Beyond her, the gardens were bathed in the summer light, beckoning. He wished that he and she might walk there alone, her arm in his, her form leaning against him, her eyes lifted to his, her lips parted in invitation.
He drew a sharp breath and stepped forward to pull out her chair. That time would come, he knew. He had only to wait for her awakening.
By chance, the only vacant chair was beside Mary, and the rector, Mr. John Seymour, took the seat next to her. “Miss Mary,” he said, “how long will your visit here extend?”
“I will remain with my sister until we travel back to London, sir.”
“Ah, yes,” he said, “in late November for the season.”
Mary inclined her head. “Yes, we will winter in London.”
“Do you know any of the neighbors in this community, Miss?”
“No, sir, but I hope to begin visiting the tenants with Mrs. Darcy next week. I will come to know the people of the Pemberley estate and am sure to meet the neighbors soon.”
Mr. Seymour nodded. “I understand that the daughter of Pemberley’s nearest neighbor has returned from a long stay in Scotland. Have you been introduced yet?”
Mary was interested. “No, sir, this is the first any of us has heard of her return.”
The rector continued, “The eastern boundary of Pemberley runs along that of the Ashbrook estate. Miss Ashbrook returned to her father’s house a week ago. I will pay my respects this coming week. She is not accepting callers until then.”
“Is she a very young lady, sir?” Mary asked.
“No, I understand that Miss Ashbrook is five and twenty and still unmarried. I confess, I was surprised to hear it, for they say she is very beautiful and quite accomplished.”
Richard’s eyes flicked to Darcy, who was pale. His gaze was fixed upon his plate, and he neither looked to the right nor the left. Fortunately, the women were occupied with the rector’s account of the new neighbor, and no one but Richard noticed Darcy’s momentary distress. Elizabeth wondered why Fitzwilliam had not mentioned Miss Ashbrook as someone she could befriend, but perhaps he had not known that his neighbor had returned home.
When luncheon ended, Darcy was the first to rise. He turned to Elizabeth. “Would you care to walk to the ruins of the castle?”
She agreed at once, and Darcy extended the invitation to the others. Mr. Seymour turned to Mary. “May I escort you to the ruins, Miss Mary? They are quite charming, and at this time ofyear, the wildflowers will have taken over the grounds. If you enjoy bird-watching, the goldfinch and the blue tit are often seen there.”
Elizabeth smiled. “Sir, you speak so persuasively of the castle that anyone who hears you must wish to see it at once. I have not yet visited the ruins myself, but now I can hardly wait to begin the walk.” Turning to Darcy, she added, “Fitzwilliam, I must change my gown and shoes for something more suitable. I will return in fifteen minutes.”
Mary and Jane excused themselves as well. Georgiana, who had often seen the ruins, remained at home to play the pianoforte, and Richard said he would stay to listen to her. The Hursts declared their intention to rest. Darcy asked his cousin to join him in his study. When the door was closed, he spoke in a low voice. “Richard, I had no idea Lady Christiana had returned. What can Ashbrook be thinking? He cannot pass her off as a maiden. I do not know how I shall face her after what passed between us.”
Richard met his cousin’s troubled gaze. “Let the moment be your guide, Darcy. When you meet, do not be the first to speak. Wait to see how she conducts herself. If she has any sense of what is proper, she will keep her distance.”
Darcy exhaled and turned toward the window. “At one time, I believed she could never put a foot wrong, but how deceived I was.”
By half past two, the walking party was scattered along the path, their laughter mingling with the summer breeze. Darcy led the way, Elizabeth’s arm held firmly within his.
“Mrs. Darcy,” he said, glancing down at her with quiet pride, “what think you of your new home?”
Her eyes roamed the wooded hills and the silver stream that coursed through the meadow to their left. Wildflowers spread thick across the fields, and the sky above was a clear and brilliant blue.
“Derbyshire is wild and remote, sir,” she said softly, “with its hills and rocky outcrops interspersed with fields of grain and apple orchards. I could never have imagined a more beautiful landscape. I can hardly believe my good fortune that this is my home. Someday, I shall raise my children here. We will run together upon this very path to the castle. I can almost hear them laughing, sir.”
A half-smile touched Darcy’s lips. A surge of delight coursed through his veins. She had spoken of children and laughter. He would give her those joys, and more. Drawing himself back to the present, he tempered his thoughts, unwilling to press her toward any intimacy she had not yet invited.
“And what did you think of the service this morning?” he asked.
She looked up at him. The long, dark lashes that framed her eyes caught his attention, and for a moment, he was caught in contemplation of their graceful sweep.
“I found the parson engaging, sir,” she said at last. “His sermon upon the will of man reminded me of our conversation the other evening, about fate and the power of choice. I believe him to be well-read and intelligent. I should very much like to hear him again.”
As she spoke, she bent to pluck a long-stemmed lavender flower. “This is pretty. What is it called, sir?”
“Jacob’s ladder,” he replied. “It is native to Derbyshire. Though I do not think it quite so pretty when I find it growing among the wheat and barley.”
