Elizabeth stood and studied Mr. Darcy’s expression. “Was he very hard on you?”
He smiled. “Not at all. But I of all men know how difficult it must be to allow you to wed and move away.”
Mary and Kitty were staring at her with their mouths slightly agape. Elizabeth smiled at them and nodded at the chair she was now vacating. “Sit down and become acquainted with my sisters,” she murmured, amused. “For they shall soon be yours as well.”
“Where is your mother?” was his hushed inquiry.
She almost laughed. “In her chambers. The cold bothers her.”
“She thinks this is cold?” he asked, lifting his brows. “She would not like the peaks near Pemberley, then.”
“Not in winter at any rate,” Elizabeth replied. “I must go to my father now. Sit down, Mr. Darcy, and be pleasant.”
He shook his head at her. “If I must. Miss Mary, Miss Catherine,” he said as he turned to address them, “I am pleased to see you. We did not have much time to speak at the wedding.”
With her sisters and her betrothed settled together in the parlour, Elizabeth took a deep breath and walked to Papa’s book room.
“Elizabeth,” Papa said as she entered, confusion writ upon his countenance. “Have you not always hated this man?”
She closed the door behind her. “As late as April of this year, I did believe I hated him,” Elizabeth said quietly. “But what I held to his account was either a misunderstanding on my part or something he has remedied since. You know we met each other at Rosings, and then again when my aunt and uncle wished to see Pemberley.”
Her father eyed her shrewdly. “And you began your acquaintance over again at Rosings?”
She shook her head. “We quarrelled at Rosings, but it was there I learned how wrong I had been. I did not expect to see him again, and I was determined not to regret him.”
“But then you met again at Pemberley.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Elizabeth, tell me truly. Did you meet him there by chance or intention?”
Elizabeth took a deep breath. “Entirely by chance. He was not supposed to arrive until the day after our visit, but he rode ahead of his party, and I met him as he walked up to the house from the stables.”
Her father stroked his chin. “And how did he receive you, after you quarrelled in the spring?”
“He was everything good, sir. He finished our tour himself and invited my uncle to fish in his streams. Miss Darcy came to callon us in his company the very morning of her arrival, and my aunt and I returned the call the day after.” She paused. “We were invited to dinner on the day following, but . . .”
“You were forced home by your youngest sister’s folly?”
She swallowed past the lump in her throat. “Yes.” She held out Aunt Gardiner’s letter to him, and he took some time reading and rereading it.
“Well now,” he said, drawing the words out and leaning back in his chair, tapping one corner of the folded page against his lips before handing it back to her. “So I have Mr. Darcy to thank for Lydia’s rescue. I shall think on that. But it is clear his feelings for you are not of short duration.”
“Nor mine for him, though it took me longer to understand.”
“And this is why you have been so unhappy. I must say, it was terrible to watch, Lizzy.”
“I thought I had lost him forever, Papa.”
Her father’s expression softened as he gazed at her. “I wish you could have told me of it, but I suppose affairs of the heart are not a thing a young lady takes to her father. And I admit I would likely not have known how to advise you. Did you two speak at all when he came in September?”
She shook her head. “I was sure, then, that Lydia’s behaviour had made it impossible for him to speak, even had he wished it.”
“I see.” He opened a drawer and withdrew what appeared to be a legal document, “it seems he left for town in September in order to retrieve this, my dear, but as he thought you did not wish for his presence, he did not return.” He moved around the desk and took the chair next to hers.
“What is that?”
“It is a common license.”
