“That is… very good of you,” Lady Catherine said in a gruff voice.
Smiling faintly, Elizabeth said, “We arrived here quite unexpectedly. Even if I am now considered family, I must seem a rather alarming addition.”
Richard made a soft sound that might have been agreement.
“It is her wedding day,” Elizabeth continued. “You all made every effort to ensure mine was comfortable. It is only right that I do the same for her.”
She paused, then added simply, “Every bride deserves that, if nothing else.”
Darcy felt a quiet swell of pride rise within him.
He did not look at the others—but he did not need to.
He knew exactly what expressions they would be wearing.
He allowed himself the smallest inward smile.
Elizabeth turned then to Georgiana. “I had hoped to walk this morning, but the weather does not appear inclined to cooperate.”
She nodded towards the window, which showed a heavy rain blustering past. “Would you care to walk the corridors with me instead? And perhaps practice the pianoforte afterward?”
Georgiana brightened at once. “Oh, yes—very much!”
Elizabeth leaned slightly toward Darcy, her voice lowered. “It will allow you time to speak with Colonel Fitzwilliam privately about anything that needs to doing with the wedding and Rosings… and whatever else you gentlemen discuss.”
She gave him a quick grin, and he wished for nothing more than to return to their rooms. Instead, he cleared his throat and inclined his head. “An excellent plan.”
The party dispersed with quiet efficiency—Georgiana and Elizabeth together, the ladies to their own preparations.
Darcy followed Richard down the hall towards the study. He had always hated this room at Rosings. It had been decorated in the typical garish style that Lewis de Bourgh had so favored. After his death, Lady Catherine had attempted to redecorate a few rooms, but the change triggered an attack of nerves in Anne so fierce that Lady Catherine was forced to leave things as they were.
Richard pushed the door open and strode in without hesitation.
“Well,” he said, casting a glance around as he went to the sideboard, “if ever a room deserved to be set ablaze for the sake of improvement, it is this one.”
Darcy allowed himself the faintest huff of agreement. “You would have to consult its present mistress—or your future bride—before undertaking such a project.”
Richard poured two glasses. “I should sooner face the French again.”
Darcy took the offered drink.
Richard leaned one shoulder against the sideboard, studying him with open amusement. “So,” he began, “shall we speak of the blissful state of matrimony? You seemed to be enjoying—”
“Richard.”
The single word was quiet, but it was enough.
Richard stopped. For a moment, something like surprise flickered across his face. Then it vanished, replaced by something more thoughtful.
“My apologies,” he said, more soberly. “I seemed to have forgotten all of my manners on the battlefield. I meant no disrespect, to you or to Mrs. Darcy.”
Darcy inclined his head slightly. “It is quite alright. I am accustomed to it.”
Richard gave a small, wry smile. “I know you were often mocked for it. At Cambridge, in Town—your principles. Your… restraint.”
Darcy said nothing.
“But I never joined in,” Richard continued. “I may not have shared your views, but I admired them. Still do.”
