“No, actually. I had thought to take breakfast with you, if that is satisfactory?” Elizabeth asked, rather tentatively. Darcy suppressed a grimace. He had done that to himself, with his reaction in the library, no doubt. No wonder she feared he might reject her company. He would have to do his best to reverse that perception.
“I would be delighted to have you join me,” he said with his best attempt at a welcoming smile. Although he had not hadmuch experience with smiling in the last few months, he found it was coming easier in the days since he had brought Elizabeth home to Pemberley.
He offered her his arm, and they walked out together and downstairs to the dining room. The sun gave a splendid show, with hardly a cloud in the sky. He caught Elizabeth gazing at the window facing the east side of the house, with its view past the pond and into the woods. It was a view that still made his heart skip a beat to look out at it, and he had lived there all his life.
“It is a beautiful morning,” he said.
“Yes, it is. The views are breathtaking,” Elizabeth replied. “Every window in the house seems to look out on something lovely. There is always something to catch the eye and the imagination.”
“I am glad you think so. Pemberley has always had a special place in my heart — not only because it is where I grew up. Perhaps I betray my own arrogance in saying so, but I confess I have never visited a house that could compare to it.” Darcy knew he was waxing poetic, but Elizabeth did not seem to mind.
“I am growing very fond of the house and the grounds. From what I have seen of the gardens, one could get lost there very happily.” She sighed and took a sip of her tea. “I hope you do not mind that I have been exploring a little?”
“Not at all. This is your home now, too, after all.”
Her face brightened. “Thank you.”
After breakfast was concluded, Darcy had the carriage brought around, and they were soon on their way.
“I had thought to begin with the farthest house,” he began. “We may then work our way back.”
Elizabeth nodded. “A logical choice.”
“It is the Henries,” Darcy told her. “They are a very good sort of people, very reliable indeed.”
“I am glad to hear it,” Elizabeth replied simply. “I shall be glad to know them.” Though the farm was a considerable distance from Pemberley House, the drive was a pleasant one. Darcy had already learned that he could have been much less fortunate in his accidental wife. Elizabeth was obviously good-tempered and intelligent, and he had begun to see flashes of something in her that he could only call a charmingly arch sense of wit. Then, too, the speed with which she had won the approval of the sensible and unshakably loyal Mrs Reynolds was a positive sign.
The carriage stopped in front of the tenant house, and they were immediately set upon by one of the farm dogs. He wagged his tail, sending a cloud of dust up from the road. The farmer, Mr Henries, came out and greeted them. “Well, good morning, Mr Darcy. To what do we owe this pleasure?”
Mr Henries was soon joined by Mrs Henries, who was growing large with their fifth child. Several children came in tow, peeking out shyly from behind their mother’s skirts. The Henries had four girls, and Darcy knew Mr Henries was looking forward to having a son this time, if the Lord was willing.
“Good morning, Mrs Henries, Mr Henries. I have come to present my new wife. I am sure you’ve heard the news, but I was married nigh on a fortnight ago. Elizabeth, allow me to present Mr and Mrs Henries and their children. Mrs Henries, my wife, Mrs Elizabeth Darcy,” he said. It was strange how theintroduction affected him. Warmth filled his chest, and he was surprised at how well his surname sounded coupled with her Christian name.
Mr and Mrs Henries offered congratulations, and even the children found their courage enough to welcome Elizabeth to the county.
“I am delighted to meet all of you. I do hope we shall have ample opportunity to get to know one another,” Elizabeth said graciously.
“Oh, I do hope so,” Mrs Henries said. She invited them in for a cup of tea and some refreshments, but they dutifully declined.
“We have several other neighbours we would like to visit before business calls us back to Pemberley. Perhaps another time, Mrs Henries,” Darcy said.
Elizabeth bent and said something to each of the girls before they climbed into the carriage and bumped down the lane toward the next cottage. His wife was beaming, as were the four Henries girls. “What did you say to the children?” he asked.
“I asked each of their names and told them to come and see me at Pemberley whenever they like,” Elizabeth said. “They are dear girls.” She sighed and looked out the window. “And I feel for them — and their mother. Four daughters. I do hope this child is a boy, someone who can help his father.” Sadness had seeped into her tone.
“Your father told me of the entail,” Darcy told her. Elizabeth must be thinking of Mr Bennet and his disappointment in not having a son — an entirely understandable disappointment, considering that the desiredheir would have secured the future comfort of his wife and daughters. “It is a shame that he did not have a son who could have broken it. You and I will see to it that your mother and sisters have a comfortable place to live in the event of his passing, of course. But it must be a matter of great grief to know that Longbourn will pass from his family.”
Elizabeth was looking at him in surprise. “Yes,” she said at last. “When my father dies, everything will pass to a cousin.” She hung her head. It was a long while before she looked up at him. “It will be sad to see the house go one day.”
“Are relations between your father and his cousin strained?”
“Unfortunately, there was a falling-out between my father and his cousin’s father. There has been no communication that I know of for the last two decades at least.” Elizabeth shrugged. “Even if my father and his cousin could make things right between them, it would change nothing. He would still inherit everything when my father dies.”
“Indeed,” Darcy replied. What if he were in Mr Bennet’s place? It would be difficult to see everything he had worked for go to another relative, someone not of his flesh and blood. He looked thoughtfully at Elizabeth.
And caught his breath. His wife was very pretty with the sunlight framing her profile, as though caught in a halo of light. Elizabeth was not beautiful. Had he not already decided that? Exquisite eyes notwithstanding, there was surely more than one fault of perfect symmetry in her face.
Yet she looked up at him, and his heart seemed to stop beating.
