"Responsibility, I suppose. The knowledge that I would one day inherit all of this and be responsible for hundreds of people's livelihoods. It seemed to demand a certain gravitas."
She studied him thoughtfully. "Perhaps. However, I think there is room for both responsibility and levity. One need not exclude the other."
They found a fallen log and sat, the horses grazing peacefully nearby. The conversation turned to books, music, travel—all the topics they had discussed before but which somehow felt new in this setting, under the open sky with Pemberley's grounds stretching around them.
Elizabeth made an observation about the implausibility of Gothic novels—something about heroines who insisted on exploring dark corridors alone despite obvious danger—and Darcy laughed heartily at her wit. She had a way of seeing theabsurd in things, of finding humour without descending into mockery. It was refreshing, unexpected and utterly charming.
"My younger sisters are quite devoted to such novels," she continued, her tone affectionate despite the teasing. "Lydia and Kitty consume them at an alarming rate, particularly if there's a romantic element. They adore the dramatic declarations, the grand gestures, the elaborate moments where everything is perfectly orchestrated for maximum sentiment."
"And you do not share their enthusiasm?"
"Oh, I enjoy a well-crafted story as much as anyone. But I find the romance in those novels rather exhausting. The heroine is always swept away to some magnificent setting, showered with jewels and poetry, declared the most beautiful creature ever to grace the earth." She shook her head with amusement. "It all seems rather performative. As if genuine feeling requires an audience and elaborate staging to be valid."
Darcy considered this, finding himself in complete agreement. "You prefer something more understated, then?"
"I prefer something more real. Not that such gestures cannot be heartfelt, but they often feel designed more to impress observers than to actually connect with the person they are supposedly meant for."
"An interesting perspective." he paused, then asked with studied casualness, "If you could design an ideal romantic moment—purely hypothetically, of course—what would it entail? Would you eschew elaborate gestures entirely?"
"A hypothetical perfect moment? Well, let me think..." She was quiet for a moment, her expression thoughtful. "A good dinner, I think. Nothing too elaborate or formal. Justexcellent food and perhaps good wine. Something that allows for proper conversation rather than the stilted exchanges required at formal gatherings."
"That seems reasonable."
"And afterwards..." She continued, and he noticed a slight flush colouring her cheeks. "A private dance, perhaps. Just two people in a room lit by candlelight, dancing to beautiful music and sharing something lovely."
He was relieved to discover that the scene she described aligned with his own preferences. He had always disliked certain aspects of courtship, particularly the way private feelings were expected to be displayed for public consumption. What Elizabeth described was exactly what he would want—a connection without spectacle.
"That is all?" he asked, careful to keep his tone neutral despite the plan already forming in his mind. "Nothing more elaborate? No jewels or poetry or dramatic declarations?"
"That is everything."
He filed this information away, already considering how such an evening might be arranged. Mrs Reynolds was remarkably resourceful, and there were several accomplished musicians in the village who would be honoured to perform at Pemberley. It could be managed—should be managed. Tonight, if possible.
"And you?" she asked, pulling him from his mental calculations. "What would your hypothetical ideal romantic moment be?"
He considered the question, then smiled slightly. "I believe you have already described it quite perfectly. Although Imight add that the company matters far more than the setting. The right person can make even the most ordinary moment feel extraordinary."
Elizabeth's expression softened, and for a moment they simply looked at one another, an understanding passing between them that needed no words.
They rode back to Pemberley in companionable conversation, and Darcy felt a lightness in his chest that had become increasingly familiar in Elizabeth's company. She challenged him, amused him, and made him see things differently. With her, he did not feel the weight of his incomplete memories quite so heavily. She knew him as he was now, not as he had been, and somehow that made everything easier.
All the while, a plan took shape in his mind. Tonight, he would give Elizabeth her perfect moment. Not as a grand gesture designed to impress, but as an expression of regard. It would be a gift tailored specifically to what she valued.
He smiled to himself as they approached the house, already anticipating her surprise and delight when she discovered what the evening held.
After they parted ways—Elizabeth to change from her riding habit, Darcy to attend to estate business—he made his way to his study with instructions for Mrs Reynolds to find a musician who could perform that evening. The housekeeper had looked startled but pleased, and Darcy knew she would manage it somehow. She always did.
His steward had left the account ledgers on his desk as requested. Darcy was particular about such things—he liked to cross-check the figures himself, ensuring no errors had crept in.It was tedious work, but necessary. A single miscalculation could compound over time, leading to significant problems.
He settled into the familiar rhythm of reviewing numbers, making notes, and occasionally referring to previous months' records for comparison. But his mind kept drifting to Elizabeth. To her laughter as they raced across the meadow, the way her eyes lit up when he promised to arrange her ideal evening. And the easy conversation they had shared.
This marriage, which had begun so inauspiciously, was becoming something real. Something he increasingly valued beyond other aspects of his life. Elizabeth was becoming essential to him in ways he had not anticipated or thought possible, given their circumstances.
He had been working for a few hours when the study door burst open without warning. A maid stood there, young and clearly distressed, her cap askew and her apron spotted with what seemed like splatters of mud.
"Mr Darcy, sir—" She was breathless, her words tumbling over themselves. "It's Mrs Darcy. She went to visit the Galpin family this afternoon—Mrs Galpin has been ill, if you recall—but she has not returned, and there is a storm coming. A bad one, sir. The grooms say it will be here within the hour or even earlier, and Mrs Darcy is still out there somewhere—"
Darcy was on his feet before she finished speaking. "How long ago did she leave?"
