“Then, it is safe to assume that he never truly knew my identity?” Jane finally asked, her voice tremulous.
“Did you not exchange proper introductions?”
“We had our little game; he was Mr. Propriety to my Miss Manners.” Jane blushed at the silly memory. “It was all so innocent and light-hearted, like a dance where neither partner knows the steps. I had no idea he held such strong romantic feelings for me until he presented that dreadful poem.”
“Truly dreadful,” her aunt agreed with a wry smile. “You only allowed me to read it after many years had passed. Although the intent of his admiration of you was clear, the delivery left much to be desired.”
“He compared my eyes to forget-me-nots, if you recall.”
“I do recall, and found it charmingly delightful!” Aunt Madeline cried out with a light laugh.
“It was.” Jane smiled despite herself.
Her aunt tested the teapot with a practiced hand, before pouring herself another cup. “At least the poor man attempted to romance you with soft words, ill-chosen though they were.”
Jane gazed out the window at the rain burdened clouds. “Eight years change people like seasons change landscapes. I cannot imagine he remembers that time with any fondness. He has made no mention of it in any of our conversations.”
“Dear, dear Jane,” Aunt Madeline soothed. “If it is any solace, I believe you are quite precious to Mr. Morgan, and he may not have mentioned what took place between the two of you, because he does not know if you recall it, or wish to forget it. You have the power, my dear, to cross the Rubicon, bring that time in your joint history out into the open, and discuss it freely.”
Chapter Fifteen
Elizabeth would never confess,least of all to herself, that she awaited Mr. Darcy’s visits with any eagerness. And she certainly would never admit it to Jane, who, of all people, had lately taken to gentle teasing. Horrid, horrid girl! Only moments ago, Jane had cheerfully enquired how many carriages had rattled by within the past half an-hour. Not that Elizabeth had been perched on the chaise longue, ears straining for the distant jangle of harnesses, or the whispered clip-clop of horseshoes on cobblestone. Of course not. She also was not holding her breath, her embroidery slack between her fingers, the stitches she managed to produce looking utterly random against the linen.
Her head whipped around, and she began scanning the street, her shoulders slumping with untold relief when a black lacquered carriage rolled to a dignified stop in front of her uncle’s house. He had come.
“Breathe, Lizzy,” her sister said quietly, her voice gentle, not teasing. “We cannot have you swoon from lack of air the very instant Mr. Darcy crosses the threshold.”
“I will not swoon,” she returned primly. “I am not Mamma.”
“Mamma never swooned; she preferred fluttering fits and dramatic spasms. Waving a handkerchief is far more theatricalthan collapsing to the floor in an inglorious heap.”
“Jane! You never before mentioned Mamma’s nerves.”
“Speaking of them did little good. It was not worth my time.”
“True enough.”
Their banter ceased as Lambert reappeared to announce Mr. Darcy. Moments later, he entered, his dark gaze sweeping over the company until it rested on Elizabeth. He gave Jane a brief nod of greeting, inclined his head to Aunt Madeline, then… his eyes returned to Elizabeth, and a slow, almost reluctant smile curved his lips.
She admitted to herself that Mr. Darcy was a striking gentleman even when he was ill-tempered; but mercy, when he smiled, he was utterly captivating. She had believed her knowledge of his accustomed expressions of pride, indifference, and mild disdain, was complete. Yet in that instant, she saw only pure pleasure. Pleasure caused by her. Elizabeth’s heart stuttered, and warmth blossomed in her breast, equal parts humbling and exhilarating.
Polished china was brought forth, and cups of steaming Twining were served, the air fragrant with freshly baked tea cakes. Conversation rippled with pleasantries until, after a quarter-hour of required politeness, Mr. Darcy shifted in his chair and looked directly at Elizabeth.
“Lady Elizabeth, it is such a beautiful day,” he said, his voice low and earnest, “and I wonder if I might persuade you to accompany me on a walk through the park.”
“Nothing would please me more, Mr. Darcy.” She turned to her sister, her cheeks warm with a soft flush, giving her sister more ammunition for future teasing. “Will you join us, Jane? I promise to set a more moderate pace.”
“I have no fear on that score. There are enough benchesscattered around the park and by the pond, where I can pause if necessary.”
“Then let us depart at once, before the afternoon slips away entirely,” Elizabeth declared, rising and smoothing the soft folds of her gown.
Soon, the trio had crossed the street and entered the park. The midafternoon sunlight dappled through newly budding trees as they approached the pond, where Jane almost immediately declared she would rather observe the waterfowl and leave the two of them to their private conversation.
“Stay within sight, Lizzy,” she called after them in a teasing manner. “Do not make me chase after you.”
Elizabeth, her arm entwined with Mr. Darcy’s, half-turned and impishly extended her tongue, delighting in Jane’s resulting laughter that echoed down the path. Having indulged in a moment of Lydia-like mischief, she composed her features into a semblance of propriety and faced forward once more.
“Dare I ask what that sisterly exchange was all about?” Darcy asked, his deep voice warm with amusement, the corners of his usually stern mouth lifting slightly.
