“Indeed, that had been my plan,” he acknowledged, “but I received yesterday a note from my steward that required my presence sooner rather than later, and I came forward a few hours before the rest of the party with whom I am traveling. They will join me early tomorrow.” He paused, wondering how she would receive the information, then continued. “Among them are some who will claim an acquaintance with you — Mr. Bingley and his sisters.” Only the slightest of bows indicated that she had heard him. Darcy looked away, his lips pressed together in dismay. The conversation was circling in upon itself, and he had no notion of how to elicit something more from her. In fact, his mention of the Bingleys may have prompted her to decamp from the area as quickly as possible. But she could not go! Not before he had shown her that he was, indeed, a different man than that one who had accosted her in Hunsford’s parlor. Not before Georgiana had had an opportunity to meet her whom she had so wished to know since his mention of her last autumn. He laid hold of that thought.
“There is also one other person in the party who more particularly wishes to be known to you.” He took a deep breath. “Will you allow me, or do I ask too much, to introduce my sister to your acquaintance during your stay at Lambton?” What followed as he bent to hear was a jumble of expressions, the sum of which tended to her willingness and pleasure in fulfilling Miss Darcy’s wish of acquaintance and that, yes, she would be happy to receive Miss Darcy the day after she arrived home. When she had finished, silence again descended upon them, but it seemed to Darcy it was of a different sort than had plagued them before. She was pleased; he could tell it, and he was content.
They were soon quite in advance of her relations, nearly to the house. As they approached, they slowed, and looking down at her, he asked, “Miss Elizabeth, will you walk into the house?” He was rewarded with a brief upward flash of her eyes. “You must be in want of rest or refreshment, and within you might await your aunt and uncle in some comfort.”
“No, I thank you, Mr. Darcy,” she replied, “but I am not at all tired.” There followed more silence. He observed her anxiously, wondering how he should go on. Then, suddenly, Elizabeth began to speak of the other great houses she had seen during her holiday, and they were able to share observations and opinions on estates and gardens in the neighborhood until Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner arrived. His invitation to walk in was repeated, but to no avail. They were much obliged but it had been a very long day and they must return to the inn. A lad was sent to the stable yard, and in short order, the carriage was brought forward.
“Mrs. Gardiner.” Darcy handed her up into the carriage with care. “Miss Elizabeth Bennet.” He turned to her and performed the same office, not caring that her relations might notice the softness in his voice or the lingering of his hand upon hers. He stepped back from the carriage but stayed to watch them long after it was needful, and even then, he walked slowly back to his door. He had made a beginning, and she had consented to receive him in two days’ time. It was enough.
Darcy’s gaze searched the confines of his book room in growing exasperation. Was there nothing that could distract him long enough to allow his mind and body to settle into more rational courses? How was he to meet the mundane and obligatory when every part of him was so very alive to the events of the afternoon? After leaving the pleasurable sight of Elizabeth’s curious, backward gaze at him from the carriage, he had retired to his book room and study with the intent of preparing for the interview with his steward that had called him forward. But when the study door was safely shut against any chance observance by his staff, he found himself utterly unable to do so. For a quarter hour now he had paced the room, incapable of any thoughts save those that centered upon the surprise and delight of discovering Elizabeth at Pemberley. The words they had exchanged, the time spent so closely in her company crowded his brain and heart. Jostling them for room was the anticipation of their next meeting, an appointment that sent distracting sensations flashing along every nerve. It was not until Witcher’s knock and the announcement of Sherrill that respite from the sweet agony of his reflections was forced upon Darcy and any other subject could be entertained.
His steward’s concerns required he return to the saddle and accompany him out to deal with several difficult cases among his tenants and examine an unexpected obstacle to the draining of a field bordering the Ere. Several hours later found them still pondering balance sheets and hay production estimates spread out upon his book room desk. Finally, nodding his leave to go with a reassuring smile, Darcy dismissed his much-relieved steward to his dinner and the task of putting his directives into motion. The difficulties that had occasioned his early return he had met with some rather innovative solutions that had not easily won Sherrill’s confidence. In the end, Darcy had prevailed, not an uncommon scene within these walls over the generations of Darcys who had ruled here. But as he looked about him from the perspective of his desk, the events of earlier that day returned to possess Darcy, and this, his haven and seat, strangely became too small to contain all that now strove in his breast. Rising, he took a deep breath. He must steady himself, somehow integrate that hard-won sense of himself into this opportunity Providence had bestowed. In short order he found himself pushing open the doors to the conservatory, the Eden of his parents’ creation.
