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After five minutes of this discomfiting scene, my sister abandoned her tea, leaned near me, and whispered her desire for us to take our leave, which we did.

What could I say to soothe her? “Georgie, pray try not to be disappointed. Whatever Mr. York may feel now for Miss Talbot could prove to be a fleeting sentiment.”

“He made it clear that he has no interest in me.” A quaver affected her voice.

“Well, I should not be so certain of that. He remembers you as a child. Perhaps in the future, he will come to view you in a new way.”

She snuffled. “No, it is hopeless.”

“At one time, I believed a match between your brother and me to be impossible. One never knows what fate has in store for us. Perhaps I shall suggest to Fitzwilliam that he invite the Mr. Yorks to shoot with him one day soon.”

“No, Lizzy. Pray, do not interfere.” She raised her handkerchief to her eyes. “He has demonstrated his preference for Miss Talbot, and she could not be more different from me. No doubt he considers me to be plain and dull in comparison.”

“That is not at all true, and I do not believe that is his opinion.”

“Well, that is how he made me feel when Miss Talbot entered the room and diverted every jot of his attention.”

“I concede that he did not show himself to be as gallant as I may have hoped, but he is yet young. I doubt he is ready to tie himself to a wife. In time, he may mature into a man worthy of you.”

Georgiana moved into the seat beside me, leaned in, and kissed my cheek. “Thank you for saying that.”

I wrapped my arm around her shoulder. “I said nothing more than the truth.”

Chapter 4: Dismal Days

Thursday, 28 October

Darcy

My wife stared out the window at the early morning downpour. The wind howled through the nearby elm trees and sheets of water cascaded along the glass. She faced me with a playful pout. “How inconsiderate of Mother Nature to interfere with our morning walk.”

“Yes, that is most unpardonable of her. Would you like to tour the house instead?

A bright grin raised her cheeks. “Yes, I should. Shall we begin at the attic and work our way downwards?”

“By all means.” I wrapped her arm around mine, and we set out at a fast walk. In the months since Winston’s failed marriage proposal, he had regained much of his former demeanour. Still, hints of his persisting sadness could be detected at odd moments—a dullness in his elocution, a lack of animation in his movements, or a tightness in his jaw. Despite his efforts, he had been unsuccessful in persuading Sarah to elaborate on the reasons for her refusal.

However, a different topic occupied me on this occasion: I resolved to address the sliver of misgiving that had plagued me of late, despite our having discussed and settled the matter. “Are you certain that you are not disappointed your family will not join us this year for Christmas?” My breath suspended.

She turned to me. “No, not at all. I am delighted at the prospect of creating new yuletide traditions with you and Georgiana. Besides, my parents and younger sisters will stay with us in June.”

I nodded, and the tension in my chest subsided.

By the time we climbed the final set of stairs, A heightened russet colour marked Elizabeth’s glowing complexion. She beheld me with a twinkle in her eyes and a raised brow. “As we proceed through the house, I should be pleased to hear of the mischief you made in each room during your youth.”

“Your petition relies upon an assumption. I hate to disappoint you, but I was a well-behaved child.”

“What a pity.” She released a theatrical sigh. “In that case, I shall settle for any details or anecdotes—perhaps the best hiding places you used for sardines or hide-and-seek.”

We traversed the length of the attic, and the covered items of furniture and various containers inspired a remembrance from my youth—my mother, resplendent in a gold silk gown with red velvet trim, sat before an open trunk of her treasured mementos. She removed the items and regaled me with tales of their origins and significance.

With images from that long ago episode lingering in the forefront of my mind, I recounted a concise description of the incident for Elizabeth.

She beamed at me. “Thank you for sharing that beautiful memory.”

“The pleasure is mine.” Additional recollections descended upon me as our walk progressed, providing plenty of past experiences to feed my wife’s curiosity.

At the first-floor landing, an alteration in her demeanour became evident—she grew silent, lapsed into a lethargic pace, and displayed a hint of a frown. In addition, a sheen of glistening moisture above her brow caught my notice, and a chill darted down my spine. What ailed her?