“Comfortable?” he asked, his voice rougher than before.
“Yes, thank you.” Elizabeth arranged her skirts, grateful for the elevation that concealed her heated cheeks. The horse shifted beneath her, and she grasped the pommel more tightly.
“He won’t run,” Darcy assured her, taking the reins to lead the horse. “Maximus is exceptionally well-trained.”
“Maximus?” Elizabeth couldn’t suppress a smile. “A fitting name for such a magnificent animal.”
“My sister named him,” Darcy explained, his expression softening. “She insisted that only a classical name would suit him.”
“Your sister has excellent taste,” Elizabeth observed, relieved to find neutral conversational ground.
They proceeded in companionable silence for a time, Elizabeth adjusting to the rhythm of the horse’s gait while Darcy walked alongside. The morning had fully broken, sunlight filtering through the trees lining the road. In the distance, rolling parkland gave way to more formal gardens, and beyond them, Elizabeth caught her firstglimpse of Pemberley.
Her breath caught. Even from this distance, the house was magnificent. The central block rose three stories high, flanked by two extensive wings that stretched outward like welcoming arms. The eastern wing featured a classical pediment and colonnaded entrance, while the western extension appeared slightly newer. At least thirty chimneys punctuated the roofline, and hundreds of windows caught the morning sun like diamonds, the honey-colored stone glowing with warmth against the verdant backdrop of carefully tended gardens.
“That is Pemberley?” she asked, unable to disguise her wonder.
Darcy followed her gaze, a hint of pride in his expression. “Yes. The house has stood for nearly two centuries, though each generation has made its improvements.”
My birthright, Elizabeth thought with a pang of longing.What would my life have been had I grown up there, as I was meant to?
“It is the most beautiful place I have ever seen,” she said softly.
“You admire it?” Darcy asked.
“How could anyone not?” Elizabeth replied honestly. “It sits so perfectly in the landscape, neither imposing upon nor shrinking from its surroundings. Whoever designed it understood the meaning of harmony.”
Something in Darcy’s expression shifted—perhaps surprised at her sincere appreciation. “Most visitors comment only on its size or grandeur.”
“Then they miss its true distinction,” Elizabeth said. “Though I admit, I have always been more sensible to the pleasures of nature than of wealth and splendor.”
“A rare perspective,” Darcy commented, his gaze lingering on her face with an intensity that made her pulse quicken.
They continued along the road that skirted Pemberley’s formal gardens, the house occasionally visible through breaks in the treeline. Elizabeth couldn’t help stealing glances at the man walking beside her—the strong line of his jaw, the broad shoulders evident beneath his riding coat, and the way the morning light caught in hisdark hair. There was a quiet confidence in his movements, a certainty of purpose she had previously mistaken for arrogance.
Here was the master of Pemberley in his element. Except he had usurped her place.
“Rose Cottage lies just beyond that copse of oak trees,” Darcy said, gesturing to a wooded area ahead. “It was rebuilt after the fire, though in much the same style as the original.”
“The fire was a tragedy,” Elizabeth recalled Darcy’s grief. “Did you know my aunt well? What was she like?”
Darcy’s pace slowed as he considered her question. “She was unlike anyone else at Pemberley. Spirited and unconventional. My grandmother adored her, though I believe my father found her somewhat… challenging.”
“Challenging?” Elizabeth couldn’t help but smile at this description. “In what way?”
“She questioned everything,” Darcy said, a reluctant smile tugging at his lips. “Social customs, traditional attitudes. She had a way of making one reconsider long-held assumptions.”
“She sounds remarkable,” Elizabeth said softly, treasuring this unexpected glimpse of her mother.
“She was a Bennet.” Darcy paused, frowning, before adding, “You remind me of her, in some ways.”
“I am her niece, after all.” Elizabeth kept her voice casual while her heart fluttered at his words.
He glanced up at her, their eyes meeting briefly before he looked away. “I was very young, but I remember her directness. She was always affectionate, but she didn’t hesitate to give me a scolding.”
“A scolding?” Elizabeth’s eyes widened in mock disbelief. “Surely not the serious, proper Mr. Darcy. I cannot imagine you ever requiring discipline as a child.”
A surprising transformation came over his features—the ghost of an open smile, lending his normally severe countenance an unexpected boyishness. “You would be surprised. My cousin was…” He stopped abruptly, the smile fading. “I was rather mischievous around my little cousin. My aunt Rose caught me teaching her to throw bread rolls at dinner once. The scolding I received was quite memorable.”
