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Impudent, teasing woman! My lower jaw ceded to a grin. “You have divined my primary aim in life—to draw as much attention to myself as possible.” Her chuckle—a melodious, rich sound—provided an ample reward for my participation in her jest, and a warmth unrelated to my recent physical efforts suffused my core. Few feats afforded me more satisfaction than inciting my wife’s merriment.

We took seats upon a rock ideally situated for a prospect of the meadow below and shaped to act as a makeshift bench. We discussed inconsequential matters: tonight’s dinner menu, the two foals that had been born that summer, and Georgiana’s most recent music acquisitions. Before my marriage, walking had been an infrequent pastime—I preferred to ride; but Elizabeth had not yet grown confidant on horseback, and I delighted in these jaunts with her. My wife treasured every stream, hill, and tree on the estate. Moreover, she belonged at Pemberley no less than I did.

“A week ago, Georgiana began playing a concerto by John Field.” In accordance with her habit, Elizabeth’s hands glided in a symphony of movements to emphasize her speech. “She has already mastered the piece and has urged me to play it, but I think the complex rhythms throughout would be…” She stood, staring out at the sky, and took two steps closer to the precipice not five feet ahead. My chest muscles clenched, and I almost called out to halt her. Thankfully, she stopped of her own accord and pointed in the distance. “Up ahead there. I believe it is a raven.”

Yes, a large corvine bird soared towards us. The creature flew closer and circled above our heads before landing in front of Elizabeth. A small, brown lump hung from the raven’s beak.

Elizabeth flashed me a smile then waved at the bird. “Good day to you.”

The raven dropped the furry object on the ground and nudged the mass towards her feet; it appeared to be a mouse, limp and lifeless. The crow tilted its head. “Kraa, kraa, kraa!” He repeated the raspy set of croaks twice more.

With a gasp, she twisted to meet my gaze. “Oh dear. I believe he is bestowing this wretched creature upon me.”

“Yes, it appears you have been given a gift.”

“By rights, he ought to reward you for freeing its mate.”

“Ah, but you are my mate, and you had urged me to act.”

Elizabeth crouched to peer at the dead creature and gestured to the raven. “This is a fine mouse, and I thank you for your consideration, but I cannot accept your present.”

“I do not think…” the remainder of my admonition died on my lips; if my adorable imp of a wife wished to attempt communication with a raven, I should not spoil her enthusiasm.

With a heaving breath, she used two fingers to gently lift the mouse by its tail whilst extending her upper body as far back as possible. She set the tiny carcass down closer to the black bird. “There now. Take the mouse to your nest. You must ensure your babies are well fed.” Her hand fluttered at the raven. “Go on, pray take it.”

I cleared my throat, and would have uttered a placatory statement akin to, ‘Well, you made your best effort,’ when the raven bobbed his head, snatched the mouse with its beak, and flew off.

With a sharp inhalation, she raised a hand to her chest. “He understood me!”

“It seems he did.” I visually tracked the bird until it vanished from sight.

Thursday, 12 August

Elizabeth

“…then the raven seized the mouse and flew away. No doubt the clever bird comprehended the gist of my communication.” I held Georgiana’s gaze while I buttered my roll. Since I had initiated this account, she remained riveted upon me—except for the periodic glances she gave Fitzwilliam, as though to seek his confirmation of the facts. For his part, my husband observed our discourse from his seat on the other side of the dinner table in a relaxed posture with a slight upturn to his lips.

“That is astounding!” My sister gaped at me. “Have you seen the ravens again since then?”

“Oh yes.” I indulged in a dramatic pause to consume a mouthful of chicken and a sip of ale. “This past week, we have encountered one or the other raven on our walks each morning. It seems one stays to guard the nest. I have been taking treats for them, nuts and pieces of fruit. We have seen the male most often, but the female has visited us twice. The birds chirp out their cheerful croaks and circle around us. The male often shows off by performing dives and somersaults in the air. I have dubbed the pair Rollo and Rachel.”

“Georgiana’s brows drew together. “It is admirable that you and Fitzwilliam assisted an animal in need, but I should have been repulsed in your place. Ravens are such dirty, unsightly creatures, I prefer to avoid them.” She shuddered. “And I could never be prevailed upon to touch a dead mouse!”

I shrugged. “Although they are not the prettiest of birds, ravens have no less of a place and a purpose than herons, nightingales, and pheasants.”

“That is true. Perhaps I need to reconsider my opinion of them.”

“Yes, I hope that you do so.” My mouth quirked to the side. “Still, I should be happy to never handle a mouse again, deceased or not. I have often lamented the obligation to wear gloves, but in that moment, I fully appreciated them.”

My sister giggled. “No doubt you did.”

Chapter 2: The Stranger

Monday, 16 August

Elizabeth

“Where do you want to walk today?” Fitzwilliam slanted his head to view me.