Page 183 of Near Pemberley

“I hoped I did. Our wedding takes place at Darcy House in two days.” Darcy reached for his gloves. “You may give me your answer simply by attending.”

Bingley needed no further invitation.

“I shall be there.”

Darcy nodded once. He shook Bingley’s hand once more and quietly departed.

***

Darcy was tired after his day, but he was looking forward to arriving home. Elizabeth had promised to wait for him there, and the thought had been a pleasant one throughout the journey.

As he made his way towards the drawing room, he heard the murmur of several female voices and the occasional sound of laughter. He slowed his step. The door had been left open, and from the hall he could see that the room had been transformed since he had left that morning. Elizabeth stood before a mirror, surrounded by lengths of fabric, while open boxes and several gowns in various stages of preparation occupied the tables and chairs around her. Two ladies were attending to her, one adjusting the fall of a pale silk gown while the other examined the sleeve with a critical expression. Georgiana sat nearby, watching with evident interest, while Lydia had apparently appointed herself an assistant and was offering opinions with considerably more confidence than expertise.

Darcy stopped at the doorway.

No one had noticed him.

For several moments he simply watched.

Elizabeth was laughing at something Lydia had said. One of the ladies moved behind her and gathered the fabric at her waist, while the other stepped forward to pin something near her shoulder. The sight was so entirely domestic, so strangely intimate, that Darcy found himself reluctant to disturb it.

He had seen Elizabeth in many circumstances by now – amused, angry, anxious, proud, frightened and tender. He had seen her arguing with him, teasing him, and looking at him with that particular expression which suggested she had already thought of an answer he would not enjoy. He had seen her laugh freely, and he had seen her shyly look away when his attention became too direct.

Yet the sight before him stirred a memory from another time.

He remembered the milliner’s shop at Lambton, and Elizabeth standing beside Georgiana as they considered bonnets and ribbons. He had watched them then with an emotion he had scarcely dared to name. There had been something about seeing Elizabeth so naturally attentive to his sister, laughing with her and encouraging her hesitation, that had awakened a hope he had believed himself too sensible to entertain.

At the time, it had been only a possibility – a foolish, fragile glimpse of a life that could never be his.

Now he stood in the doorway and watched Elizabeth surrounded by women preparing her gowns for her new life.

Not a hope.

Not an imagined future.

Reality.

His future.

Their life.

A smile appeared upon his face before he could prevent it.

The movement must have caught Georgiana’s eye, for she looked towards the door. Her expression brightened. “Fitzwilliam.”

At once every head turned.

Elizabeth looked over her shoulder. For a moment she seemed almost embarrassed to find him watching. “You are home.” She went to him.

“I am.”

He remained where he was, his eyes travelling once more over the room.

“I see I have returned at an interesting moment.”

Lydia grinned. “We have been dressing Elizabeth.”

Elizabeth looked down at the gown. “I am afraid they have been working very hard upon me.”