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Elizabeth flushed with mortification. To have the conversation approach her most guarded secret, prompted by the very woman she had believed to be her rival, was an unbearable turn of events.

“Please,” Elizabeth whispered, her palms pressing firmly onto her lap. “Do not make me share private things. I am a guest in this house only by the forceful command of your mother, Miss de Bourgh. If you need to know more of this matter, you must ask him. He is your cousin... and he is your brother, Miss Darcy.”

Miss Darcy recognised the distress in Elizabeth’s posture. She rose and stepped over to Elizabeth’s chair, patting her arm with an apologetic smile. “Forgive us, Miss Elizabeth. We are overly curious, and we have breached the bounds of etiquette. We shall press the matter no further.”

“I meant no offence,” Miss de Bourgh added, her tone softening. “I only wished to assure you that you will find no adversary in me. Should Fitzwilliam eventually locate his courage, I shall be the first to offer my sincere congratulations.”

Miss Darcy returned to her seat.

Before Elizabeth could formulate a response that did not involve fleeing the room in utter confusion, Aunt Madeline and Uncle Edward arrived, bringing a wave of joviality with them.

Uncle Edward admired the ornate plasterwork of the ceiling, while Aunt Madeline offered a polite smile to the young ladies present.

“Ah, Lizzy! You have found excellent company.” Uncle Edward bowed to Miss de Bourgh and Miss Darcy. “I hope we are not interrupting your repose, ladies.”

“Not in the least, Mr Gardiner,” Miss Darcy replied, rising to curtsy. “We are delighted to have you join us. I trust your chambers are to your liking?”

“They are magnificent, Miss Darcy,” Aunt Madeline assured her, claiming a chair by the windows. “The view of the valley is quite spectacular. Much better than the view from our home in Town, and it surpasses the scenery we intended to view in the Lake District, I am certain.”

Miss de Bourgh’s interest was piqued. “You reside in London, Mrs Gardiner, do you not?”

“We do, Miss de Bourgh. Our home is in Gracechurch Street, near Cheapside.”

“I have never been to London,” Miss de Bourgh said wistfully. “My mother insists the city air is detrimental to my constitution. But I have read extensively of the bookshops in Piccadilly and the Strand. I should dearly love to peruse those shelves for myself.”

“It is a reader’s paradise, Miss de Bourgh,” Uncle Edward offered, settling into a sturdy armchair. “There is a particular establishment, Lackington’s Temple of the Muses at Finsbury Square, that would astound you. The volumes are stacked from the floor to the very rafters. They even boast a broad staircase leading to reading rooms and galleries where patrons may browse the shelves.”

Miss de Bourgh’s eyes widened with wonder. “A staircase built for the perusal of literature? It sounds like a dream.”

“It is a highly profitable dream for Mr Lackington,” Uncle Edward chuckled. “And then, of course, there is Hatchards on Piccadilly. A much quieter, more refined atmosphere. A person could lose themselves for days amidst the leather bindings and the scent of printing ink. They procure the most fascinating philosophical texts from the continent.”

“I find philosophy rather dry, but I should love to acquire new novels without waiting for my mother to approve the contents,” Miss de Bourgh murmured. “She reviews every parcel we receive at Rosings and confiscates anything she deems overly stimulating to the nerves. I lost the second volume of The Mysteries of Udolpho to the drawing-room fire last November.”

“A tragedy of the highest order,” Aunt Madeline noted sympathetically. “To be interrupted in the middle of a mystery is a terrible fate. If you ever find yourself in town, you must allow us to serve as your guides. We would ensure you visited every shop you desired, without the slightest rushing, and we would protect your purchases from any unexpected combustions.”

Miss de Bourgh’s eyes shone with gratitude. “That is the kindest offer I have received in years, Mrs Gardiner. I shall hold onto that promise.”

Elizabeth watched her aunt and uncle indulge the sheltered heiress with growing admiration. They treated Miss de Bourgh not as an invalid or an extension of Lady Catherine, but as an intelligent young woman with her own distinct interests. The warmth of the Gardiners smoothed away the last remnants of awkwardness in the room.

The tread of footsteps in the corridor interrupted the pleasant conversation.

Bates, the footman, entered the drawing-room, carrying a tray laden with teacups, a steaming silver teapot, and three plates piled high with assorted biscuits and sweetmeats. He moved as though attempting to balance on a tightrope.

Apollo and Diana raised their heads, shifting their attention from Miss de Bourgh to the approaching tray, emitting a low, synchronised growl.

Bates’s eyes darted towards the beasts, the tray wobbling precariously.

“Down, you big brutes,” Miss de Bourgh commanded, though she made no move to physically restrain them.

The hounds ceased their growling, but their eyes remained fixed on the biscuits.

Bates resumed his slow progression, and he reached the low table situated between the settee and the armchairs. He bent his knees, his spine straight, and attempted to lower the tray without altering its horizontal plane.

He was so close to success. However, as he lowered the tray, its edge caught the table and jolted the nearest plate. A round shortbread biscuit tipped over the rim. It rolled, tumbled off the side, and plummeted to the carpet.

Diana lunged forward, her powerful jaws snapping shut around the fallen pastry. She swallowed it whole, settling back at Miss de Bourgh’s feet, satisfied. Apollo let out a high-pitched, sullen whine, his tail drooping in disappointment at the missed opportunity.

Bates staggered backwards, clutching his chest. “I offer my deepest apologies, ladies! It was an accident! The biscuit was treacherous!”