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Elizabeth felt compassion for the earl, who had seen not only his own son, but his favourite sister’s son off to war. “It must please him that you have both come home to stay.”
“He has said as much. He returned to London to help us complete the business of the inheritance. We shall see him and my aunt when we are in town this winter.”
“And your sister as well, Darcy,” Mr. Fitzwilliam called.
“Indeed.”
“You have a sister, Mr. Darcy?” Kitty asked eagerly. “How old is she?”
They both joined the larger group.
“She will be sixteen in January,” Mr. Darcy said quietly. “I had not thought to be present at her come out, nor that it would be so grand. My aunt has suggested that she start preparing now.”
“Is she coming out at sixteen?” Lydia asked with a complaint in her words. “I wish I could come out at sixteen.”
“No,” Mr. Darcy corrected her. “My sister will not have her come out until she has turned eighteen. She lives with her aunt, who is quite firm on this. She is preparing, working with masters and learning from my aunt what will be required of her.”
He did not say it, but Elizabeth could well imagine how her brother’s sudden inheritance would move Miss Darcy into a much higher circle. Her come out would likely be far grander and require a different sort of education than anyone had expected. It was fortunate she had two years to learn and an aunt who knew what to teach.
Lydia sat back demurely, though her lower lip pushed out in a pout.
They ended the evening shortly afterward, but Elizabeth had seen a side of Mr. Darcy she could not dismiss. He might be gruff and abrupt, but he could also be thoughtful, even astute. He was handsome too.
She wished that observation did not make her stomach twist and her heart ache.
Chapter Three
Darcycompletedhisdrawingand pushed it across the table to Miss Elizabeth. “The Strand Bridge construction began earlier this month, but my great-uncle was heavily invested in the Aberdeen granite works that will provide much of the material. His solicitor showed me copies of the plans.”
He tapped each of the arches. “There will be nine semi-elliptical arches here, made from Cornish granite. If it works, it will be spectacular.”
“How tall will they be?”
“More than a hundred feet.”
Miss Elizabeth gasped and stood to take a closer view of the depiction. “So high? How wide will the road be? How will it be supported?”
“A little over forty feet, as I recall.” He pointed out the rectangular embrasures, the foundations for the abutments and piers that consisted of rows of steam-driven timber piles. She asked about the arch voussoirs, and Darcy explained how they increased in size from the crown to the springing—the arch centres would be preloaded.
“It will minimise deflection when the scaffolding for erecting the arches is struck. That is the plan, in any case.” He observed Miss Elizabeth carefully to see whether she understood, but she seemed to take it all in stride. He turned the drawing over and scratched out the equations to prove that the bridge would hold.
“There is only one problem,” she said at the end of his lengthy explication.
Darcy frowned at the numbers but did not detect any errors. “What problem?”
Miss Elizabeth plucked the drawing from his hand and held it up so he could view it. “How do they plan to pay for it?”
“After the initial expenditure approved by Parliament? Tolls.”
She nodded sagely. “And therein lies the problem.”
“Why?”
She tipped her head to one side. “I have been to London, Mr. Darcy.” She placed the picture flat on her father’s desk. “This is the Strand Bridge, or where it will be. Over here” —she pointed to one side— “is the Westminster Bridge. And over here’—she pointed to the other side, — “is the Blackfriars Bridge.” She met his curious gaze. “They cost nothing to cross.”
He saw it at once and laughed. “They will build this architectural wonder, but no one will use it.”
“Precisely.” She lifted her shoulders. “It will be pretty to look at, though.”
