“Well then, you shall certainly hear a great deal of the mundane comings and goings of Hertfordshire, and Miss Darcy can keep you apprised of the far more interesting news of life at a finishing school amidst the noise and excitement of London.”
“Yes, indeed,” Georgiana agreed. “Though I must observe that Lizzy’s letters are always delightful and never boring.”
“I have no doubt,” Miss Baxter answered. “And returning to the subject at hand, should your father approve, I will be delighted to help you host a party at Pemberley when we both return in June.”
“I will miss you when I am home for winter break.”
“I will be sorry to miss Pemberley at Christmas. Your family traditions are wonderful, and the way the house and grounds are decorated makes it feel almost magical.”
“Yes, having a Pemberley Christmas to look forward to is something to sustain me,” Georgiana said, sighing dramatically.
Elizabeth giggled at this. The ladies soon finished their tea and treats and were ready to begin their shopping. After two hours spent in the few well-stocked shops of Lambton, Elizabeth had bright red and green ribbons for Lydia, a kitten figurine for Kitty, smart new bonnets for Mary and her mother, a lovely shawl for Jane and a book for her father. Her arms were full as they approached the waiting carriage. Higgins, the Pemberley footman who usually accompanied the ladies on their outings, stepped forward quickly to take Elizabeth’s many things as well as the few items Miss Baxter and Miss Darcy held.
When they stopped in front of Barlow Hall, Georgiana took her friend’s hands. “I will miss you, Lizzy. Please write to me as often as you can bear to. I will try to do as you and Miss Baxter have advised and make new friends, but no one will ever replace you.”
“Georgiana, you are such a dear,” Elizabeth said, pulling the younger girl in for a hug. “Of course I will write all the time. When we see each other again in June, we will barely have anything to say to one another as we will have been kept apprised of everything through our very many letters!”
When they opened the door, Higgins appeared to help Elizabeth alight. She stood watching the carriage meander down the tree-lined lane, waving and smiling. It was not until it disappeared around a bend that she turned and went into the house. The previous night, they had all been guests at Pemberley for dinner. It was then that she said her goodbyes to Mr. Darcy, who wanted to continue their tradition of reading a book together while apart during the year.
“The Odyssey?” she asked, opening the book he placed in her hand. It was a worn tome; its light brown leather cover had added gold trim around the edges, and its attached red ribbon bookmark was frayed at the ends and hung loosely over the side.
“I think it is time we attended to the classics,” Mr. Darcy said by way of an answer. “What say you, shall we see what scrapes Odysseus has got himself into?”
“I look forward to it,” she told him.
“That was my book,” the younger Darcy offered. “I remember when Father and I bought it at a bookshop in London. Hatchard’s in Piccadilly, was it not?”
“I believe so,” his father agreed.
“Oh, I should not like to deprive you of something that has sentimental value,” Elizabeth said, moving to the younger Darcy and pressing the book towards him. It was the closest she had been to him in three weeks, and she was chagrined to discover the power of his proximity had not faded. His woodsy scent, the flecks of gold in his brown eyes, which were only discernible up close, were enough to shoot a cannon of nerves across her stomach, and then her fingers brushed his and the new weakness of unsteady legs was brought to bear on her small frame. It was only by the force of her considerable will that she not only remained erect but took a step back, the book still in her hands.
“No, I want you to have it. Its having meaning to me does not preclude a desire to share it. I hope you enjoy it, and I would welcome your thoughts when next we meet.”
“Very well,” she answered after taking a steadying breath. Turning to the elder Darcy, she offered her thanks, and then turning back to his son, she said, “I thank you for sharing it.” His almost smile and small nod, which caused a loose brown curl that sat atop his head to fall ever so slightly over his forehead, was the lasting image she took with her. She stared at him for longer than was likely appropriate, but in that moment, she decided they all knew anyway; she might as well look her fill.
Chapter Five
Summer 1807
“Mary, you must take your head out of your book and take in views,” Elizabeth told her sister, who had been reading beside her for the past two hours without so much as a look out the windows. Outside, the flat and open fields and sparse trees had made way for the rolling hills and streams of the Derbyshire she loved most. They were just passing Moorwood House, which she pointed out to Mary, who had finally lifted her eyes.
“That means we are only ten miles from Barlow Hall,” Elizabeth told her sister.
“Indeed, we are less than two hours from home,” Mr. Gardiner added.
As she watched the beloved, familiar landscape, Elizabeth noted that Mary’s fingers were strumming in an uneven rhythm atop her book.
“It reminds me of Longbourn,” she told Mary, reaching to take her sister’s hand in hers and directing her to the house they were passing.
“Yes, I can see that,” Mary answered hesitantly. “The trees and garden are different, of course, but the house itself looks quite like ours.”
The threesome passed a few minutes in silence, each watching the countryside, painted shades of green with dots of pinks, reds and blues interrupting the picturesque verdant monotony every so often.
“Have you thought any more about what masters you might want us to procure for your visit?” their uncle asked.
“I do not wish for you to incur any additional expenses,” Mary answered, bowing her head once again, though her book now lay closed on her lap.
“Mary, we mean to do for you just as we do for Elizabeth and have done for Jane. It is no trouble, and we are happy to help you improve yourself.”
