His eyes reflected his confused expression.
“My dear husband, it goes back to Mr. Crosgrove. If only you could have seen your excitement when you returned from Ashworth, you would wonder at the man in front of me now. Dear man, you were happily contemplating the lease of a smaller estate where less pressure rested on your shoulders, where we could raise and train our children while not worrying about our status in society. Do you remember?”
“I do, but?—”
She stroked his jaw. “No, Fitzwilliam. I fear that seeing Pemberley again, that having your renewed hope of regaining control, is causing you to lose sight of what is truly important. I cherish the man I married. If you fight for Pemberley, then do it for your sister or any children we will eventually have. Or do it forus.Do not do it solely for you. Do not be like my father, who lost the respect of his family because he allowed his desires to take priority. I worry that the decisions you are making are not about you and me. That your greatest concern is Pemberley.”
For a long time, he said nothing. Nor would he look at her. Finally, he said, “You regret marrying me, then?”
“Never say that, ever!” She was aghast. Trying to put her intense feelings into words he would understand, she said, “My love, you have two choices before you. You canput the regaining and reestablishing yourself as master of Pemberley ahead of your family, or?—”
“Pemberley is my heritage. The people are my family. I do this for you and Georgiana, for her unborn child, so that he or she will understand what it means to be a Darcy.” He pulled his hand away to clasp her shoulders. “Elizabeth, I am the man you claim to love because of Pemberley. Do you not understand?”
She sighed softly. “Yes, your environment influenced you growing up, as it did me. But, to me, you are so much more than the place you inhabited. Were we to live at Ashworth, I would love you. If we lived in a cabin on the beach, I would love you. If all we could afford was a room at the end of the corridor in a remote inn, I would love you. You see, your value to me is not Pemberley. It is your quick intelligence, your sharp wit, your capable hands, and your kind heart. You are so much more than Pemberley will ever be.”
He lowered his head, seeming to study the floor. “Then, you do not want me to pursue Cinna, to have the power and authority to evict Cole, to make him pay for his crimes?”
“That is not what I am saying. Like you, I want justice to prevail. What I do not want is for your efforts to be only about Pemberley. I want it to be for us.”
Leaning forward, he kissed her forehead.
“I agree. For us.”
Throughout the night,Darcy mulled over Elizabeth’s comments. Did she still not understand that Pemberleywould forever be a part of him? That he was part of Pemberley?
He rolled away from her, careful not to disturb her sleep.
Was he wrong? Not at all. What he did, every decision he made, was for her. He loved and adored her, easily envisioning years, even decades, into a happily settled future, watching their children and grandchildren move through Pemberley’s corridors.
He rested his head on his hands. Closing his eyes, he could see her, her hair streaked with silver, smiling as she clasped the hand of a small grandchild, guiding him up and down Pemberley’s garden paths, their adult son or daughter looking on as one generation introduced the next to their home.
He could see family events where laughter rang through the rooms, where siblings teased and played games, to the delight of all.
He could see… Good lord, was that tears on the back of his hand? Inhaling, he closed his eyes to regain the image of him instructing his son as his father did, leading him by the hand to the stables where a young colt frolicked in the corral. He would tell his son that one day, he would be old enough to ride that horse across the fields, galloping like the wind. Then, he would lift the child up and seat him in the saddle on the back of the oldest mare in the stable. Would his son think, like he had in his youth, that he was almost high enough to touch the sky from the seat of that ancient mount?
Swiping his damp cheek, he rolled back until he came into contact with his wife.
Could she not understand that the end was notPemberley? The beginning was Pemberley.When they were gone, Pemberley would remain.
He would ride to London, then do whatever was necessary to find the man acting the part of a notary who was an accomplice to a crime. Once he presented Pemberley to her, Elizabeth would understand.
For four weeks,the weather bore down on Derbyshire, keeping them confined to Alderwood. As the snow fell outside, inside the main house, Charlotte made herself useful to Darcy’s aunt, helping to sew clothing for the children in the local parish, much to the appreciation of the new, unmarried rector. Elizabeth knew better than to tease her friend. Instead, she enjoyed watching Charlotte and Mr. Smythe as they drew closer together.
Georgiana had moved past her morning sickness. The roundness of her belly required new clothing, along with adjustments to the few garments her aunt purchased. Aunt Helen, as she preferred to be called, was a constant encouragement to the expectant mother.
Elizabeth paid close attention to the conversation when Lady Matlock discussed childbirth because she had not had her courses since the first week after she and Fitzwilliam were wed. With Darcy distracted by Pemberley, Elizabeth chose not to share her suspicions with him until she was far enough along to feel the quickening. Darcy’s aunt mentioned to Elizabeth, when Georgiana was out of hearing distance, how pleased she was when Georgiana admitted to feeling movement in her womb. Apparently, several of Lady Matlock’s acquaintances hadshared with others their joyous news, only to have the heartbreak of never experiencing the quickening. Even Darcy and Georgiana’s mother suffered the loss of several babies in the twelve years between their births.
Resting her hand on her middle, Elizabeth prayed that all would be well with her pregnancy. Darcy, suspecting nothing, would be overjoyed when Elizabeth shared the good tidings.
“Elizabeth, there you are.” Her husband called from the doorway. Smiling, she slid her hand to the seat next to her. Patting the cushion, she welcomed him to her side.
Before she could offer him tea, he said, “There has been enough of a break in the weather to allow the mail to come through.”
“You heard from your cousin?”
He looked crestfallen. “There was nothing from Richard.” He showed her two letters he held in his hand. “One is from your eldest sister. The other letter will probably surprise you, as it surprised me because it was not addressed to you. Lydia wrote to me.”
“Lydia?” If he said he planned to fly to the moon, she would have been no less shocked that her youngest, most irresponsible sister wrote to the most responsible man of her acquaintance.
