“Am I to be consulted?” he asked mildly.
Elizabeth turned at once, laughter dancing in her expression. “You may object… if you dare.”
Georgiana smiled shyly, shifting closer to Elizabeth as if already allied.
Darcy stepped into the circle, and whatever he had intended to say dissolved beneath the warmth of the moment.
He would speak to her later, he told himself.
There would be time.
The documents would soon be on their way back to London. The amendment would be made. Nothing urgent required immediate explanation.
And so, the question—small but unsettling—slipped quietly to the back of his mind.
∞∞∞
The fourteenth of December dawned gray and quiet over Longbourn. After a late night card party, Elizabeth was eager to take advantage of the laziness of the day before her last Sabbath as a single woman.
Only four more days left, and I shall be Mrs. Darcy.
Elizabeth allowed herself a small, private smile and sank deeper into the pillows, wiggling her toes in delight.
The winter light filtering through the curtains was pale and gentle, softening the familiar shapes of her room—the little writing desk beneath the window, the chair where Jane sometimes sat to brush her hair, the small shelf of books she had collected over the years.
She looked about her with sudden attentiveness.
How few mornings remained in this room.
Soon she would wake beneath another roof entirely, in a chamber overlooking the great lawns and woods of Pemberley. She would walk halls she had never known, as its mistress.Servants would look to her for direction. Guests would arrive beneath her roof.
The thought stirred something complicated within her chest.
A faint pang of sorrow—unexpected but not unwelcome.
Longbourn had been her whole world for nearly twenty-one years. Its quirks, its noise, its disorderly affections. Lydia’s laughter echoing through the corridors. Jane’s gentle voice in the mornings. Even Mary’s solemn lectures drifting from the pianoforte room.
All of it would remain here.
Elizabeth turned onto her side and pressed her cheek into the pillow.
But the sorrow did not linger.
It was swallowed quickly by something far stronger.
Anticipation.
She had never imagined that her life might unfold so—so generously. To marry a man she loved was blessing enough. Yet he was also a man her father respected, her mother admired, her sister cherished. His family—Lady Anne with her quiet kindness, Georgiana with her shy sweetness—had welcomed her with warmth she had scarcely expected.
There would be music in Pemberley’s halls. There would be long walks beneath Derbyshire skies. There would be laughter—perhaps children’s laughter—echoing in a manner that she had only heard described to her.
She closed her eyes, the thought sending a pleasant warmth through her.
It was all so certain now.
Everything was perfect.
That afternoon Darcy would arrive with the final papers—the corrected settlements, now fully prepared for signatures.
