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Darcy stared at the purple-clad widow, fascinated. “I shall ensure Mrs Reynolds does not serve strawberry preserves this evening, madam, to prevent any reignition of hostilities.”

“A wise precaution, sir.” Mrs Lovejoy nodded approvingly, returning her attention to her roasted beef.

The evening progressed in a haze of warmth and shared amusement. When the covers were removed, Darcy escorted Mr Gardiner’s chair to the music room, moving at an excruciatingly slow pace.

“I promise you, sir, no inclines and no botanical features in this passage,” Darcy vowed, keeping his eyes fixed on the carpet.

Mr Gardiner chuckled. “I trust you, Mr Darcy. Though I find myself missing the hounds. They were excellent dining companions.”

In the music room, Georgiana flatly refused to approach the pianoforte, shrinking back to the wall with a shy, apologetic smile. Miss Elizabeth, reading the girl’s lingering anxiety, stepped forward without hesitation.

“I shall play, if you can tolerate my lack of practice,” she offered, taking her seat at the bench.

She began with a lively Scottish reel, her fingers dancing nimbly across the keys. She did not possess the technical perfection of a master, but she played with a joyful energy that filled the room. Darcy stood by the fireplace, leaning his shoulder against the marble mantel, mesmerised.

He watched the firelight play across the silk of her gown, illuminating the graceful curve of her neck and the focused intensity in her eyes.

When the reel concluded, she shifted into a slower, hauntingly beautiful ballad, her clear, sweet voice rising above the notes.

The sound wrapped around Darcy, pulling him into a state of stillness. God, he loved her.

The clock chimed ten, breaking the spell.

The evening concluded in a flurry of activity. The Darcy carriage was summoned to return the boisterous Mrs Lovejoy safely to Lambton, the widow departing with dramatic promises to return with more goose-grease.

Darcy stood at the foot of the staircase, watching the ladies retire.

He noted, with a sense of amusement, that Mrs Reynolds had not appeared even once during the evening, undoubtedly hiding in her private parlour to avoid the wrath of the Lambton haberdasher’s widow. Bates, true to Fletcher’s vow, remained unseen and unheard.

Miss Elizabeth paused on the first landing, linking her arm through Georgiana’s. The two women leaned together, whispering something that made Georgiana release a happy giggle.

Miss Elizabeth peered down over the banister, her eyes finding Darcy in the shadowed hall. She offered him a smile—a smile devoid of mockery, devoid of anger, filled with gentle warmth.

Darcy bowed, and watched them ascend the stairs hand in hand. Pemberley had descended into disarray. Chairs were crashing, footmen were menaces, and his own dignity was in tatters.

He had never been happier in his life.

Chapter Seven: Confessions and Clumsy Escorts

Elizabeth had been ready for breakfast for ten minutes, apart from the matter of choosing a gown. Maggie had laid two on the bed. Elizabeth found fault with both, then with herself for caring which one Mr Darcy might prefer. She chose the first and asked the maid to put the second away before she could change her mind.

A hesitant knock sounded at the door.

Elizabeth set her brush on the polished wood. “Come in.”

The door revealed Miss Darcy. The girl hovered on the threshold, her fingers nervously twisting the blue ribbon of her morning gown. She seemed so young, her blonde curls falling softly around her shoulders.

“I pray I am not intruding, Miss Elizabeth.” Miss Darcy took a cautious step into the room. “Maggie informed me you were awake, and I... I wished to see if you required anything before we go downstairs for breakfast.”

Elizabeth turned on her stool, offering a welcoming smile. “You are not intruding in the least, Miss Darcy. I was enjoying the view from these windows. Please, come in and sit with me.”

Miss Darcy moved to the armchair by the window, her posture relaxing infinitesimally as she sank into the cushions. She smoothed her skirts, regarding Elizabeth with a mixture of shyness and eager curiosity.

“Did you sleep well?” Miss Darcy tilted her head, her gaze sweeping over the green hangings of the bed. “The house can be very silent at night. Sometimes the quiet keeps me awake.”

“I slept with the stillness of the dead.” Elizabeth laughed, turning fully away from the mirror. “At Longbourn, true silence is a theoretical concept. If the dogs are not barking at a passing carriage, one of my younger sisters is invariably pacing the floor, rehearsing her steps for the next assembly.”

Miss Darcy’s face brightened at the mention of the Bennet sisters. “Do they practise often? Are they the ones who fought over the journey to Brighton?”