What had felt like a bolt of lightning now settled like a stone in her chest. Elizabeth took the small rectangular object he held, letting it rest gently in both of her hands. She stared at it. It was heavier than it looked; mahogany, she guessed. The bottom was plain while the lid had a tree engraved across it, with its limbs reaching to the edges and green painted leaves dotting the branches. It was beautiful on its own, but as a gift from a lost friend, it was precious. Finally, she looked up at the man across from her. His gaze rested not on the box she held betweenthem but on her. When their eyes met, she raised her brow in question.
“He had sent it to be repaired just before . . . before he passed and asked me to pick it up in London when I would be there in June. Obviously, things did not go as planned. It was forgotten for a time, I am afraid. We received several notices from the jeweller about it, but I confess they got lost in everything, everything else. When I was at Darcy House last month, another notice came, and I finally realised what it was. I retrieved it and now present it to you. My apologies for the long delay.”
“Jeweller?”
“Open it,” he said gently.
She obeyed. Inside, resting on dark blue velvet, was a silver chain attached to a small red heart that Elizabeth thought might be a ruby.
“It is exquisite,” she said, tracing the thin, delicate chain down to the heart. She picked it up. It was heavy, and upon closer inspection, she saw it held many shades of red from light to dark. Darcy stood and moved to the small desk by the window.
“There was a note. I found it among his papers but had not realised what it was meant for or even who it was to.”
He moved back to where she still sat, necklace and box in hand. He held out a small square piece of thick paper. Elizabeth carefully placed the necklace back in the box, replaced the lid, put it on the small table beside her and then took the note.
It is not a book. I hope you’ll forgive me.
Your wit and intelligence are perhaps your most acknowledged qualities. This year, I wanted to give you a gift to honour something else remarkable I see in you.
You offer your friends and family a deep and selfless loyalty and love. To be counted among these is a priceless gift. Do not let anyone put out the fire that burns within you, and do not be afraid to insist on receiving the same kind of love and loyalty you give.
Best Wishes
George Darcy
Tears fell onto the paper as Elizabeth read it three times before tucking it under the folds of her dress to protect it. After a few deep breaths, she lifted her head and was surprised to find Darcy watching her from where he stood several feet away. She rose quickly.
“I apologise.”
“There is no need.” His tone was kind, but still oddly formal. “But I hope you will accept mine.”
“You do not owe me an apology,” she insisted.
“This should have been yours years ago. If I had followed up with the jeweller or understood the note . . .”
“I certainly see why you did not,” she answered with a small laugh, glancing down at the object in question, which she held carefully by its edge to avoid any potential smudging of the ink. She shook her head and bit her lip, trying to stave off another round of tears. “Your father, he was so kind and encouraging. I miss him and I miss the way he saw me. Itsometimes felt like I could almost be who he thought I was when he was extolling virtues I never thought were mine.”
“I understand and have often thought the same with regard to myself,” Darcy said with a rueful shake of his head. He moved closer to where she stood and lifted a hand as if he might touch her shoulder. But he didn’t.
Elizabeth was overwhelmed. It seemed a hundred different and conflicting feelings were vying for her attention, or perhaps they were cooperating in stealing her breath, causing her heart to gallop franticly and making her head ache. She sank back into the seat and tried to get herself under good regulation.
“Are you well?” he asked in that tone she coveted—gentle, but firm. It was his concerned voice. But now it was just another thing that excited her already frayed nerves. “Shall I fetch you some wine or call Nancy to bring you to your room?”
Elizabeth took a calming breath before responding, pleased her voice sounded reasonably steady. “No, I thank you. I am well enough, but I will beg you to excuse me. I do think I need to retire to your sister’s chambers, where I imagine she and Jane await me.” She picked up the box and closed the lid.
“Yes, of course,” Darcy responded, standing as she did. “I do think it would be wise to have someone escort you. If you do not wish for me to call Georgiana’s maid, might I have the honour?”
It was not what she needed, but he could not know that. Could not know that walking, her hand on his arm, their bodies only a breath apart for the five minutes it would take them to get to the family wing, would devastate anything that remainedof her equilibrium. She knew. Yet she could not deny him, could not deny herself the pleasure of his company. It had been too long since she was able to bask in it. So she did what she should not have and accepted his offer, linking her arm in his when he held it out for her.
They did not speak as they walked, and Elizabeth was thankful for this. It allowed her to concentrate on her breathing and to take in the strange combination of peace and chaos his presence always created inside her. Somehow, the familiar peculiarity comforted her, and by the time they reached the door to Georgiana’s chamber, she was far more composed than she would have thought possible. There was no time to bid him good night, as almost as soon as they reached the door, it was flung open and Georgiana appeared, saying a hurried hello to her brother and pulling Elizabeth into the room.
“Goodnight, William,” she said. “We will see you in the morning.” With that, Georgiana shut the door.
The following morning, Elizabeth, as usual, woke before the others. She carefully crawled out from the centre of the bed where she had ended up, squeezed between Jane, who slept curled into a ball and Georgiana, who was as spread out as she could be given her place near the edge. Once she had extricated herself, Elizabeth moved into the dressing room, retrieved her clothes and began to dress. Fortunately, the morning gown she had brought fastened up the side, and she was able to do it herself. She sat in front of the mirror to attempt to convince her hair to do as she bade. Before she began that onerous process, Elizabeth took the necklace, which she had placed there last night, and put it on.
Last night, Elizabeth learned that Georgiana had not known about the gift, nor had she seen the note. Like Elizabeth, she needed a moment to collect herself once Elizabeth showed them to her and told her about her conversation with Darcy. Afterwards, the three of them had a long talk about Mr. Darcy—sharing memories and holding one another through tears and laughter. They nearly fell asleep mid-conversation. It had been quite late. But Elizabeth was unable to sleep beyond early morning, regardless of how late she went to bed.
After brushing out her hair, tying it in a simple knot at the base of her neck and teasing a few curls to frame her face, Elizabeth was satisfied enough with her appearance to make her way downstairs. Her intention to get to the library undetected was thwarted as soon as she reached the landing. A gentleman stood there, examining his pocket watch, his back to her. When she reached the third step from the bottom, which creaked loudly, he looked up. He was tall, as tall as Darcy, and had straight dark blond hair and striking blue eyes.
