“Do you mind?” Elizabeth inquired as sweetly as possible after Roberts placed her trunk on the floor and Kerr scurried past Miss Bingley and into the room to open it. “I would prefer some privacy.”
“Do not bother unpacking, Miss Eliza, for my brother will insist that I be given my due.”
“I do not doubt that in the slightest, Miss Bingley,” Elizabeth said lightly, “and it is Miss Bennet now. I shall see you at dinner, if our brother and sister can be persuaded to come downstairs for it.”
The sight of Miss Bingley’s horrified expression as Roberts closed the door behind him had Elizabeth laughing as she had not done in months. Kerr finally had to laugh with her.
“That was marvellous,” Elizabeth declared, feeling refreshed. She wandered to one of the windows, which overlooked the woods. Just beyond, she knew, was a glade and the large pond that many of the neighbourhood children had played in as children. No wonder Miss Bingley liked these rooms. The views were lovely. Had she looked out these windows and dreamed of becoming mistress to her own estate one day?
“This is a very pretty one,” Kerr said, and Elizabeth moved away from the windows to attend the maid.
Kerr was holding out a gown Elizabeth had yet to wear. It was made of a fine silk Aunt and Uncle Gardiner had gifted her, and it had been the one evening dress she had taken with her on their trip north. She had planned to wear it to their dinner at Pemberley, but the engagement had been abandoned when they had been required to rush home.
It was a simple but elegant gown, the silk a blue that shimmered almost green in the light and made her think of the sea. The waist was a little lower than the current fashion, but Elizabeth thought it suited her very well.
Every time she looked at it now, it reminded her of lost love.
Kerr held it up to Elizabeth and nodded. “I think Miss Bingley would swallow her turban, feathers and all, if she saw you in this.”
“Is it not too fine for a family dinner?” Elizabeth asked. “Perhaps we ought to save our best ammunition for a more formal occasion.”
“Very well,” Kerr said doubtfully. “But my mother always says that if you wait too long, that occasion may never come.”
Elizabeth nodded, acting as though the words had not struck her to the heart. “Your mother is very wise. I shall not wait long. But not tonight.”
Reluctantly, Kerr put the gown away. “How about this one, then?” she asked, holding up a rose-coloured gown. This one was also silk, though it was not as fine a weave. Elizabeth had inherited it from Jane a year ago, for it complemented her complexion better than it had Jane’s. She did not believe Miss Bingley had ever seen her in it. It would do for tonight.
“Yes, thank you, Kerr.”
“Would you mind if I made a few alterations, Miss Bennet?”
“What sort of alterations?”
“The sleeves are from last season, but it would not require much to change the shoulders here.” Kerr pointed to the seam. “And Mrs. Bingley told me she has some lace she was saving for you. A bit of that along here”—she trailed a finger down the neckline without touching it—“would be the very thing. Not too much, just enough to set it off.”
“Kerr, I think you and I are going to get along very well,” Elizabeth said approvingly. “Will you have time to make these adjustments?”
“Of course, Miss Bennet.” Kerr was the tiniest bit affronted. “I would not suggest it were I unable to complete the task.”
Elizabeth smiled brightly in order to placate the miffed maid. “Yes, I would like those changes very much.”
Mollified, Kerr made quick work of unpacking and hanging the rest of Elizabeth’s gowns and went in search of the lace.
Darcy sat before the fire with a brandy in one hand and a book in the other. He ought to be content, but his almost uncontrollable desire to be away from the pain that the memories of this placeengendered kept him distracted. After a time, he placed the book down on a small table nearby and gave the brandy his complete attention.
He remembered Elizabeth in this house. He could almost hear her voice drifting past the door and catch the faintest traces of the jasmine perfume she preferred. There was something complex in the scent, not unlike the woman herself, for the sweetness of the jasmine was balanced with the sharpness of lemon and just a touch of something he recalled from his travels abroad. Lingonberry, perhaps? He remembered her perfume very clearly from their brief walk to Longbourn from the church; indeed, he did not believe he would ever forget it.
“Darcy!” Bingley exclaimed cheerfully as shut the door of the study behind him. “Still here! What is it now? Has your coach lost a wheel?”
“Nothing so dire. A horse has lost a shoe.”
Bingley lifted his eyebrows. “The same horse? That is unlucky.”
Darcy felt foolish. “No, it was a different one. Horatio.”
“And that was enough to put you off another day?” Bingley poured a glass of brandy for himself.
“I begin to think I shall never leave this place.”
