Page 84 of The Engagement at Longbourn

"Yes. He knew every family. Better than I do."

Elizabeth heard the old ache in his voice.

"You were young when he died."

"Old enough to inherit his responsibilities."

"Not his years of knowledge."

Darcy glanced at her.

She said, "You are very severe with yourself for a proud man."

"Pride and self-reproach are not opposites."

"No. I suppose both may depend upon believing oneself responsible for everything."

He stopped walking. Elizabeth took two more steps before noticing.

She turned.

Darcy stared at her.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"You have that look."

"What look?"

"The one where I have accidentally said something you will think about for a month."

Darcy resumed walking.

"You are impertinent."

"And correct."

"Frequently."

"Be careful. Praise may make me unbearable."

"That condition is already established."

She laughed and slipped her hand through his free arm for the muddy part of the lane. Darcy looked down at her gloved fingers resting on his sleeve. He thought of Pemberley, its farms and cottages and people. For the first time, he imagined Elizabeth not merely in its drawing rooms but on its tenant roads, arguing over roofs, remembering children's boots, asking questions he had failed to ask. The image felt so right that he had to look away.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

Georgiana and Lydia

No one would have predicted a friendship between Georgiana Darcy and Lydia Bennet.

Least of all their brothers and sisters. Georgiana was quiet where Lydia was loud, hesitant where Lydia rushed, disciplined in music where Lydia preferred dancing to listening, and accustomed to rooms where conversation waited politely for its turn. Lydia regarded turns as suggestions. Yet each possessed what the other lacked.

Lydia discovered this first.

"You are never frightened of playing in front of people," she said one afternoon at Netherfield.