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She smiled. “It is the least I can do for the woman you love.”
Darcy froze before releasing his grip on his sister’s shoulders. “What say you?”
“It is the least I can do for the woman you love,” she repeated in a more quizzical tone.
His mouth opened, a denial on the tip of his tongue. Yes, I like
her. Yes, I greatly admire her. But…
The words would not come.
As he considered the past few months, he realized that Georgiana had identified the odd sensation he had been unable to name. The rush of excitement when he anticipated being in her presence. The peace that settled over him when they were in company. The disappointment when they must part. The thrill that shot through his body at the sound of her voice or the glimpse of her face.
“I love her…” he said in wonder, each word right and true.
“Of course, you do,” Georgiana retorted. “I thought you knew that.”
“You are wise beyond your years,” Darcy said and dropped a kiss on the top of her head.
He left the room at a brisk pace; there was no time to waste.
Chapter Five
“Mr. Wickham is here, ma’am.”
Aunt Gardiner nodded to the maid to escort their visitor into the drawing room. Elizabeth’s stomach fluttered with excitement. This would be her first opportunity to see the handsome officer since resolving that she would accept his proposal—if he made one.
“Ladies.” Mr. Wickham gave a courtly bow upon entering the room. He was wearing his regimentals. Elizabeth had laughed when Lydia and Kitty sighed over officers in red coats, but they did flatter the male figure and render the wearer more distinguished. And, of course, Mr. Wickham’s features were very regular, and his entire air was so pleasing.
Still, he was not quite as handsome as Mr. Darcy. He lacked…something she saw in the other man’s eyes when he looked upon her, although she knew not what to call it. There was no doubt of the prodigious intelligence behind Mr. Darcy’s dark eyes; he constantly observed and evaluated everything around him, much as Elizabeth did herself. And when he turned that knowing gaze on her…
A little flushed, Elizabeth inched her chair away from the fireplace.
“Miss Bennet?” Mr. Wickham was trying to catch her attention. How long had she been staring into space?
How stupid to think of Mr. Darcy when he was not here and was unlikely to ever be here. He was indeed handsome and intelligent, but it was irrelevant. Mr. Wickham was here, and Mr. Darcy was not.
Focusing her attention on their visitor, she noticed a red mark on his chin. “Are you all right, Mr. Wickham?” she inquired, pointing to her own chin.
The man touched the red spot gingerly. “Just a trifle. I fell this morning and hit my chin on a table in the barracks. I am fortunate it was not worse.”
Aunt Gardiner rang for tea. The conversation was convivial and interesting—everything that good company should be. Mr. Wickham’s bon mots wrung laughter from Elizabeth and her aunt more than once. He inquired after her aunt’s oldest child, who had been sick with a cold, and asked Elizabeth of news from Longbourn.
When the teacups were empty, and the biscuits were reduced to crumbs, Elizabeth became aware of a peculiar intensity in the man’s eyes. “It is an especially mild day for December,” he addressed Elizabeth with a grin. “Would you accompany me for a walk about the Gardiners’ fine garden? I have often noticed parts of that handsome oak tree from the window, but I never had an opportunity to see the whole thing.”
Elizabeth glanced at her aunt, not at all sure it would be proper to be alone with Mr. Wickham, but Aunt Gardiner smiled benevolently. “Indeed, it is too nice a day to pass it all indoors. Go and enjoy the garden. I shall check on Harry.”
Soon Elizabeth found herself behind the Gardiners’ house with only a light shawl around her shoulders; however, the bright sunshine warmed her and the air around her. The snow that had fallen the night of the ball had melted long ago, and the only clouds were white and fluffy. Mr. Wickham offered Elizabeth his arm, and they strolled along a meandering path through the garden.
The house’s garden was much larger than was usual for the neighborhood. Both Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner had spent their childhoods in the countryside, and they had purchased a house with an unusually large parcel of land.
It was beautifully maintained. Mrs. Gardiner did much of the work herself with some help from their manservant. Of course, many of the plants were dormant for the winter, but there was a pleasant walk lined with shrubberies, vibrantly green against the dull brown of the winter grass, and several holly trees with variegated leaves. A large, double-trunked oak tree dominated the center of the garden, spreading its limbs majestically over everything below it.
“This is lovely,” Mr. Wickham said after they had wandered for a minute.
“Yes. I miss Hertfordshire when I am in London, but the garden is my consolation.”
“Do you believe you would always wish to live near Longbourn?”
