“An excellent suggestion.” Bingley stood and extended his hand. “Thank you, Darcy. This means more than I can say. Jane will be overjoyed.”
“My aunt has appointments until the sixteenth. If they arrived in mid-afternoon, this would be pleasing to the Matlocks.”
“Then I shall leave for Meryton tomorrow to extend the invitation. We will be back in London on the sixteenth.”
“Excellent. Have them come directly to MatlockHouse when you arrive. My aunt and Georgiana will be expecting them.”
As Darcy left Bingley’s house, he felt both exhilaration and trepidation. The plan was set in motion. Elizabeth would be overjoyed to be in the company of her sisters again.
That evening,Darcy explained the plan to Elizabeth and Georgiana over dinner at Matlock House. Elizabeth sat beside him, her hand finding his beneath the table as he spoke.
“I shall keep them occupied before and after your wedding,” Georgiana said eagerly. “We can shop, visit the museums, take tea.”
Darcy squeezed Elizabeth’s hand, and she turned to smile at him—that tender smile that never failed to make his heart race.
In six days, she would be his wife. Whatever came after, they would face together.
7
The sixteenth of December arrived with a light dusting of snow that frosted the cobblestones of Grosvenor Square. Darcy felt an anxiety that had nothing to do with his impending wedding and everything to do with the road between London and Meryton.
The snow could become heavy, making roads treacherous. He had sent an express to Bingley the previous evening, reminding him that there was no need to depart Meryton before mid-morning. He could only hope Bingley had received it before setting out.
The flurries were already thinning, the pale winter sun climbing higher with each passing hour, the cobblestones beginning to show through the white. By noon, he judged, the roads would be passable without difficulty. By mid-afternoon, when Bingley’s carriage was expected, they should be clear.
He turned from the window and let his gaze travel slowly around his study. Change was taking place atDarcy House. Already, Elizabeth’s newly acquired gowns were hanging in the mistress’s chambers. Her intimate articles were folded carefully, her shoes placed uniformly in her dressing room. Tomorrow, Elizabeth would cross the square on his arm and step through that door as his bride, his wife, the mistress of this house and of Pemberley. He tried to imagine what it would mean to have her here permanently.
He dreamed of her in the library. His wife, running her fingers along the shelves, pulling down volumes with an expression of pleasure, discovering a book she had not read. Elizabeth, curled in the chair by the fire, arguing with him about the merits of some author he had dismissed too quickly.
The dining room where Elizabeth would sit at the opposite end of the table, her eyes sparkling with whatever observation she was restraining until the servants had withdrawn. His bride, hosting dinners for their friends, putting everyone at ease with the kindness and wit that had first captured his attention.
Elizabeth at breakfast, fresh from her walk—for she would walk, he did not doubt it, regardless of what Lady Matlock thought appropriate for the mistress of Darcy House. His beloved, returning with color in her cheeks and mud on her hem and no remorse about either.
In the evenings, Elizabeth would be beside him, exactly where she belonged. And the nights…Darcy could not wait.
For the first time in years, Darcy House felt less like a monument to the Darcy legacy and more like a home.
By eleven o’clock, the snow had melted. By noon, thesquare was busy with the ordinary traffic of a London afternoon. Darcy exhaled slowly, the tension easing.
He spent the remainder of the morning attending to correspondence and meeting with his solicitor regarding the marriage settlements. He had been generous—more generous than strictly necessary—but he wanted Elizabeth to have complete financial independence should anything ever happen to him. She would never be at anyone’s mercy again. He would see to that.
At half three, he crossed the square to Matlock House.
Elizabeth was in the blue sitting room, ostensibly reading but clearly doing nothing of the sort. The book lay open in her lap at the same page it had been when he had checked in on her earlier. She glanced up, her eyes reflecting a mixture of anticipation and suppressed agitation.
“The roads are clear. They will be here soon,” he said, coming to sit beside her.
Elizabeth set down her book and stood, moving to the window. She could not see the street from this side of the house, which Darcy had judged both a mercy and a torture for her. He rose and joined her.
“They will be so close,” Elizabeth whispered, the words touching Darcy. “It will be a challenge to have them here and not be able to see them. To hug them. To reassure them.”
“Elizabeth.”
She turned to face him. “No, do not allow me my melancholy, for I have every reason to be happy, my dear man. You have wrought a miracle for my benefit by bringing my sisters here and by agreeing to join your life to mine. I will wait.”
“I love you, my dear.” He kissed her.
“I love you more.”
