allusion even as he waved it aside. “It is no matter. Their interests and… amusements differ from my own.” His mouth compressed, and I sensed the topic held sensitivities not to be further encroached upon.
Casting about for safer ground, my regard fell upon various small changes marking my absence throughout the comfortably familiar room. I set down my cup and rose, wandering closer to examine the new base trim by the door and an unfamiliar landscape adorning the far wall. “You must think me impertinent, remarking on household arrangements like a nosy aunt, but I see many updates since the days when I would secrete myself here for rainy-day adventures.”
My host unfolded himself from his chair to join me in surveying the redecorated corner that had once boasted shelves of legal archives. Faint melancholy tightened his eyes and the set of his mouth. “Yes, much necessarily shifts when leadership and authority exchange hands. Even had I wished it, preserving every detail precisely as my father left, it could not be.”
I watched the play of emotions crossing his face as he gazed at the signposts marking the passage from one generation’s administration to the next. On impulse, I touched a sympathetic hand to his wrist. “Will you tell me how it happened? His passing, I mean.” I swallowed the fresh swell of sorrow. “I realize death often strikes unannounced, but still, I wish I might have seen him one last time, or at least heard his voice.”
Darcy—for I suppose I must call him that now—turned his arm to clasp my tentative fingers loosely. The muted ache in his eyes echoed my own. “There is little extraordinary to tell. His health had been strained for some while—the demands of estate and mills constantly multiplying. Then that last winter, his heart...” His shoulders rose and fell heavily. “Well. He went peacefully, they tell me.”
“You were not there? I thought…”
“Oh, yes. Every minute. But I had never witnessed death, and to me, it did not look ‘peaceful’ and ‘natural’ as the doctor tried to say.” He shook his head. “It was dreadful in every measure. And worse so because George had not yet returned from school…” He cleared his throat and tried to offer a smile, but it only looked like a grimace. “I fear I did not prove as capable as he had hoped for me to be—at least, not at first.”
My gaze searched the beloved lines of that face, so like and yet unlike the proud father I adored. “Surely the load need not fall solely onto your shoulders now. Even the most devoted son deserves his own life and purposes.”
Darcy smiled gently down at our joined hands. With one final, friendly squeeze, he let mine drop. “You know me too well, Miss Elizabeth. I confess responsibility weighs heavily at times. And yet...” His thumb slid absently across my knuckles. “...I find myself unwilling to relinquish control. The estate—why, that is one matter. There are rules, traditions. Though it is work, it requires little innovation. But that mill… I wish to Heaven he had never built it, but since he did, I must see it through. If reforms and improvements are to take shape, the vision must carry through steadily from start to completion.”
I considered him thoughtfully—this earnest, conscientious elder brother whose boyhood watchwords had been solitude and obligation rather than mischief and passion. “They do say the mill strains even its strictest overseers.” At his raised brows, I rushed on. “Jane and I drove by it on an outing a few days ago, and we witnessed a troubling skirmish.” I studied his eyes—the somber depths of them. I had not remembered them being so expressive when I knew him as a boy. “Do you never despair at effecting meaningful change in such a volatile environment?”
Darcy shifted his weight, features shuttering subtly. “I do my utmost to mitigate the worst conditions. But one must retain realistic expectations.” He stepped nearer the window, looking out over sloping lawns, his chest rising and falling on a weighted exhale. “I am attempting negotiations to regulate wages and safety requirements with Parliament later this year.”
“Parliament! Have you some leverage there?”
His wistful smile turned a little more confident. “Perhaps I have. Now. It is not for myself I make the effort, and Heaven only knows what will come of it, but I think perhaps Father would not be displeased with my intentions.”
I listened intently, arrested by this unexpected strain of social advocacy emerging from such an intensely private source. Who else but I could appreciate how taxing such efforts must be for a man accustomed to private study and self-sufficiency? My heart stirred, seeing fresh facets of character Time had worked silently since our parting long ago. I moved to join him at the window, but a brisk scrabbling heralded a new arrival. We turned to behold an exquisitely proportioned brown and white pointer trotting through the open door straight toward us, tail waving proudly.
“Wellington! There you are, boy.” Darcy bent as if to greet the dog, but the elegant pointer trotted right past his master’s extended hand and made directly for me.
I went down to my knees, gratified when Wellington immediately padded over to thrust his elegant head beneath my hand, brown eyes eloquent with welcome. “He is magnificent. Yours?”
Darcy watched his pet accept several minutes of delighted stroking from me before responding with wry awe coloring his tone. “He is indeed mine in name, although now I wonder whether he comprehends that fact. He so rarely offers affection to anyone besides me that when he does, he has no dignity whatsoever. Consider yourself singularly esteemed, Miss Elizabeth. Woe betide the guest who presumes upon Wellington’s dignity without invitation.”
“Seeing you with another dog reminds me a little of dear old spaniel,” I mused, stroking Wellington’s velvety ears. “Well! Perhaps he was not entirely a spaniel. Do you recall that little mutt we had as children?”
Darcy’s eyes softened with remembrance. “How could I forget? Father found him eating scraps in Lambton and brought him home. What was his name?” His brow clouded. “Oh, yes!”
We both voiced the fond name simultaneously then— “Piglet!”
Fitzwilliam smiled. “How you adored that dog. Do you remember insisting we call him that silly name because his spots resembled piglets?”
I chuckled. “As if either of you mighty young sirs would dare oppose my infallible logic.”
Darcy shook his head wistfully. “Faithful Piglet. I regret to tell you he did not long survive your… your departure. Faded quickly as if he had lost life’s savor.”
I blinked back sudden tears, touched by this further evidence of the mysterious broken circle of loss my unexplained exile had marked. Darcy’s hand closed briefly over mine, a silent acknowledgment of shared pain as we honored a loyal friend’s memory.
