Master of Pemberley (The Pemberley Collection #5)

Chapter 1

Darcy needed to get away—a meeting with his steward was the perfect excuse, even if it did mean abandoning Georgiana and her companion to the mercy of Bingley's sisters.

But he simply couldn't remain traveling with them all, not cooped up in the carriage, and not even riding on horseback.

Not with Miss Caroline Bingley constantly simpering at him.

When the grounds of Pemberley appeared before him in the distance, his body relaxed, the tension escaping him.

He chuckled now to himself to consider Bingley and his party; he loved Bingley, but honestly could do well enough without the man's sisters or brother-in-law.

Darcy shook his head when he considered how he nearly joined the very same party when Bingley took a house in Hertfordshire last autumn—what a sordid affair that would have surely been.

Staying for months on end, in an unfamiliar house, in an unfamiliar county with only the Bingley party for company?

Darcy certainly avoided a large misstep there, with his hasty last minute decision to remain with his sister last autumn. How could he have left Georgiana all alone during that time? She had just been deceived at Ramsgate by that vile man, George Wickham.

No, avoiding Hertfordshire last autumn had been for the best—except, possibly Miss Bingley was simpering towards him more than she normally would be, perhaps due to "missing him last autumn" as she was so keen on reminding him—

Hence why he left the party a day early, heading them off to Pemberley so he could at least have a single moment's peace and quiet before they descended upon his home and remained for however long.

He sighed a breath of relief as he drew closer to the stables.

Happy he was to be back at Pemberley—it had nearly been an entire year since he was last here, having coming home after Ramsgate with his sister at the end of September last autumn, then they departed for Town just before the winter set in.

It was good to finally be back at Pemberley.

He dismounted his horse once reaching the stables, the groomsmen attending him quickly and efficiently, as the staff at Pemberley always was wont to do. Darcy was ready to head inside, to be bathed and clothed, to change into something clean and dry and proper—

It was just then that Darcy nearly collided with a woman as he turned the corner around a large oak, only stopping her from falling with his quick reflexes, catching her in his arms—his breath caught.

She—she was beautiful .

His heart froze, holding her, before he leapt into action and quickly placed her back on her feet, releasing her as if she were hot to the touch.

She had dark, auburn hair, fine bright eyes, and a flushed rosiness to her cheeks.

She was clearly a gentleman's daughter, but her attire suggested she was not of Town but rather from the country.

His eyes raked over her form with no conscious effort on his part, taking in her slender, creamy white neck, and how it dipped into her collarbone, downward to her soft cleavage in her decolletage—Darcy observed the pleasant set of her breasts and how they contrasted with her slim waist, blooming into wide hips hidden beneath the skirt of her muslin gown.

His eyes looked her up and down for merely an infinitesimal moment, but it was enough to take her all in, enough to immediately know that she was the handsomest woman Darcy had ever seen.

He swallowed. She colored and stared. They locked gazes, each of them seemingly unable to move, except her eyes moved down his form for a moment, snapping Darcy back into reality:

He was horribly underdressed, unprepared to receive any guests, let alone properly greet a gentleman's daughter on the grounds of his estate.

He cleared his throat, straightening up and stiffening his posture, assuming a rather haughty pose that he wore as an armor against the unknowns of social intercourse.

Darcy was nervous, suddenly anxious to be forced to speak with so beautiful a woman in so decidedly a disadvantaged state as he was in: he was disheveled and in disarray, whereas she was everything that was pretty and lovely and wonderful.

"Forgive me, sir," the lady spoke first, relieving him of determining what to say, "I was not watching where I was walking."

Darcy merely stared at her, liking very much the euphonious sound of her light, feminine voice, before realizing he was quiet for far too long and hadn't answered her.

"It is I who owe you the apology, madam," he finally said, dipping his head, suddenly looking down at the ground at his feet, "For I nearly made you fall just then."

"Oh but you caught me, preventing my fall, sir," she quickly answered, "and I am exceedingly grateful for your assistance."

Here he looked back up and was met with a warm, delightful smile, one that dripped through him like small drops of water to a man dying of thirst. He wanted more of her smiles—

Nay, he needed more of her smiles.

An older man and woman suddenly called out "Lizzy!” and “Are you well?" which provided Darcy with a name.

Lizzy, short for Elizabeth.

Elizabeth—

A name Darcy suddenly knew was his favorite name in the entire world.