Only Mr. Darcy Will Do

them.” A twinkle in her eye as she glanced up at Mr. Darcy was met by the darkening of his own. “Then again, perhaps not,” she quickly added.

He was silent for a moment, and Elizabeth wondered if her teasing had angered him. She promptly reassured him, “If Mr. Bingley and Jane did invite me to live with them, that would certainly be my preference.”

“I thought so. I hoped so.” Darcy fisted and then opened his hands, stretching his fingers taut. After a brief moment of silence, he stopped walking and turned toward Elizabeth. “I wished to know how you felt… about them living so close to Pemberley… given the prospect of living with them.”

Elizabeth searched his eyes. Her heart pounded as she contemplated what he wished to know. Was he concerned that she would not wish to live so close to him? Or did he hope she did?

She could not immediately think of an appropriate answer, so she asked a question. “Just how close is it to Pemberley?”

“Well, that is no easy answer. If you wish it to be close, it is merely a three-mile walk from the top of the ridge down to the edge of their property. Or if you prefer, it is a gruelling fifteen miles by carriage as you have to drive out through the woods, cross a river, and then proceed around the ridge.”

Elizabeth laughed, her heart still pounding. The deliberations of her answer, however, were interrupted by the return of Mr. Bingley and Jane.

Jane’s arm was tucked so intimately through Bingley’s that Elizabeth felt a tinge of jealousy. How she would love to wrap her arm through Mr. Darcy’s in similar fashion.

“Have you heard about the house, Lizzy? Has Mr. Darcy told you?”

“Only the barest of details. I know it resides either three miles or fifteen miles from Pemberley, depending upon your mode of transportation.”

“I think it sounds wonderful, Lizzy. You will come and live with us, I hope. It is a big enough home. You can have your own apartment.”

Elizabeth cast her eyes to Mr. Bingley, who seemed to be in hearty agreement. “I can barely contain myself with this news Darcy brought. Imagine us being his neighbour! I am inclined to take the house sight unseen, based on Darcy’s encouragement!”

Elizabeth looked at Mr. Darcy, who displayed an awkward smile. He put up his hands in protest. “Now, Bingley, I have merely told you what I thought. You must decide for yourself!”

“Have you ever steered me wrong, good friend?” Bingley asked.

To Elizabeth, the silence was deafening. She was quite certain Darcy’s thoughts—as hers—went to the advice he had once given his friend about Jane. That seemed so very long ago.

Elizabeth saw the admiration in both Jane’s and Bingley’s faces as they looked at Mr. Darcy. He, however, had paled, his eyes cast down in remorse. Elizabeth was convinced he was about to confess his grievous fault in front of them all. There was no need to announce it now!

Without thinking, she tightened her fingers around Darcy’s arm, and before he could utter a word she said, “Tell us about the house as we walk back, Mr. Darcy. I should like to hear all about it.” She encouraged him with a nod of her head.

Darcy tenderly took her hand in his and gave it a gentle tug, pulling her arm farther through his, securing it against him. He then placed his other hand over hers. How often had Elizabeth taken a gentleman’s arm, but this time it prompted a warm flush to sweep across her face, sending a shiver that reached all the way to her toes. He held onto her hand as if he feared she would be snatched away.

She lifted her eyes and met his. All trace of the fatigue and frustration she had seen earlier in his features had been replaced by a look of tenderness. She rewarded him with a smile.

“Come, now!” exclaimed Bingley. “We are waiting.”

Darcy looked at his friend. “Waiting?” he said, apparently unmindful of the previous discussion.

A nudge from Elizabeth and a soft, “You were about to tell us about the house,” brought him to his senses.

They began to walk, and he proceeded to tell them what he recollected about Braedenthorn Manor. It was of moderate size, in very good condition; the living quarters were all quite spacious, the downstairs sitting room and library were small, but the dining room and kitchen were recently remodelled and expansive. The gardens had not been maintained, but the roads leading into it were.

It required much concentration for Elizabeth to tend to his words, particularly when his fingers entwined with hers. Jane and Mr. Bingley conveniently walked ahead of them, and when they looked back to better hear Mr. Darcy’s words, they were so enthralled with his descriptions that they did not notice how tenderly he held her hand, nor did they notice the warm blush upon Elizabeth’s cheeks.

As they came back to the house, the sun was just beginning to set. Jane and Mr. Bingley took the steps quickly, but Mr. Darcy stopped, pulling back gently on Elizabeth’s arm. He looked down at her hand in his, giving it a tender stroke with his fingertips. He glanced up and searched her face. “You have yet to answer my last question, Miss Elizabeth.”

“Your last question?” she asked breathlessly. “Which one was that?” She truly could not comprehend anything beyond the touch of his hand.

“If you choose to reside with your sister, your elder sister, that is, what are your feelings about living in such close proximity to Pemberley?”

Elizabeth pinched her brows down in contemplation. “Pemberley is a fine house,” she said, making a vain attempt at concealing a smile. “One could not ask for a finer estate to have in one’s neighbourhood.”

He lay her hand flat against his open hand and stroked it with his other hand. “I believe you know my point was that I would be your neighbour.”

Elizabeth felt her heart would burst, it beat so fervently. He stood so close; her small hand now pressed between both of his, and his eyes searched her face. “I think…” she said slowly as she forced herself to breathe and think clearly. “I would very much like it.”

Mr. Darcy must have been holding his breath as well, for as soon as the words were out of her mouth, he released a long puff of air. “I am very glad to hear that.”

He gently squeezed her hand and then reluctantly released it as the two proceeded into the house. Once they crossed the threshold, he released her arm, but her heart he would not relinquish.

Chapter 24

When Elizabeth and her companions entered the house, she found that her uncle had returned and Wickham had arrived. When they stepped into the drawing room, Elizabeth not only saw—but felt—the glare Wickham levelled at Darcy as he lifted his gaze beyond her to him. Wickham immediately looked back at Elizabeth, and a forced smile appeared as he walked over to greet her. “Good afternoon, Miss Elizabeth.” Despite his air of self- assurance, his voice faltered. “It is good to see you again.”

“Hello, Mr. Wickham,” Elizabeth uttered through a clenched jaw, followed by a mumbled wish for felicity in his marriage to her sister. He expressed an appreciation for her kind wishes, but she paid little heed to his words.

She abruptly excused herself to go over and greet her sisters, but kept her eye on Mr. Darcy to see how he would proceed. He turned away from Wickham immediately, forgoing any sort of greeting, and walked to the far side of the room. He lowered himself into a chair near her aunt, and they began to converse.

She greeted each of her sisters with a hug, truly pleased to see them, yet saddened for the attitude both Lydia and Kitty displayed. While they talked excitedly of the wedding, in whispers they derided the admonitions their uncle had placed upon the newly engaged couple.

The Gardiners’ home, being only of modest size, had a dining room that would comfortably accommodate eight. For that reason, Mrs. Gardiner asked Elizabeth, Jane, Mr. Bingley, and Mr. Darcy to dine together in the smaller breakfast room while the others gathered in the dining room.

Elizabeth was grateful for the separate, more intimate arrangement. When they sat down to dine, the voices from the other room were often raised and excitable, particularly those of Lydia and her mother. Elizabeth rarely heard her aunt or uncle, or even Mr. Wickham. She wondered with spiteful curiosity how much