Chapter Sixteen
The next day
“Your riding has improved considerably since our first outing,” Darcy observed as they cantered across the meadow beyond Pemberley’s formal gardens. “You no longer grip the reins as though expecting your mount to bolt at any moment.”
Elizabeth laughed, the sound carrying clearly in the crisp morning air. “I confess Buttercup inspires far more confidence than the spirited mare you initially suggested. She possesses the temperament of a favourite aunt—patient with my inexperience yet willing to indulge the occasional adventure.”
Their daily rides had become a cherished ritual over the past fortnight, providing blessed respite from the tension that still lingered after Wickham’s unwelcome visit.
She had discovered unexpected pleasure in these excursions, not merely for the exercise and fresh air, but for the opportunity they afforded to know her husband better away from the formal constraints of drawing room conversation.
They had recently taken to calling each other by name, a step that confirmed the progression of their relationship.
“Buttercup is indeed well-suited to a novice rider,” he agreed, reining in his bay gelding as they approached a stone bridge that spanned a narrow stream. “Though I suspect you might soon be ready for a more spirited mount. Your natural balance has developed remarkably.”
She felt a flush of pride at his praise.
During their first tentative rides, she had clung to the pommel with white knuckles whilst Darcy offered patient instruction on posture and rein management.
Now she could maintain her seat through a brisk canter and even attempt small jumps over fallen logs without embarrassing herself entirely.
“Perhaps next week we might venture to the upper pastures,” he continued, gesturing toward distant hills that rolled away like green velvet beneath the autumn sky. “There are views from the ridge that few visitors to Derbyshire ever witness.”
“I should like that very much. This estate seems to hold endless surprises.”
They dismounted to rest the horses beside the babbling stream, Elizabeth accepting Darcy’s assistance with the easy familiarity that had developed between them. His hands lingered at her waist perhaps a moment longer than strictly necessary, though neither acknowledged the brief contact.
“My great-grandfather constructed this bridge,” he said, running his hand along the weathered stone balustrade. “The original crossing was merely stepping stones that became treacherous during spring floods. He commissioned foreign craftsmen to create something both beautiful and enduring.”
Elizabeth studied the elegant arches and decorative scrollwork that transformed a simple river crossing into a work of art.
“How wonderful to have such tangible connections to one’s ancestors.
At Longbourn, our family history extends back perhaps three generations before dissolving into speculation and half-remembered stories. ”
“These connections bring both comfort and burden,” he replied thoughtfully. “Every improvement I make to the estate must be weighed against the legacy I shall leave for future generations. Sometimes the weight of such responsibility feels…”
He paused, seeming to struggle with how to express thoughts he rarely voiced aloud.
“Overwhelming?” Elizabeth suggested.
“Indeed. When my father died, I inherited not merely property and wealth, but the duty to preserve everything he and his forebears had built. The tenants depend upon wise management for their livelihoods. The staff require steady employment. The community looks to Pemberley for leadership and stability.” His jaw tightened with some tension.
“And now there is Ambrose to consider as well.”
Elizabeth heard something in his tone that made her study his profile more closely. “You fear for his future.”
The simple statement seemed to unlock something within him.
“Every night I lie awake wondering if I am making the right decisions for his welfare. What if my refusal to negotiate with Wickham proves disastrous? What if the courts rule against us despite our conviction that his claims are fraudulent? The thought of losing Ambrose…” His voice cracked slightly.
“It would destroy me as surely as losing my parents did.”
The raw vulnerability in his admission touched Elizabeth deeply. Here was the truth beneath his composed exterior—a man carrying burdens that would crush lesser souls, driven by love and duty in equal measure.
“I understand that fear completely,” she said softly, moving closer to his side. “When I first held Ambrose during his illness at Netherfield, something shifted within my heart. Now the thought of him being taken from us terrifies me beyond reason. He has become my child in every way that matters.”
Darcy turned to face her fully, his dark eyes searching her expression. “Do you ever regret the path that brought you to this point? The marriage born of necessity rather than choice, the responsibility for a boy who is not your own by birth?”
Elizabeth considered his question with the honesty he deserved.
“There are moments when I wonder what my life might have been had circumstances been different. But regret? No. I have found purpose here that I never expected. Meaning in caring for Ambrose, satisfaction in managing the household, genuine pleasure in becoming part of the local community.”
“And what of your dreams for the future? Surely as a young woman, you harboured hopes for romance, for a love match rather than this practical arrangement?”
His words stirred something deep within her chest—a longing she had tried to suppress in favour of contentment with what she had been given. “I’ll admit I once dreamed of a life filled with meaning, deep affection, and children who would call me mother without reservation.”
“There was a time,” Darcy said quietly, his gaze fixed on the flowing water beneath the bridge, “when I believed such happiness was impossible for men in my position. That duty and responsibility precluded the luxury of genuine affection or domestic joy. I thought myself destined for a marriage of convenience at best, perhaps to some suitable young lady who would provide heirs and manage social obligations whilst we lived essentially separate lives.”
