Page 15

"I hope Richard has not made you regret your visit," Saye said. "His enthusiasm can be trying to those who have not been obliged to endure it from the cradle."

"On the contrary," Elizabeth replied. "I believe he has made me laugh more in two days than I have in two months."

"I am glad of it." Saye hesitated before continuing. "My parents have been very happy since you came. Father speaks of your courage on the road, but I think he values your letters nearly as much. They have given him another person willing to tell him when he is wrong."

"I would never presume to do so without good reason," Elizabeth said solemnly.

"Of course not. I shall be relieved to discover that Father is wrong so infrequently."

She smiled, but his next words were gentler. He had heard from his mother that Elizabeth had lost her parents and lived at Longbourn with her uncle's family. He did not ask to hear her sorrows or offer the sort of consolation that left the bereaved person obliged to reassure everyone else.

"I travel too often to be excellent company," Saye said, "but when I am here, I hope you will ask for anything that makes your stay easier. It is not a great favour to be comfortable in a house where one has been invited."

"I have been comfortable," Elizabeth answered. "More than I expected."

"Then we must take care not to spoil the achievement." He glanced toward the music room, where Richard was loudly disputing the selection of a duet. "My brother is already doing his utmost."

For the rest of the visit, Saye's duties frequently claimed him, yet he found moments to inquire after Elizabeth's reading or ask whether the paths she favoured had been cleared after rain. One evening he brought her a slim volume of travels from his own shelves, having remembered a passing remark about her father's voyages. Richard insisted that the gift proved Saye was trying to purchase her loyalty before the next game of chess. Saye merely suggested that a book was a more promising investment than Richard's confidence.

On the last morning before he returned to his estate, Saye found Elizabeth in the long gallery studying a portrait whose subject had managed to look disapproving for two generations.

"That is our grandfather," he said. "He disliked noise. Richard considers it his duty to correct the old gentleman's influence upon the house."

"And you?"

"I hope to make myself agreeable to the tenants and tolerable to my relations. It occupies most of my time."

He held out a narrow parcel. Inside was a small notebook with good blank paper and a cover the colour of pine needles. On the first page he had written the names of several trees Elizabeth had asked about during their walk. The final entry was left unfinished, with a question mark after it.

"You disagreed with my identification of that last tree," he said. "I have not yet found proof that you were wrong. I thought you might enjoy the opportunity to settle the matter."

Elizabeth ran her finger over the empty line. Richard made extravagant promises and remembered them only if they were sufficiently amusing. Saye, it seemed, remembered a question she had asked once while they were crossing a wet lawn.

"I shall find it," she promised.

"I have no doubt." He bowed as gravely as he might have bowed to a lady of twice her age. On the stairs, he paused to tell a servant that the fire in the gallery should be kept up while their young guest remained. Elizabeth did not hear him. She discovered the warmth on her next visit, when rain pressed against the windows and the notebook lay open upon her knees.

Elizabeth placed the volume beside Lord Matlock's essays in her guest chamber. She was beginning to know the younger brother's cheerful mockery and the elder's unobtrusive kindness, and the memory of their affection pleased her. It seemed extraordinary that a house so grand could contain brothers who behaved, in the best respects, like the boys of any affectionate family.

She also met Fitzwilliam Darcy, the Earl's nephew, who happened to be visiting with his younger sister. Darcy was tall, reserved, and careful in his manner, although Elizabeth noticed that Georgiana spoke to him with complete trust. Georgiana was shy, but when Elizabeth asked about her music, she became animated enough to describe a piece she was learning.

"Will you play it for me?" Elizabeth asked.

"Perhaps tomorrow," Georgiana answered.

"Then I shall look forward to tomorrow."

Darcy regarded Elizabeth with mild surprise, as though he had not expected a young visitor to understand that his sister required patience rather than excessive compliments.

At dinner he asked where she had learned German. Elizabeth explained that her mother had taught her from infancy.

"It is a considerable accomplishment," he observed.

"My mother never called it an accomplishment," Elizabeth replied. "It was simply the language in which she told me stories."

"Then you are fortunate to possess such memories."

His reply was quiet and sincere. Elizabeth, who had expected him to be excessively solemn, found herself reconsidering him.