“Colonel Forster is an excellent man, from what I heard. Unfortunately, not all his officers are equally honourable and trustworthy,” he finally said.
“I agree,” Elizabeth answered. “To be honest, I did not agree with Lydia going there, but my father trusted the colonel.”
“My niece Lydia is a sweet girl but very young, unwise, and reckless,” Mr. Gardiner interjected. “She will not rest until she gets what she wants, and my brother Bennet chose to let her leave so that everyone could enjoy a peaceful summer.”
Mr. Darcy looked at Elizabeth without any further comment, and even though he spoke no words, she felt his rebuke.
“Speaking of my sisters, I should like to write to Jane,” Elizabeth said. “May I be so bold as to beg you for some paper and a pen, Mr. Darcy? If it is not too much trouble.”
“Of course. No trouble at all, Miss Bennet.”
“Lizzy, tomorrow morning Mr. Darcy and I shall depart very early and be gone for most of the day. Please take care of your aunt.”
“Of course, Uncle.”
“Miss Bennet, Mrs. Reynolds told me you liked the room on the corner,” Mr. Darcy continued.
“Oh yes, sir. I absolutely love it,” she said enthusiastically, then felt embarrassed for using the word love so easily. She suddenly recalled his ardent confession of love, and it tormented her further.
“I am glad to hear that.”
“Thank you for offering it to me, Mr. Darcy. I could not dream of anything better.”
She was being honest and hoped he would not consider her statement inappropriate.
“It was truly my pleasure, Miss Bennet. Beauty is never so complete as when somebody knows how to appreciate it.”
For the rest of the evening, Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy continued to talk, their words polite and proper but burdened with meaning that only the two of them comprehended.
After dinner, Elizabeth withdrew to her chamber, allowing Mr. Darcy and her uncle time to enjoy their brandy and cigars.
Her spirits had returned, and she felt almost comfortable, almost at peace. Almost.
She had spoken to him enough to find common ground. Even in her uncle’s presence, he had suggested they put the past aside and make the best of the present, which was all she wanted.
The only thing that she did not dare mention — and probably never would — were the paintings. He had admitted his artistic talents and knew she had seen the pictures. If he wished to, he might bring it up himself.
***
Surprising even herself, Elizabeth slept very well that night. After returning to her chamber, she spent quite a long while on the balcony. She was — again — pleased to receive further proof of Mr. Darcy’s consideration: a maid brought her paper and a pen, and she began writing to Jane immediately.
Afterwards, she fell asleep with the windows wide open, allowing the scent and the sounds of the park to enter her room.
By the time she awoke, the sun had been up for several hours, so she dressed and hurried downstairs. Her uncle and Mr. Darcy had already left, so she joined her aunt, taking breakfast with her.
Annoyingly, Mrs. Gardiner’s leg was even more swollen and painful; it had turned dark blue, and Mrs. Reynolds insisted on fetching the doctor again.
Around noon, Mrs. Gardiner’s relatives arrived to see her, and another hour was spent in sharing memories and making plans for the coming days — if and when the injury would allow it.
Once the guests left, Mrs. Gardiner chose to sleep, and Elizabeth, with nothing else to do, went for a walk around thelake. She hoped to catch a glimpse of the gentlemen returning, but she was disappointed. It was very warm, so she walked back to the house and went directly to the library, intending to choose a book.
Once there, however, she allowed herself to rejoice in discovering all the little details that revealed Mr. Darcy’s presence there. She even sat in his chair, at his desk, touching the heavy wood. She brushed her fingers over his pen — remembering Miss Bingley’s offer to mend it for him. Then she walked around the large room, admiring the books, wondering which were his favourites.
Eventually, she sat on the sofa; it was cool and silent, surrounded by the books and by the notion that everything belonged to him.
Feeling slightly tired, she lay back on the sofa for a moment, waking with a pounding heart when she heard Mr. Darcy’s voice calling her name.