The fragrance of fertile earth and summer blossoms enveloped him as he stood just inside, the doors behind him swinging shut of their own accord. In the gathering dusk he could still distinguish his mother’s favorite chair among the vining exotica and, near to it, the lounge upon which his father had spent his last painful days surrounded by the living tribute to his wife’s artistry and their deep affection, each for the other. He looked up between the branches and vines into the darkening sky, where a clutch of stars was already visible, and inhaled the encompassing peace. Elizabeth was near. He imagined her at table with her uncle and aunt, smiling yet pensive behind those lovely, bright eyes as she reviewed their encounter in the privacy of her heart. With what anticipation did she regard their forthcoming meeting? Had she been as pleased with the conclusion as he had at first thought? It would be more than he deserved. Or had she been merely polite, caught as she had been on his lands?
He sighed and set out slowly for the far end of the conservatory. And Georgiana! He smiled at the thought. She would be overjoyed with his news! How keenly she had regretted never having had the opportunity to make Elizabeth’s acquaintance. She, who so longed for a friend of the heart, could never find another of such perfect sanguinity. He would watch them closely. If they delighted in each other, as he hoped, what better friend or confidante could he desire for his sister?
He had reached the end and stopped, peering out into the darkness of the gardens beyond Eden for a moment before turning about. Above him, through the glass, he could see the pale walls and brightly lit windows of Pemberley shimmering in the night. Elizabeth was near, as were Georgiana, the memories of his parents, what he had been born to, and what he had lately learned that truly meant. Here, in this place, they together filled his soul, propelling it upward in renewed gratitude and a sense of peace. He started back through the conservatory, a smile upon his face. Yes, Georgiana would be overjoyed. So much so that, perhaps, she might not wish to wait an entire day to begin her new acquaintance. He devoutly hoped that would be so!
“Mr. Darcy, sir, the carriage has been sighted.” Darcy looked up from his book and thanked the footman before inserting his mark and putting it aside. He had read little and understood even less, the volume being more a prop in the masking of his expectations for the day than a true endeavor. Pulling at his cuffs and waistcoat, he strode to the door and out into the hall. The wide main door was open to what summer breeze might chance by as well as to the broad sweep of the carriageway, where he did, indeed, spy his own coach bowling smartly down the lane followed closely by Bingley’s equipage. The vehicles raised such dust that a breeze carried a shower of it toward the door and desposited a layer upon his coat as he stepped outside to meet them. Flicking away the undesirable patina so as not to mar Fletcher’s brushing of that morning, he composed himself to greet his sister and friends.
Lads from the stables quickly stepped up to the leaders while an army of footmen opened doors, pulled down steps, and retrieved the guests’ cloaks, cases, and portmanteaus. As Fletcher had predicted upon his arrival in the servants’ coach earlier that morning, Bingley’s brother-in-law was the first out, his face red and perspiring from a cravat tied entirely too high and a corset laced much too tightly for travel. Darcy bit his lip at the picture Hurst presented while the scathing adjectives with which Fletcher had rightly decried the talents of Hurst’s new valet repeated themselves in his mind. But Hurst was not his immediate concern, nor were any of the Bingley entourage. Rather, his desire was for his sister and the happiness he hoped soon to be able to bestow upon her.
“Bingley! Welcome!” He clasped his friend’s hand.
“Darcy!” Charles breathed out an exasperated sigh as he grasped his hand in return. “Thank God, we have arrived! You would not believe what was necessary to transport my family a mere three hours’ drive.” He looked daggers at his brother-in-law’s back. “And the only ally you supposed is the worst of the lot!”
