Elizabeth did not seem happy about the fact. And why should she be? By no fault of her own, she had been ripped from her home and all that she knew and loved. If only Lady Lucas’ carriage had not been passing by when they had come out of the wood together, none of this would have happened. Indeed, if he had not gone for a walk to clear his head, had not allowed his anger and disappointment to overwhelm him so entirely, he would still be with his friend at Netherfield, having never so much as learned of Elizabeth’s existence. They would at most have met at one of the local assemblies, and would by now be indifferent acquaintances.
But what was done was done. Through chance and foolish accident, he had ruined her reputation, and having done so, there was only one recompense he could make. He had never questioned why Elizabeth would accept the offer. Even aside from the impossibility of doing otherwise, lest the compromise doom her sisters as well as herself, Darcy knew himself to be a good bargain at market. What woman would not wish to marry into Pemberley, the Darcy name, and the Darcy fortune?
But Elizabeth did not seem to view what had happened as the luckiest of chances. She seemed to view him merely as a man, and Pemberley as a solemn responsibility, rather than a boost to her status. It was an attitude he could not help but admire.
“Come, there is one more room I think you will appreciate,” he said.
“Oh?” she asked eagerly. She followed him back inside and into the hall. They went down to the main floor and to the other side of the house. He opened the door to the library and was satisfied at the small catch in her throat when she entered.
“The library,” he announced, though it hardly needed to be said. They walked further into the room together, and by her awed expression, he knew he must have done well. “You will often be in this room, I suspect. I do not know of many people with the talent for reading and walking at the same time.”
Her smile widened. “I know those trails like the back of my own hand. It is not difficult to read once one’s feet have memorised where they are going.”
They walked among the shelves for several minutes. To Darcy’s astonishment, he found himself starting to relax with her. Elizabeth was surprisingly good company. She did not speak unless it would improve the silence, and when she did comment, she always seemed to have something insightful or amusing to say. He did not know why he had feared she would be like her mother. Indeed, she did not have the same high-pitched tone her mother employed, and did not seem to have the same nervous tendencies that Mrs Bennet possessed. His hopes for their marriage rose. Surely they could at least settle into a comfortable friendship, one marked by easy agreement and mutual respect.
“What is your favourite book?” he asked, clasping his hands behind his back.
“Oh, that would be difficult to say, it changes so often. At the moment, perhapsChilde Harold’s Pilgrimage.” She turnedto him with an arch smile. “I hope you do not object to my reading Lord Byron, Mr Darcy?”
“No, I have no objection. Indeed, I shall be glad to talk over the work with you as soon as I have finished it. I am still in the final canto,” Darcy told her, enjoying the look of pleasure and surprise she gave him.
“I should like that very much.” Elizabeth ran a slender finger down the spine of an old copy ofDon Quixotein English translation. She smiled and took it off the shelf, leafing through it with the care and gentleness she would have taken in holding a newborn baby. She put it back and continued on. “But we were speaking of our favourite works. What is yours?”
“I have always sought to improve myself through the wisdom to be found in books. Perhaps theMeditations.”
“By Marcus Aurelius? I have not yet read them. But I shall, if you advise me to.”
“I do, by all means. And I shall look forward to discussing them with you when you have finished.” He followed her, suddenly struck by her loveliness. Her gown was the same she had worn to their wedding, one in a dark green that became her well. Elizabeth certainly was not lacking in dress sense, but she did appear to be lacking in dresses. Her wardrobe was far from suitable for the mistress of Pemberley, but likely she would enjoy remedying the problem.
They came around the edge of one of the long shelves and out into an open area where there were several large windows that overlooked the garden. Elizabeth seemed to grow excited at the prospect of going outside. “May I?” she asked and opened the window that had a set of stairs, meant for accessing the garden with ease.
“Of course.” He stepped up beside her and took her hand without asking. But she did not pull away, rather leaning on him as she ducked and went out into the brisk autumn air, pleasantly warmed by the sun. He followed her, and they walked about the garden for a little while.
“It is beautiful. I must say, I was unprepared for how luscious the Peak District would be.”
“I am glad you approve of it so far. I think you will be even more pleased once spring comes. The mountains come to life with every shade of green you could imagine.” Darcy walked alongside her, and they settled into a companionable silence for a while.
“Have you written to your family yet, to let them know you arrived?” he asked.
“Yes, I wrote to them last night before I retired.” She bit her lower lip, as if she were afraid of incurring his anger. “I hope you were not displeased with me for not coming down to supper. I was so exhausted after the trip.”
“Not at all. I understood you must be tired. I took a tray in my room instead of having the whole staff serve only one person.” He cleared his throat. “Will you be taking a tray in your room this evening as well?”
“No, not unless you would prefer it,” Elizabeth said softly. “I had intended to come down.”
“Then I will look forward to it,” Darcy told her. A silence descended, but to Darcy’s surprise, it was far from unpleasant. It felt not as though he was at fault for not speaking, but as though they might each speak or not, as they pleased.
They might have continued walking for some time, had a slight drizzle of rain not begun.
“Let us turn back,” Darcy said.
She nodded. “By all means,” Elizabeth told him, her sudden smile dazzling. She almost ran back to the library, her step light and graceful.
To Darcy’s pleasure, Elizabeth seemed no more likely to hurry from the reading area than he was himself. She went over to one of the side tables and picked up a book. She opened the cover and examined the front piece.
Elizabeth tilted her head to the side, looking rather puzzled. “May I ask who Georgiana Darcy is?” she asked.
His mood instantly darkened. “How did you know —” he demanded, then went over to her to look over her shoulder. The title page of the book had an inscription at the bottom of the page that read, “To Fitzwilliam Darcy. From your beloved Georgiana.”
