Elizabeth arranged the last of the autumn roses in crystal vases as the sun warmed her face. Two years had transformed the grounds under Darcy’s careful management—the flower beds bloomed more abundantly, the kitchen garden produced remarkable yields, and the very air seemed to carry prosperity.
“Oh, my dear Mr Darcy!” Lady Hartford’s voice carried across the lawn with enthusiasm that would have astounded anyone who remembered her earlier opinions. “You simply must tell Sir William about those marvellous drainage improvements. The yield from the eastern fields has increased by thirty percent!”
Elizabeth caught Charlotte’s eye and suppressed a smile. Her friend, now visibly expecting her first child, shook her head with gentle amusement.
“How she does carry on,” Charlotte murmured, settling more comfortably in her chair. “One would think she had always considered him the ideal son-in-law.”
“Rather than the fortune hunting steward she once accused him of being,” Elizabeth replied quietly, watching her mother gesture enthusiastically at Darcy, who received her praise with characteristic reserve. “It is remarkable how profitable estate management can alter one’s perspective on a person’s worth.”
Their new steward, Mr Harrison, stood nearby looking somewhat overwhelmed by Lady Hartford’s effusive commentary. “Poor Harrison,” Elizabeth observed. “Mama insists he would be absolutely lost without Darcy’s guidance, which cannot be comfortable for a man supposedly in charge.”
“Mr Collins finds your mother’s transformation quite amusing,” Charlotte said with a slight smile. “He claims it validates his theories about the adaptability of feminine sensibilities to changing circumstances.”
“How perfectly like him to find philosophical justification for simple hypocrisy,” Elizabeth laughed.
Jane approached, carrying her one-year-old son while Bingley trailed behind, his face glowing with paternal pride. The child had inherited his father’s fair colouring and his mother’s gentle disposition, creating a cherub that drew admiration from every quarter.
“Little Charles is growing so quickly,” Charlotte observed as Jane settled beside them.
“Indeed he is. Though I confess I wonder how we shall manage with another,” Jane said, her hand moving unconsciously to her waist.
Elizabeth’s eyes widened with delight. “Jane! Are you…?”
“Early days yet, but yes.” Jane’s smile was radiant. “Charles is beside himself with joy.”
“How wonderful!” Elizabeth clasped her sister’s hand. “Our children may well be playmates from the cradle.”
She placed her own hand on her stomach, where the gentle swell was only just becoming apparent beneath hercarefully chosen gown. “Though I suspect Georgiana may join us in this particular adventure before long.”
“Georgiana?” Jane raised her eyebrows with interest.
“She and Colonel Fitzwilliam have become quite inseparable during his recent visits,” Elizabeth explained. “The way they look at each other reminds me rather forcefully of how you and Bingley behaved during your courtship.”
Charlotte’s expression grew thoughtful. “The Matlocks have accepted the attachment, then? I had thought they might object to the connection.”
“Lady Matlock champions the match enthusiastically,” Elizabeth replied. “Lord Matlock has come round to accepting it, particularly since Richard has little prospect of inheriting the title. His happiness matters more than ancient prejudices about suitable bloodlines.”
“And Lady Catherine?” Charlotte asked with knowing amusement.
“Finds the very notion that a former lady’s maid might marry her precious nephew absolutely scandalous,” Elizabeth said, imitating Lady Catherine’s haughty tone. “She has written several lengthy letters explaining why such connections destroy the very fabric of civilised society.”
They laughed together, but Charlotte’s expression grew more serious. “Speaking of uncomfortable family connections, how fares the elder Mr Wickham?”
“Remarkably well, considering the physicians gave him only months to live two years ago. Moving in with us seems to have granted him new purpose. His health continues fragile, but he manages daily walks.”
“I meant the younger Mr Wickham,” Charlotte corrected gently. “Is he not due for release soon?”
Elizabeth’s smile faded. “Yes, within the month. He has written requesting permission to come here upon his release, but both his father and Darcy have refused. The old man’s health improved remarkably, but we cannot risk another setback.”
“What will become of him, then?”
“Darcy has offered to purchase him a commission in a regiment bound for the Peninsula. Military discipline might provide the structure George has always lacked.” Elizabeth paused, considering. “His letters suggest some genuine remorse. He writes to his father weekly now, speaking of his regrets about abandoning his living and the pain his choices have caused.”
Jane shifted little Charles to her other arm. “Do you think he has truly reformed?”
“I hope so, for his father’s sake. Darcy and George may never be brothers in the truest sense, but if Mr Wickham can find some peace with his son before…” She let the thought remain unfinished.
Their conversation was interrupted by approaching masculine voices. Darcy and Bingley emerged from the direction of the stables, their conversation animated as they discussed some matter of evident mutual interest.
