“Come, let us walk this way.” Bewildered, but willing as ever to match Darcy strides for adventure’s sake, I consented. However, his manner remained strangely oppressed as we wandered silently through the yew maze. My unrest quickened.
“Mr. Darcy, is something amiss? You seem quite discomfited. Can it be as unwelcome as all that to chance upon me?” My light laugh could not quite conceal the genuine thread of uncertainty weaving beneath. He must have heard the wistful note, for he hastened to quell my doubts.
“No, indeed! I am only startled. In truth, I…” He paused as if listening to something. “I have been looking forward to having you here. Let me see… was it a left turn at this bend?” His long legs increased their pace, and I hurried to match them, bemused how a man could grow so unfamiliar in his own ancestral gardens.
“Oh, but you said you had guests just now. Truly, I did not intend to intrude...” My weak assurance trailed off at his instantly protesting squeeze of my hand on his coat sleeve.
“Nonsense. I cannot tell you how very felicitous this accidental meeting is. In fact...” Here, he paused to scan our surroundings in mounting bewilderment. “Good Lord, surely the path lay...” Another perturbed glance behind wrenched a laugh from me.
“Oh, Mr. Darcy, surely you cannot be lost? Why, you could tread this maze blindfolded since boyhood! Let me guess—too many hours poring over accounts and crops behind your father’s old desk?”
His features softened, something like his old shy warmth creeping back. “You know me too well, Miss Elizabeth. Guilty as charged on all counts. I fear managing Pemberley these five years has not left me as much time as I would like to roam its grounds.”
I gently detached my arm from his to wander toward a gap in the hedge, knowing it afforded a view downhill toward the lake. “What a shame. I always envied you such a paradise for rambles and exploring. You own all this, but you have no time to enjoy it.” I half-turned back, arrested by the sight of his tall frame silhouetted against the vivid green foliage. “Do not let the weight of responsibility rob you of life’s simpler pleasures, Fitzwilliam.”
The Christian name slipped out unawares, hanging sweetly familiar between us. Something indefinable shifted in his hooded gaze though he stood very still. “Perhaps you are right… Elizabeth.”
Thirteen
Darcy
Iglancedovermyshoulder, oddly reluctant to end our ramble… and put an end to whatever that snap was, humming in the air between us. Had she sensed it, too? Surely, it was my imagination. But better draw this encounter to its necessary conclusion before uncomfortable explanations or injudicious meetings proved inescapable. Clearing my throat, I took a half step backward, gesturing awkwardly toward the distant house.
“You must think me a poor host, keeping you walking out here in the heat of the day.” I attempted a convivial smile but feared it emerged wan at best. “Allow me to offer you some refreshment indoors as partial restitution.”
Surprise and something I decided must be pleasant anticipation lit her expressive features. “Oh! Are you certain? I would not wish to take you from important affairs. Is George…?”
“He is occupied at present, but I am quite at my leisure.” I waved away such conscientious demurs and offered my arm once more to guide us from the maze. “Please, it would be a very great pleasure.” And so, it unquestionably would be, under any other circumstance not cursed with secrecy and subterfuge. Oh, how I hate disguise! I quickened our pace, praying George yet kept to the farthest edge of the garden, entertaining his own elevated company.
Once within Pemberley’s soaring foyer, I detoured briskly past salons likely to invite casual visitors. George was to escort the ladies back to Matlock this afternoon, but I doubted he would let them go without inviting them in to refresh themselves before the drive. I did not needthatcomplication.
The library’s isolation and distance from certain occupants made it the safest choice for privacy. If questioned later by the servants, my reclusive tendencies provided a plausible excuse for sequestering Miss Elizabeth there. I ushered her through the towering oak doors with breathless haste, softly latching them closed against all intrusion.
Safely ensconced in hushed scholarly surroundings, some of the tension ebbed from my frame. I inhaled the familiar soothing scent of leather and beeswax. Nothing remained now but to ring for tea and play the genial host. Ignoring the prickling awareness of my companion wandering slowly, silently through rows of shelved books, I crossed to tug the bell pull. Soon, I would have Elizabeth smiling over tea and comfortable in a plush leather chair—which happened to lookawayfrom the window.
Shrugging out of my coat in the over-warm room, I turned to find her trailing one wistful fingertip along the intricate wood carvings fronting my father’s section of legal archives. Something squeezed painfully in my chest at her unguarded profile. Before I quite intended, words slipped out softly. “It pleases me greatly to see you here again, Elizabeth.”
She started slightly, eyes finding mine in the dim light, wide and luminous. “I can scarcely describe what it means to be here, where so many happy memories live.” Her gaze drifted around the shadowed perimeter, seeing far more than solid walls and floors. “I can envision Father—Mr. Darcy—in that chair, you at the window bent over some weighty textbook, while George and I...” She faltered, her color rising.
I stared, lost for a reply. The tender note infusing her voice when she spoke of George played discordantly against my better judgment. I moved slowly to her side, cautious, as if I were approaching a skittish colt. “I apologize that I could not invite George to join us.” At her surprised look, I rushed on, “But our guests still await him. Whereas you and he were always such particular friends...”
I left the observation suspended meaningfully. Elizabeth’s gaze dropped to study the intricate Turkish carpet. A darker color rose in her cheeks at the implied question. When she did lift her eyes once more, something vulnerable and resigned had replaced her usual vibrant mien.
“I suppose you perceive more clearly than I the damage wrought by years and silence.” Her slender shoulders lifted and fell helplessly. “I see now that resuming any special intimacy would be unwise. Likely impossible.”
My breath stopped. Could she… did she still harbor deeper sentiments where George was concerned, then? Surely innocent fondness for a childhood companion had not unexpectedly transformed into genuine tenderness in the intervening years apart? I fumbled for a judicious reply. “That is… understandable. Such attachments often leave lasting impressions, however unwittingly formed.”
Elizabeth bit her lip, shamefaced. “Oh, you must think me a fool pining after nursery rhymes and old affections.”
She attempted a careless laugh, but it struck a jarring note. My heart clenched, cursing the necessity for discretion. How could I fault her candor when my conscience shuddered under the burden of truth withheld? I reached to lightly touch her hand, where it rested on the shelf edge.
“Indeed, I think no such thing. You forget how well I know that particular heart.” I waited until she shyly met my gaze. “I remember too clearly how it was…before. Losing your place here must have wounded you deeply—too deeply for time alone to erase.”
Her eyes glistened, and impulsively, she turned her palm to cling to my tentative fingers. “I wished a hundred times to hate you all. But that was impossible.” Her whispered confession plucked at my soul. Gently, I folded both her hands between my own, allowing silent communion to speak what words could not adequately convey.
A discrete cough at the door broke the spell weaving around us. I dropped Elizabeth’s hands swiftly as a maid entered, balancing an overladen tea tray. Burning with embarrassment at having been discovered in so intimate a posture, I stepped back stiffly and invited Elizabeth to make herself comfortable by the fire while I prepared her a plate.
The familiar rituals of stirring cream and sugar into tea allowed equilibrium to restore itself. By unspoken consent, we avoided further dangerous intimate conversation. And if regret tinged our silence throughout, we both wore our social masks with practiced skill.
