“Anyone you would describe so will always be welcome at Pemberley,” Darcy told her, “and I do not care one jot if Mr Gardiner is in trade.”
Elizabeth smiled so brilliantly that Darcy would have gladly invited a full regiment’s worth of uncles. “Thank you. I am very glad to hear it. And — I have been thinking of the question of pet names.”
“Tell me,” Darcy urged her.
“Perhaps you might simply call me Lizzy.”
Darcy offered her his hand, and she placed her hand in his. He kissed it, lingering a little longer than would have been acceptable in company. “Merry Christmas, Lizzy,” he whispered.
“Merry Christmas, Will.”
Outside, the first star of evening had only just made its appearance in the winter dusk. But the pair on the settee did not see it, too lost in each other’s eyes.
Chapter 26
The days after Christmas all seemed rather sleepy and uneventful, though convivial and full of ease. Elizabeth walked through the halls of Pemberley in something like a pleasant dream, feeling at long, long last as though true happiness might be in her grasp.
The afternoon of Twelfth Night glistened bright and clear. A light snow had fallen the night before. The temperature had stayed below freezing, leaving the ground covered in a blanket of white. Her hair having become a little disarrayed over the course of the morning, Elizabeth returned to her room after luncheon to have it rearranged.
“There now, is it to your liking, Mrs Darcy?” Stephans asked. She stepped back from the vanity to inspect her work and gave an approving nod.
Though Elizabeth might have said ‘yes’ without looking, for Stephans’s work was never less than elegant, she had learned that her maid was happier when she believed that her labour had been carefully assessed. She therefore made a show of looking in the mirror before answering.
“No, there is nothing else, Stephans. I like it very much,” she said, lightly touching a wisp of hair at her temple. Soft curls framed her face, and the few ribbons Stephans had woven into her braids added a nice touch. “I shall see you at the gong,” she said in dismissal.
Stephans curtsied, then left the room.
Having settled in to write letters at her desk, Elizabeth became lost in the task and heedless of time. She had not realised how long she had been at her desk when a knock sounded at the door. She turned her head slightly as the door to her room was opened. “Is it time to dress for tea already, Stephans? I was just finishing a letter to my sister. I shall be right with you.”
“It is me, Mrs Darcy,” came the apologetic reply.
Elizabeth turned, surprised to see Eva, not her older sister, standing behind her. To her still greater surprise, Eva held her hands clasped behind her back and was shifting nervously from one foot to the other.
Elizabeth frowned and turned all the way around, leaving her quill on the desk. “Is something amiss, Eva? You know you can tell me if something is wrong.”
“Yes, Mrs Darcy, and that is why I’m here.” She came forward and brought a letter out from behind her back.
Elizabeth frowned. “What do you have there, Eva?”
“Well, ma’am, it is…oh dear! It is a letter addressed to Mr Wickham.”
“Eva!”
“I know that this is very irregular. I would not take a gentleman’s post, of course not, only…well, ma’am, someone ought to know about this.” Eva looked terrified, handing the letter over slowly. Even as Elizabeth peered at the name on the front of the letter, the maid was wringing her hands. Then she saw the name of the sender.
Clear as day, it was addressed from Lincolnshire — from a Mrs Wickham!
Elizabeth snapped her head up, staring at the girl as though to demand an explanation. Eva licked her lips nervously. “Normally, a gentleman’s correspondence is his own business, but something about this doesn’t seem right, ma’am.”
“Very troubling indeed,” Elizabeth agreed. The letter could hardly be from Georgiana. She would hardly write to her husband while with him, and in any case, the letter was sent from Lincolnshire.
“Very troubling indeed, mistress. He’s received several letters from this address. When this one came today, I couldn’t keep silent about it anymore.” Eva lifted her chin, almost defiantly. “I like Mrs Georgiana Wickham. I know I should not touch a gentleman’s letters, but this is not right.”
“Thank you, Eva. I will look into this,” Elizabeth vowed.
Eva curtsied and went out of the room, closing the door behind her. Elizabeth sat at her writing desk for several minutes, motionless and lost in thought. It was difficult to imagine an innocent explanation. No — it was difficult to imagine an explanation that was not completely disastrous.
The rules of society were very clear about what she ought to do. The letter ought to be returned to Mr Wickham unopened,and Eva ought to be turned out. Taking a gentleman’s mail was a firing offense for any servant; Elizabeth knew that very well.
