Darcy’s Awakening #2
Darcy inclined his head with polite attention, though something in Harding’s words tugged uncomfortably at him.
“Georgiana has spoken warmly of Mrs Harding,” he said. “If she enjoys the company, I have no objection to her spending an hour or two at your house.”
Harding beamed. “Excellent. We shall be delighted to have her. Cassandra is quite enchanted by the idea. My wife too. A house feels younger when there are girls in it.”
“Youth brings its own liveliness,” Darcy agreed, keeping his tone even.
But inwardly the remark unsettled him more than he liked.
A house full of young ladies. Miss Elizabeth among them.
He banished the thought at once, irritated with himself.
It was one thing to encounter her by chance, another to dwell on the image of her laughter spilling through a neighbour’s drawing room.
Harding continued, unaware of Darcy’s shifting thoughts. “You will find them all pleasant company, I assure you. Sensible, polite girls. Your sister will be quite safe among them.”
Safe. Yes. That, at least, Darcy could cling to. Georgiana’s ease mattered above all else, and if Elizabeth Bennet’s presence contributed to that calm—
He pulled himself up sharply.
“I am obliged to you for the invitation,” he said, regaining composure. “Pray let Mrs Harding arrange the particulars with my sister.”
“Splendid,” Harding replied, entirely satisfied. “We shall consider it agreed.”
Darcy mounted again, offering brief farewells before turning Wicked toward the rise. His posture was correct, composed, but his thoughts were anything but settled.
Darcy guided Wicked back toward Pemberley with deliberate steadiness, forcing each thought into order as though discipline alone might restore his equilibrium.
The familiar lines of the estate came into view: the sweep of the south meadow, the rise that concealed the western gardens, the first glimpse of the house through bare branches.
He ought to have felt the usual settling of mind that accompanied his return; instead, a restlessness lingered beneath his ribs, subtle but persistent.
He dismounted at the stable yard, handing Wicked’s reins to a groom with a word of thanks, and crossed the gravel toward the house with the determined stride of a man intent on reclaiming control of himself.
Miss Elizabeth Bennet belonged to Lambton now, nothing more. A widow’s daughter. A neighbour of brief acquaintance. He must think of her only in those terms.
Yet her laugh by the gate, the quiet composure he had glimpsed by the stream, the sound of her name spoken aloud, these impressions threaded themselves through his thoughts with an ease he found altogether unwelcome.
He pushed them aside and stepped into the house, resolved to bury himself in work until sense returned.
He shrugged off his coat in the hall and made his way to the breakfast room, forcing his thoughts into the familiar rhythm of the household.
The fire had been lit early, and the room held the comfortable scent of warm bread and fresh coffee.
Georgiana looked up from her place at the table with a hopeful smile, her plate still untouched; beside her, Mrs Younge rose and curtsied with her usual polished deference.
“Good morning, brother,” Georgiana said softly. “You are returned earlier than I expected.”
Darcy inclined his head in greeting, taking his place at the table.
He answered something neutral about the cold air and the state of the south meadow, but even as he spoke he felt Georgiana watching him with the quiet perceptiveness she did not often reveal to others.
Mrs Younge poured the coffee with smooth efficiency, offering a mild remark about the day’s brightness, yet Darcy found himself unaccountably aware of Georgiana, whether she would mention the Bennets again, or whether she, too, carried some lingering impression of their meeting.
He hoped she would not. He also found, quite irrationally, that he hoped she would.
Georgiana unfolded her napkin, her shyness warring with curiosity. “Did you meet anyone on your ride?” she asked, attempting a casual tone.
Darcy took a measured sip of coffee before replying.
“Only Mr Harding and Mr Booth. They were surveying the hedges.” He paused, aware of Georgiana’s attentive stillness.
“Harding mentioned that his daughter begins lessons with several young ladies this week. He suggested you might join them for a morning or two, if it pleased you.”
Mrs Younge looked up at once, attentive to anything concerning Georgiana’s social sphere, but Darcy continued before she could speak.
“It seems a sensible arrangement. Mrs Harding keeps her house well, and her governess is by all accounts a capable woman. You would not lack for companionship.”
He kept his tone perfectly even, perfectly unremarkable. Only Georgiana noticed the faint deliberateness in it, as though the offer mattered more to him than he wished to reveal.
Georgiana’s fingers tightened slightly in her napkin. “I should like that very much,” she said after a moment, with careful earnestness. “Miss Harding is kind, and Miss Elizabeth was… very easy to speak with.” She hesitated, then added more softly, “I felt less foolish than I sometimes do.”
Darcy looked up at her at once, the habitual reserve falling away before he could prevent it. “You are never foolish,” he said, with quiet firmness. Catching himself, he moderated his tone. “If the company makes you comfortable, that is reason enough. You may go whenever you wish.”
A faint colour rose in Georgiana’s cheeks, though her smile was unmistakably pleased.
Mrs Younge observed the exchange with polite attentiveness, making a note of it as she poured more coffee, already calculating arrangements and proprieties.
Darcy, for his part, returned his gaze to the table and forced himself to attend to the ordinary business of breakfast.
Yet even as the conversation moved on to lessons and weather, he was conscious of an unwelcome truth settling itself with quiet persistence.
Elizabeth Bennet had entered his household without ever crossing its threshold.
The arrival of the morning post afforded him a necessary distraction. The butler laid out five letters before him, with one apiece set aside for Mrs Younge and Georgiana. Darcy broke the seals in turn.
There was a brief note from Richard, written in his usual unceremonious hand, confirming that he would be waiting in London at his parents’ house before their journey into Kent.
He must, Richard added, be back by the twenty-fifth of April; they could not, therefore, remain at Rosings above a fortnight.
A letter from Bingley followed, cheerful in tone and filled with anticipations of a June visit to Pemberley.
Last came one in his aunt’s bold, imperious hand.
Lady Catherine wrote at some length on the pleasure their impending arrival afforded her, expressing her confident expectation of a stay both extended and improving, and hinting, only half in jest, that she should be much disappointed if it did not conclude with circumstances worthy of public notice.
Darcy set the letter down with a controlled breath. Easter, it seemed, would brook no delay.
Georgiana, meanwhile, had broken her own seal. She read in silence, then looked up with a faint, apologetic smile.
“It is from my cousin Anne,” she said softly. “She hopes I might be persuaded to spend some time at Rosings.”
Darcy inclined his head. “You are not obliged.”
Georgiana’s smile wavered, though she made no reply. Mrs Younge, watching her closely, reached for her own letter.
She read it without visible change of expression, but Darcy observed the slight tightening of her mouth as she refolded the page.
“Business, sir,” she said evenly.
Darcy accepted the explanation without comment, though something in her tone set his mind quietly alert.