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“Adele?”
She rolled her eyes. “No! Adele will be here soon, I am certain. I speak of the woman who has occupied all of your thoughts.”
Darcy dropped his gaze to the table. Apparently his melancholy had been more noticeable than he believed.
“You ran off to France to avenge her death and discovered she is alive. What I do not understand is why you did not just bring her to Pemberley.”
Darcy slumped in his chair. “She would not have me, Georgiana.”
“She would not have you?” His sister’s tone was reassuringly incredulous.
“It is understandable; I lied to her. She has cause to be unhappy with me.”
“Do you love her?”
“This is not an appropriate subject to discuss with my sister.”
“Good! You do.” Georgiana gave him a sunny smile. “You know where she lives?”
“Of course, but—”
“You have granted her enough time to think. You should ride to her home tomorrow and renew your offer of marriage.”
It was a tantalizing idea: ride to the door of Longbourn and sweep Elizabeth off her feet. Her mother would be excited—at least about Darcy’s fortune—and her father would begrudgingly support the idea—most likely.
“The worst that would happen is that she would say no. It might be a little embarrassing,” Georgiana said.
Indeed, but Darcy had already laid himself bare to Elizabeth. Did he have any shame left where she was concerned?
His sister shrugged philosophically. “But what is a little embarrassment compared to a lifetime of living alone?”
She was not wrong. But could Darcy really accept advice from a girl of not quite seventeen years? Should he?
Still, life at Pemberley was dull and colorless. He pushed through his days with the enthusiasm of an automaton, performing his duties with scrupulous precision and no passion. If he visited Bingley at Netherfield and happened to make a trip to Longbourn…who knows what he might find? Elizabeth might have changed her mind, or at least softened her opinion of him. Perhaps he might persuade her…
Or perhaps she might accept another man’s offer of marriage.
No, he must reach her before then!
Abruptly, he was on his feet. “I will have Bowen pack some clothes for me.”
He glanced at Georgiana for approval, but her attention had been drawn by movement outside the window. “There is a carriage in the drive.”
The dining room windows overlooked the front of the house; Darcy peered through them, noting a scruffy black carriage pulling to a stop before the entrance. “I believe it is the rig the Inn at Lambton hires out for visitors.”
“Who would be staying at the Inn and visiting us—?” Georgiana started to ask, but the room was already empty.
Darcy strode purposefully toward the front entrance, reminding himself that running would be undignified. He knew who he hoped the visitor would be, but of course, that hope was most likely in vain. It could be a friend visiting on a whim. Or a matter of business. But he had just been thinking of her… Hope propelled him into the front hall.
Jones, the butler, was opening the door.
Darcy had never seen a more beautiful sight. Her dress was rumpled and stained with mud at the hem. Her bonnet was crushed on one side where she most likely had leaned her head while sleeping. Wisps of hair curled around her face, and dark circles lurked under her eyes.
But she was at Pemberley.
“Elizabeth!” Giving her no chance to speak, Darcy crossed the hall in two strides and gathered her into his arms. The kiss was desperate and passionate, as he poured nearly four weeks’ worth of absence and frustration into it.
By the time he released her, she was even more rumpled—and quite bemused. Georgiana, Jones, two footmen, and a maid were all staring at him in wonder. It was, to be fair, uncharacteristic behavior for the master of Pemberley.
