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“Your knowledge of thirteenth century history is impressive, but I had a different significant event in mind.”

Despite my maintaining a stiff bearing for the sake of presenting a sedate demeanour, a giggle escaped me. When I next peeked at my beloved, his contorted brows relented, and a smile brightened his adroit features.

“As I suspected—you are teasing me.”

I chuckled. “My dearest, pitiable husband. What did you ever do to deserve such an irreverent wife?” With several measured inhalations, I sobered. “My memory is distinct of that astounding day one year ago when I encountered you on the lawn near the river. Despite the atrocious way I had insulted you at Hunsford Parsonage that prior spring, you received my intrusion to your home with the utmost graciousness.”

“I loved you so much then that the barest hints of approval from you filled me with hope. Although we have been wed now for above nine months, I still marvel at ever having won your favour. My life with you has surpassed my expectations and imaginings.”

Words did not often fail me, but his statements—so simple and poignant—rendered me mute and too emotional for rational thought. Heavens above, one day my heart might burst with love for him! I squeezed his hand which intertwined with mine. Moisture pooled in my eyes, impelling me to blink as I cleared my throat. “You could not have said anything to please me more. Your contentment is my finest wifely achievement.”

“Indeed, you may rejoice in your success.”

A small dark mass swooped from the sky and came within a few feet of us. “Oh!” I jerked to the side and shrank next to Fitzwilliam. A trio of raspy squalls and the flapping of wings identified the ebony creature as a bird.

“That was odd.” Fitzwilliam raised his hat and raked a hand through his hair as he espied the bird. “It is a raven. Why would it fly so close to us?”

The sizable black bird flew upwards in an arc and plunged back again, this time passing within mere inches of us. “Caw, Caw, Caw, Caw!” The raven’s throaty, vociferous cries came in rapid succession.

I stretched backwards in a rigid position. The raven performed a similar flight pattern, again accompanied by its emphatic outcry. His proximity to us had to be deliberate. “That is no ordinary bird call. The creature is agitated and is seeking our attention.” The raven flew off to the right towards a thicket of trees and landed on a branch. It turned to us, repeating its squalls, then moved off to another tree a short distance further off. I tugged Fitzwilliam’s hand. “I think the raven wants us to follow him. Let us go.”

He shrugged. “Very well. I see no harm in doing so.”

We trailed the corvine bird as it flew from tree to tree. The raven waited for us, giving out an occasional raspy call as though to urge us onwards. After thirty yards or more, it landed upon a wide bush, five feet tall, where a smaller raven cried and flapped its wings.

The more diminutive bird’s efforts grew weaker before ceasing altogether, and its head lowered in a depiction of dejection. We drew nearer, and the raven’s plight became evident: a long cord had become wrapped around its leg, binding the animal to the bush. Spots of blood covered the bird’s foot—no doubt from its attempts to become free.

My stomach twisted. “We must help the poor creature.” Releasing Fitzwilliam’s hand, I moved closer to the ravens. “Do not be afraid. We shall not harm you.”

In two strides, Fitzwilliam moved ahead of me, and his extended arm prevented my forward movement. “Do not get too close. Ravens have been known to attack people, and any animal in distress might lash out.”

“Very well.” Although my every instinct told me the birds would not harm us, I should not exacerbate his evident concern for my safety.

Fitzwilliam removed a folding penknife from his pocket, and flashes of sunlight reflected off the steel blade. The mother-of-pearl haft bore several scratches from years of use, but the tool remained a singularly admirable object—a prized possession given to my husband on his twelfth birthday by the late Mr. Darcy. A glimmer had animated Fitzwilliam’s dark eyes the first time he showed me the penknife. He never left the house without it.

With the blade open and on display, he approached the ravens in a deliberate gait. “Easy, easy now.”

I took shallow breaths, my palm pressed to my mouth.

Fitzwilliam made a single, swift slash. Not another second passed before the newly unrestrained raven took flight and perched atop a nearby yew.

“You have freed the bird!” Thank goodness. I raised a hand to my thumping heart. The larger raven stared at us and released a series of guttural croaks before following the other bird. The pair bustled together on one of the highest branches. What occupied them? The needle-like leaves obscured my view, but the faintest of peeps emanated from the tree. “They have a nest!” I turned to my husband. “It seems late in the year for chicks.”

Fitzwilliam tucked his penknife away. “Yes, it does, but ravens are peculiar birds.”

I moved opposite him, raised upon my toes, and gave him a lingering kiss. When I inched my head back, he took me in his arms, and I rested my temple against his collar. For a moment, I savoured his enticing redolence—fragrant, masculine, and unique to him. “You were wonderful. Thanks to you, the family of ravens is reunited.”

His hands explored my back with soothing strokes. “I did not do much. However, if you choose to think me wonderful, I shall not deter you.”

Friday, 6 August

Darcy

Elizabeth and I scaled the final curve in the path, and the summit loomed ahead of us. I lingered at the crest, dug my handkerchief from my coat pocket, and pressed the cloth to my forehead. My composed and beautiful wife stirred nearby—she moved in a circle, and her expressive, entrancing eyes took in our surroundings with the zeal of a naturalist. The passing of time had not diminished her ability to draw my focus.

The charming picture she made inspired me to speak. “I never cease to wonder at your ability to ascend these hills whilst appearing so serene. The entire back of my shirt is plastered to my skin, yet you are neither out of breath nor perspiring.”

She presented one of her alluring smiles, notable for the accompanying provocative arch of her eyebrow—the combination never failed to stir my blood. “Despite any appearance to the contrary, I have expended no less energy than did you. Where we differ is in our dispositions: unlike you, I prefer not to make such an ado over the exertion.”