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Both Darcy and Fitz were silent, not understanding the earl’s change of attitude.
The earl clapped his hands together. “I shall be able to tell Catherine the news!” he cried. “I am so excessively tired of hearing her go on about infant betrothals that I could spit. Anne, poor girl, has never been really well. We all know she does not wish to marry at all, let alone our proud, aloof fellow there—and the cold in Derbyshire would finish her off entirely.”
“I feel I should be insulted both on my behalf and Derbyshire’s,” Darcy replied drolly, “but as I care for Anne, I will not take umbrage.” He stood. “I should be the one to tell Lady Catherine, but I admit, Uncle, I would be pleased to have you undertake it.”
His uncle quickly swallowed the rest of his wine. “I do believe I shall write her immediately! Where is my pen?”
Darcy shared a laugh with his cousin before saying, “Do not send it express, if you please. I hope to be wed before she charges up to London to berate me.” He tugged at the hem of his waistcoat. “I have a note to write, but then I am for bed. I am done in. I may have played a soldier today, but I am not used to being in the saddle for so many hours.”
Fitz grinned. “You become used to it. Of course, you are too tall and heavy for a Light Dragoon.”
“The fit of the uniform told me as much,” Darcy replied. “It is just as well that my talents lie elsewhere.”
His cousin shook his head. “As much as it pains me to admit it, Darce, you did well today. But do not take to the boards just yet—your acting requires improvement.”
Darcy finished his message and dropped the sealed note on his uncle’s desk with a few quick instructions. His uncle agreed with a nod and waved him off, already dipping his pen into a bottle of ink. It had been an extraordinary day. Darcy dragged himself to bed, where his fatigue overtook him at once.
Elizabeth woke to a bright sunny morning. She sat up abruptly, recalling that she needed to send a letter to Papa if she wished to have Jane with her for her wedding. Her feet touched the cold floor, but she disregarded it. The day must be far gone already! What time did the post go out? Was she already too late? She rang for the maid and wrote a hasty note before dressing for the morning in one of her aunt’s gowns. Her hair was quickly put up in a becoming but simple style, and then she nearly bolted from the room.
No one was in the hall and she hurried downstairs, clutching her letter. She was guided to the breakfast room by one of the earl’s tall, austere footmen.
She stepped inside to find the men sipping coffee. Miss Darcy’s plate was still full, and the countess was not present. Elizabeth hoped that meant she had not slept so long as to be rude.
The men stood when she entered. “Good morning, gentlemen,” she greeted them. “Mr. Darcy, might I have a word?”
“Of course,” he said, and stepped around the table. He was only a foot from her when he stopped, close enough that the scent of his cologne wafted over to her. She took a deep breath. “How may I be of service?”
“I have slept so long I am concerned Papa will not receive my letter in time to come to town,” she said, fretting. “I do not like to ask, but might you be willing to send this express?”
“Even an express would not arrive in time for your father and sister to reach town today,” he told her in a low voice.
“Oh,” Elizabeth replied, and looked at the floor. Her disappointment was acute.
Mr. Darcy placed two fingers under her chin and gently lifted her face up until her eyes met his. “Which is why I sent word express last night. The rider was to stay at the inn in Meryton and deliver the note as soon as it was light.”
Elizabeth smiled brightly at her betrothed. “Mama does not rise before nine. Papa is normally downstairs by seven.”
“As I thought,” he replied drily.
“Well,” she said. She blinked back her tears and regained her high spirits, gazing up at him impishly. “You are quite high-handed, Mr. Darcy, taking it upon yourself to write my father.” It was impossible to sound as though she disapproved.
“A simple ‘thank you’ would suffice, my dear.” He did not return her smile, but there was a gleam in his eye. “He will be my family as well after tomorrow. I thought this once my presumption might be forgiven.”
He had done all he could to be certain her father and sister would be able to attend their wedding. That was more than enough. But when he called her “my dear,” in his deep, gruff voice, her knees nearly gave way. Elizabeth knew she could not embrace Mr. Darcy in the breakfast room. It would only embarrass them both. She settled instead for a gentle “Thank you, dearest.” The endearment felt a little strange on her tongue, and she glanced away, unaccountably shy. That was a new feeling, too—she was never shy. Mr. Darcy did not seem to mind, only offered her his arm, and led her to the table.
“May I?” he inquired, eyeing her plate, and Elizabeth nodded. She would normally have accompanied him to the sidebar to point out her favorites, but she would eat anything he brought without complaint this morning.
When he set a plate before her filled with all the foods she favored, she gazed at him curiously. He did smile this time.
“We spent several days together at Netherfield,” he reminded her. “I could not help but notice that you had certain favorites.”
“You are a constant source of surprises, sir,” Elizabeth said honestly, and noted that the other men at the table were smiling into their coffee cups. “Thank you again.”
“It is my pleasure,” Mr. Darcy replied, and returned to his coffee.
Elizabeth turned to Miss Darcy. The girl’s large brown eyes were wide, and she had barely touched her food.
“Now, Miss Darcy,” Elizabeth declared, feeling excessively light and cheerful, “what are your plans for the day?”