“And now?”
“Now I see that perhaps all three—meaning, love, and family—might coexist within the same life. That duty need not eliminate the possibility of happiness.”
The hope in his voice made Elizabeth’s pulse quicken. “Do you truly believe that?”
Instead of answering with words, he stepped closer, his hands rising to frame her face with infinite tenderness. “Elizabeth,” he whispered, and then his lips were touching hers with a gentleness that sent her thundering in her chest.
The kiss was nothing like the brief, perfunctory salute at their wedding ceremony.
This was warm and lingering, filled with all the emotions they had been too cautious to express aloud.
She felt herself melting against him, her hands clutching at his coat as she returned the gesture with surprising enthusiasm.
The familiar scent of sandalwood that clung to his skin mingled with the crisp autumn air, whilst the distant murmur of the stream provided a musical backdrop to the lovely moment.
When they finally parted, both were breathing rather unsteadily.
Elizabeth’s cheeks burned with a mixture of embarrassment and exhilaration, whilst Darcy’s usually perfect composure had been thoroughly disrupted.
“I should apologise,” he said, though his tone suggested no genuine remorse. “That was perhaps presumptuous of me.”
“Was it?” she asked with a shy smile. “I confess I found it rather pleasant. Rather like the romantic novels you once disparaged, though considerably more affecting than I had anticipated from mere literary description.”
His answering smile transformed his entire countenance. “Then perhaps I owe those authors an apology as well.”
***
They remounted their horses and continued their circuit of the estate, though the atmosphere between them had shifted into something altogether more intimate.
She felt as though she were seeing a familiar landscape through new eyes, every vista made more beautiful by the growing understanding between them.
As they approached the house, however, Darcy’s expression grew more serious.
“Elizabeth, I must confess something that has been troubling my conscience. When I proposed marriage, it was during a crisis that left you little choice but to accept. I fear you may feel trapped by circumstances rather than free to choose your own path.”
She reined in her mare to face him directly. “Do you believe I am so weak-willed that I would remain in a situation I found truly objectionable? Or so lacking in courage that I could not find means to escape if I wished?”
“Not weak-willed, certainly. But perhaps constrained by honour and duty, as I have been for most of my life.”
“Then let me speak plainly,” she said with characteristic directness.
“I entered our marriage for Ambrose’s sake, yes.
But I remain in it by choice. Fighting for his future is not a burden I bear reluctantly—it is exactly what I want to do.
He is my son now in every way that matters, and I would not surrender that role for all the romantic freedom in England. ”
Relief flooded his features at her firm declaration. “And what of the rest? This life we are building together, the partnership we seem to be developing?”
Elizabeth felt her cheeks warm as she prepared to voice the truth she had been discovering within her own heart.
“I want this life not only for Ambrose’s sake, but because I have come to value you deeply as well.
You are a good man, Fitzwilliam Darcy—perhaps better than you know yourself.
I am honoured to share your name and your burdens. ”
“Elizabeth…” Her name on his lips carried a wealth of emotion.
“There is something else I must tell you,” she continued, gathering her courage.
“What began as duty and mutual concern for Ambrose has become something far more personal. I find myself thinking of you more positively and treasuring moments like this when we can speak freely without the world’s expectations pressing upon us. ”
His eyes darkened with an intensity that made her pulse flutter. “Are you saying that your opinion of me has altered since our first acquaintance?”
The question hung between them like a bridge waiting to be crossed. She knew that her answer would change everything, allowing for more vulnerability that would further bring them closer.
“I am saying that I was gravely mistaken in my initial assessment of your character,” she replied with complete honesty.
“I saw pride where there was actually dignity. I mistook your reserve for arrogance when it was merely the caution of a man who had learned to guard his heart. I judged you harshly without understanding the weight of responsibilities you carry or the depth of your devotion to those in your care.”
She paused, meeting his gaze directly. “You are not the cold, unfeeling man I once believed you to be. Your tenderness with Ambrose, your patience with my adjustment to this life, your protection of us both—these actions reveal your true nature. I have come to respect and admire you greatly, and I confess that respect has begun to blossom into something warmer.”
The transformation in his expression was remarkable—a mix of surprise, relief, and something approaching wonder all warring for dominance. “My dearest Elizabeth,” he said, his voice rough with emotion. “To hear you say such things… I had not dared hope that your feelings might soften towards me.”
“They have softened considerably,” she admitted with a shy smile. “Though I suspect there is still much we have yet to discover about one another.”
As they continued toward the stables in companionable silence, Elizabeth reflected on the unexpected turn her life had taken. She had married a man she felt conflicted about and discovered layers of him that intrigued and attracted her.
The future was once constrained by duty and circumstance and it now held the possibility of genuine partnership.
Yet even as hope filled her heart, a small voice whispered warnings about the challenges still to come.
Wickham had not abandoned his schemes, and their growing understanding might yet be tested in ways they could not anticipate.
For now, however, she chose to embrace this new beginning and certainty that whatever developed between them would be built on honesty rather than illusion.