Page 25 of A Prudent Engagement

She looked at him with a dancing smile. Seeing her smile and her apparent enjoyment of the carriage that he had provided for her to ride in gave Darcy a glow of deep satisfaction.

This was the beginning of what he wanted the rest of his life to be filled with, providing things of value to Elizabeth that would delight her and bring her joy.

“Pray tell,” Elizabeth asked, “what is packed in the hamper to save us if we become desperate with hunger despite our ample breakfast?”

“There is chicken, bread, various pastries, and some confections purchased from Gunter’s that Mrs. North assured me would delight the ladies in my party.”

Mrs. Collins exclaimed, “Bring those out now! My breakfast was not so stout that my stomach cannot bear the taste of something promised to delight me.”

With a laugh Darcy opened the compartment where the food was hidden and pulled from it a small box bearing the name and symbol of the Berkeley Square confectioner. He handed it to the lady. She eagerly opened the paper-lined container filled with chocolate drops covered in nonpareils and passed them around to Elizabeth, Miss Bennet, and Darcy, before popping one into her own mouth.

For his part, Darcy eagerly watched to see how Elizabeth would respond.

“Who is Mrs. North?” Elizabeth asked as she took her own chocolate drop and sniffed it delicately.

“The housekeeper at my London home—a fine woman. She is the daughter of the previous holder of the post. I pensioned off her mother when she became too old to easily work a few years ago. But I do not yet know Mrs. North quite so well as Mrs. Reynolds, the housekeeper at Pemberley. She has been like a second mother to me.”

Elizabeth popped the confection in her mouth, closing her eyes to fully experience the fine mix of sugar, chocolate, vanilla, and cinnamon.

“Oh.” There was a slight moan to her tone. “This is divine.”

Something strong stirred deep inside Darcy at seeing her pleasure. “I shall then give your compliments to Mrs. North upon the choice.”

“Oh yes!” Elizabeth opened her eyes wide again. “You must. Jane, do try yours. Do.”

Miss Bennet frowned at the treat and held it with the tips of her fingers. Rather than eating it, she said, “Lizzy, you must remember what I said last night.”

“Which part in particular?” Elizabeth replied a little sharply.

Miss Bennet did not respond, but she looked at her sister with those large, luminous eyes.

Elizabeth said in a tone that Darcy could only interpret as annoyed, “You do not know what you are about. Just eat the confection—it is excellent.”

In reply, Miss Bennet smiled in the manner of a Madonna, then handed the treat to Elizabeth. “I trust you.”

Elizabeth shook her head, smiled to herself, then ate the confection. “You will not achieve your aims so simply.”

Turning to Darcy, she smiled at him in a way that made the world appear gleaming and perfect for him. She seemed more comfortable than when they had first entered the carriage. As they took the road leading them out of the capital, she said, “Mr. Darcy, tell me a story about your own father.”

He looked at her, considering.

She flushed and added, “You asked me to talk about Papa yesterday. It is only fair.”

“I agree. I merely am casting about for an interesting tale.”

“Not interesting—what is the first story that comes to your mind?”

“How he looked in the midst of his illness,” Darcy replied without a pause for thought. “The way he could barely speak, and the rattle in his breath during the last weeks. Yet he always remained cheerful, and he always was kind to the servants, and to me, and he never spoke a complaint, though I know for certain that he was in terrible pain. He chiefly sought to use what strength he still had to impart what wisdom he could, to tell me to avoid those errors that can cause great grief to men of good birth— I apologise. This cannot be cheering. It is hardly what you meant—your father’s death makes that of my own come close to mind.”

“I only thought of it now,” Elizabeth replied, “but you were very young to take an estate. You could not have been much past my own age.”

Her voice was low and sympathetic.

“Any age is young to lose one’s father.” Darcy felt awkward suddenly.

Elizabeth touched the top of his hand in a way that reminded him of how he had held hers the previous day when she had cried.

“I was only one-and-twenty,” Darcy added. “That is why he spent so much effort in speaking to me about how best to manage the estate and avoid errors in his last weeks. He had thought he would have more time—that I would go on a great tour, that I would finish university, and that…that there would be more time. Or maybe I thought there would be more. It was difficult—there are those who see a young man who only just inherited his estate, and they wish to exploit his naivety and his grief to their own profit. I spent many sleepless nights seeking to understand it all. I do not ask for any sympathy—except I do miss my father very much.”