“Oh…” Jane’s eyes filled, and she put her fingers to her lips. “I wish I had one of them! It is ever so kind of you, Lady Matlock.”
“I know it is, my dear,” the countess agreed warmly. “Come, you and Elizabeth must sit here, and we will have Mr Collins just behind you, where Darcy was. Collins, I knowyouwill not object to the monocle.”
“If Your Ladyship recommends it,” he submitted, but Elizabeth saw a flush of pride staining his face. The photographer solemnly raised his flash lamp and commanded, “Hoooollld.”
A few moments later, dazed and blinded, she started to rise from the couch. Billy was profusely thanking the countess, the photographer, Miss de Bourgh, and likely would have thanked the maids and footmen if Mr Darcy had not stopped him.
“Have you another plate?” he asked of the photographer.
“Indeed, sir.”
“Very good. Mrs Fitzwilliam? Would you consent to one more photograph?”
Elizabeth tried frantically to blink the white light from her eyes. “Another?”
“Of course. I thought… perhaps Richard would like to have it. When we find him.”
The earl and countess praised this notion, and everyone else in the room seemed to approve as well, but Elizabeth’s dazzled eyes had dimmed enough for her to make out Mr Darcy’s expression. Something was missing from his face and his tone. Something wistful, something warm—something that had always been there before.
Afterthefoolishnesswiththe photographer—a kindness on the countess’s part, to be sure, but not one he took pleasure in—Darcy was careful to keep himself apart from the ladies as they toured the house. Collins seemed to have become something of an expert on the stately home, for with the countess’s permission and the earl’s assistance, it was he who showed his cousins about. Lady Matlock’s faith appeared to have been well placed, for he conducted himself precisely as a proper butler or housekeeper might have, relating all the pertinent facts and unique curiosities, and thoroughly delighting the sisters. Or one of them, at least.
After the portrait gallery, Lady Matlock, Anne, and Georgiana retired to the sitting room while Elizabeth and Jane continued their tour. They were all to take tea with the dowager countess in half an hour, and Darcy desired a word with the earl before that, but he was still watching Elizabeth.
No doubt, the countess had designed the amusement of a photographer and the recreation of a house tour to ease Elizabeth into this meeting with the dowager. However, Darcy could see that the delay was having rather the opposite effect upon her. She was speaking less, staring into space more, and seemed more disconnected in general from the others. Was it dread of meeting the formidable lady, her own mother-in-law, or was something else troubling her?
“Darcy,” Reginald interrupted his thoughts, “did you desire that drink in my study?”
He glanced at his cousin. “Indeed—a moment, if you please.” Elizabeth had looked his way at hearing him speak, so he took the opportunity to step close, as if telling her something important while the others were engaged in admiring the lavish chimneypiece. She inclined her ear.
“You are looking very well today, Elizabeth,” he murmured softly.
She straightened and regarded him strangely. After a slight hesitation, she whispered back, “Why are you saying this?”
“Because you look as though you do not believe it. I wished to make you more comfortable, help you understand that you belong.”
Her lashes lowered. “I doubt I shall ever ‘belong,’ but it was kind of you to try. I thank you for the thought, but you needn’t invent compliments merely to settle my nerves.”
“I invented nothing.”
She looked earnestly back up to him, her eyes full of longing and question.
He fought a smile—everyone would notice what he was about if he followed his inclinations and began to laugh or speak with a volume that matched the strength of his sincerity. Instead, he leaned fractionally closer. “I meant every word, and then some. You look beautiful today, Elizabeth, as you always do. Matlock will be a finer house with you as its guest.”
The look that came over her face was some combination of abashed pleasure and petrified amazement as she stared back at him. A few flutters of her lashes, an almost fearful smile were to be his only answer.
“Enjoy the rest of your tour,” he said in a more regular tone. “We will see you at tea. Reginald?”
They walked in silence to the earl’s study, where the earl himself closed the door and went to the sideboard. He passed Darcy a drink, then he held his own glass and waited with a strange expression.
Darcy had been about to imbibe but stopped himself upon seeing his cousin’s face. “Something amiss?”
“Amiss? No, I should say it is very much present.”
Darcy furrowed his brow and sipped the brandy. “I am not certain what you can mean.”
Reginald paced around to a chair and dropped into it, still studying his drink. “I mean that lovely bride of Richard’s. He has better taste than I expected.”
Darcy nodded thoughtfully. “I rather believed you would like her.”
