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“Brace yourself,” Darcy murmured as they rose to depart. “Lady Cathcart will intercept us before we reach the door, and Mrs. Duntze will not be far behind.”

His prediction proved accurate as a proud-looking woman led her husband, a portly gentleman whose waistcoat was too fashionably tight, over as soon as they emerged into the churchyard.

She took Elizabeth’s hand and examined her with the frank appraisal of a woman who considered assessing newcomers her civic responsibility.

“Mrs. Darcy! Such a pleasure. We have been in agonies of anticipation. Darcy, you wretch, you might have warned us—three weeks’ notice and not a word until the banns were read. Well, she is lovely, and I shall forgive you, but only because I intend to dine with you both before the month is out and extract every detail over the port.”

“Lady Cathcart, you are too kind,” Darcy said, which, Elizabeth suspected, was not entirely what he meant.

“And this is—?” Lady Cathcart’s gaze had already traveled to Charlotte with the velocity of a hawk spotting secondary prey.

“Miss Charlotte Lucas, of Lucas Lodge in Hertfordshire. My oldest and dearest friend.”

“How delightful. Another Hertfordshire import. We shall have a colony before long.” Lady Cathcart smiled with the warmth of a woman who was storing every detail for later deployment. Her husband, beside her, was introduced as Sir Robert Cathcart. He grunted a greeting to Darcy and bowed to Elizabeth and Charlotte—a man of few words, quite unlike Charlotte’s father, who mentioned St. James’s Palace, where he was knighted, with constant enthusiasm.

Mrs. Duntze arrived before the grande dame could formulate her next inquiry, bearing down upon them with the eager determination of a woman who smelled fresh intelligence. “Mrs. Darcy, we simply could not rest until we had welcomed you. Such a whirlwind romance, we gather. Do tell us—was it love at first sight?”

“I fear our meeting was rather less romantic than that.” Elizabeth extracted her hands with diplomatic firmness. “Mr. Darcy and I were introduced at an assembly in Hertfordshire, and our acquaintance developed through the usual channels of neighborhood society.”

“An assembly! How charming. And you were struck immediately by his—” Mrs. Duntze cast a significant glance at Darcy. “—many excellent qualities?”

“I was struck by his dancing,” Elizabeth replied. “Or rather, by his decided disinclination to dance with anyone to whom he had not been introduced. It made quite an impression.”

Darcy made a sound beside her, like a cough or suppressed laughter. Mrs. Duntze blinked, unsure how to interpret the sound, and Lady Cathcart’s lips twitched with what seemed like honest amusement.

“You must come to the rectory for tea,” Mrs. Duntze pressed on, undeterred. “My daughter Prue would so enjoy meeting you—though she is currently visiting her cousins in Bath, such a disappointment—but when she returns, we must arrange a gathering. The young people of the neighborhood are so few, and a new face is always welcome.”

“You are most kind.” Elizabeth began edging toward the church door, Darcy’s hand still warm against her back. “I look forward to making Miss Duntze’s acquaintance when she returns.”

They escaped into the churchyard, Charlotte trailing with quiet amusement, and Elizabeth released a breath. “That was not so dreadful as I feared.”

“The interrogation has only begun.” Darcy guided her toward the waiting carriage. “Lady Cathcart will call within the week, and Mrs. Duntze will arrive bearing seed cake and an exhaustive list of questions. You have merely survived the opening skirmish.”

“Then I shall fortify myself with tea and practice my deflections.” Elizabeth paused as they reached the carriage step. “Though I confess, I rather enjoyed telling Mrs. Duntze about your dancing. Her expression was most gratifying.”

“You are a wicked creature.”

“I am your wife. The two conditions are not mutually exclusive.”

She was about to take Darcy’s hand into the carriage when Charlotte stopped abruptly beside her and pointed toward the rest of the congregation exiting the church.

“Lizzy, is that—good heavens. It’s Byron!”

Elizabeth’s heart lurched as she turned, spotting her erstwhile friend and dancing partner approaching through the churchyard with purposeful strides. Byron Lefevre—a poet turned law student whose conversation had been effortless, even in the turns of a country dance—looked much as she remembered him from the Hertfordshire autumn: tall, dark-haired, with an easy confidence that bordered on presumption but never quite crossed the line.

She had enjoyed his company with the uncomplicated pleasure of a woman without a dowry with a young gentleman without two pennies to rub together—which meant theirs was a friendship without expectations.

Byron drew up before their party and bowed, his manners faultless. “Mr. Darcy. What an unexpected pleasure to encounter you in Derbyshire.”

Darcy inclined his head, his expression settling into remote formality. “Mr. Lefevre. I had not realized you were traveling in this part of the country.”

“A recent decision. My studies do not commence until next month, and I found myself in town and at liberty.” Byron’s gaze moved to Elizabeth, and he bowed again. “Mrs. Darcy. I must offer my sincerest congratulations on your marriage. I confess the news reached Ireland with remarkable speed, and I was most surprised to learn of it. I wish you every happiness.”

“Thank you, Mr. Lefevre.” Elizabeth kept her voice pleasant, her hand tucked firmly through Darcy’s arm. “You are very kind.”

“Not kind. Merely honest.” His eyes lingered on her face longer than they should have before he turned to Charlotte. “Cousin. I hope I find you well. My aunt wrote that you had traveled to Derbyshire to attend Mrs. Darcy, and when I found myself in the vicinity, I could not resist the opportunity to pay my respects.”

“I am well and very comfortable.” Charlotte clasped his hands with warmth. “Thank you for inquiring. Your mother will be pleased to know you troubled yourself to seek me out.”