Chapter 72
Darcy had driven her home and returned to Pemberley, his heart a tumultuous mix of hope and fear.
He turned into the library, poured a glass of water from the carafe and, ignoring his favourite chair, crossed to the one Elizabeth had sat in, the faint scent of lavender rising from the leather calming his spirit.
He would not be down-hearted. Yes, she had wanted to return to the dower house, but he knew her better now; she wanted time to think, not to make an impulsive decision.
But there had been a great change today. He would never forget the moment he held her in his arms as she turned to him for comfort. And she had stayed in his embrace even after she had ceased weeping.
It must mean something profound, and it gave him hope. He would maintain his course, keep his promises and be attentive to her. She was his wife and he never again, never, wanted her far from his side.
The next morning they met along the paths near the dower house, as might soon become a habit, and she smiled at him with such a sense of peace about her that his spirits rose.
“Good morning, Elizabeth. You seem in better spirits this morning, my dear.”
She tipped her head in acquiescence. “True, but I have to say, the weather is reminding me that Derbyshire is much further north than London. The frost is very sharp this morning.”
He tipped his head at her heavy coat and winter bonnet.
“I am glad your aunt arranged the delivery of your outerwear so speedily. I hope they are keeping you warm enough.” He pushed away the shame of not ensuring her wardrobe was satisfactory before.
He was resolved on improving himself, not playing out his memories.
She was looking at him knowingly, her delicate brow arched, and as he straightened, she said “Good,” and took his arm.
“Good?” He queried as they turned the corner.
“That you are not dwelling on the past, sir. Now, are you likely to be working in your library at half-past three this afternoon?”
“If you would like me there, then yes, I can be.”
“I will visit Mrs Reynolds at three, then, and come to the library afterwards.” She nodded firmly, and glanced up at him.
“You want to talk about something in particular,” he said with sudden insight.
“I do. And in order that you may partake fully with your thoughts, I want you to consider during the morning the difference between living an independent life and living a solitary one.”
He was silent for a moment. She obviously did not wish for an answer or further questions at this moment. “A weighty subject.” But he could add one thing. “I might not be the best advocate for one over the other.”
She laughed cheerfully. “No, I don’t think I know anyone who might be impartial, even myself.”
At three-thirty, he was waiting for her in the library. “Good afternoon, Elizabeth. How is Mrs Reynolds today?”
“There is not much change from yesterday. She seems happy with the company, but does not speak.” She smiled at him. “But she is content, and that is all we can ask for.”
“I have ordered tea, but I wonder if you might prefer hot chocolate, since we are to discuss a weighty topic today.”
“Yes, I would like hot chocolate, but let us defer the discussion, as I had a further thought while walking here which I need to consider further.”
“A further thought?” Darcy raised his eyebrows.
“I did.” She laughed. “They are two different things, not opposites. When I lived at Longbourn, the house crowded with seven members of the family, I thought it would be wonderful to live alone.” She looked pensive.
“But I do not think I am made for a solitary life. Although one can be lonely even with others around one, if they are not your choice.”
It was a profound thought, and Darcy would give her all the time she needed, although he prayed her choice would be him. Meanwhile … “Very well. Hot chocolate it is!” And he crossed the room to ring for a footman.
When the tray arrived, so did the butler. “I have your post, Mr Darcy,” and he then turned to Elizabeth. “Madam, I have post for you. Would you take it here, or shall I have it sent to the dower house for you?”
“Oh, thank you, Mr Payne. I will take it now.”
They were alone again, and she turned to him. “I see mine is from Anna. May I read it while you check your letters?”
“Of course.” Darcy was quietly content with such domesticity, especially given the alternative heavy conversation option. He wondered what conclusion she would come to, but the previous day had left him optimistic.
Elizabeth had broken the seal of Anna’s letter, and he wondered what his sister would say. He knew Elizabeth had written to say she was returning to Derbyshire with him and this would be, he hoped, a supportive missive.
He turned to his own and sifted through them. One from Richard, and he smiled. Perhaps his cousin would have some amusing anecdote Darcy could share with Elizabeth. He put the other letters aside and broke the seal.
Elizabeth was smiling over her letter with an almost maternal affection. He glanced back down. A four-year age difference might not seem much, but Elizabeth had been through a far more difficult time and was far more mature than her four years' age advantage alone might suggest.
“Oh, listen!” Elizabeth’s face was bright with pleasure.
“… and, my newly discovered sister, I cannot tell you how glad I am that you have moved to the dower house at Pemberley, and I will be able to continue our friendship when we visit, which I hope will be often …”
She folded the letter. “I am happy about this. She forgives me completely for not telling her my situation and explains why she had changed her name to Anna.” She looked up.
“I really had not really considered Mr Wickham’s words at Netherfield …
‘That’s for Georgiana, Darcy …’ but now I understand she detested being reminded of his name every time she heard the word Georgie. ”
Darcy laughed ruefully. “That is more than she ever told me. She said she wanted to honour her mother’s name.”
“Really?” Elizabeth sounded interested. “Perhaps it was a little of both.”
“Perhaps.” Darcy looked down again. “This letter is from my cousin Richard. He spends most of it teasing me and he has a message for you ‘if I dare to tell you’.”
“Oh, then you certainly must, sir!” Elizabeth placed her letter on the table beside her chair and gave him her full attention. Darcy swallowed.
“Richard can be very sharp, Elizabeth. I am not sure whether …”
“Whatever he says, I will be sure not to blame you.” Her voice was gentle. “But if you would rather not, then I will never tell him you did not.”
Darcy smiled ruefully. “It is not quite that bad, my dear. My cousin does not yet know you well enough to excoriate you as he does me.”
She winced in apparent sympathy. “You have me curious.”
Darcy turned back to the letter. “He says that if I begin reciting poetry or staring dreamily into the middle distance, then he expects you to intervene when he is not present.”
Elizabeth looked as if she did not want to laugh and he felt himself blush.
“I hope that when your cousin falls in love, you will be able to mock him fully, Mr Darcy. I would not dream of following his orders.”
“He is your cousin too, now, Elizabeth.”
“Of course. When you have replied to his letter, please allow me to add a small note to it.” Her smile was slightly wicked.
“I do hope you might permit me the joy of seeing what you write, Elizabeth.”