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“She would be more pleased if I sought out an heiress, but we cannot all arrange our travels so conveniently.” Byron smiled, and Elizabeth caught the flash of the old charm, the easy wit that had made him such agreeable company at assemblies. “Mr. Darcy, Mrs. Darcy—I wonder if I might impose upon your hospitality. Might I have your permission to call upon my cousin tomorrow? I should not wish to intrude upon your household, but family obligations compel me to at least attempt a visit.”
Elizabeth felt Darcy’s arm stiffen beneath her hand. Not dramatically—a tensing so subtle that only a woman whose body had been pressed against his six hours ago would have detected it. His expression remained composed, courteous, and absolutely impenetrable—Mr. Darcy of Pemberley receiving a request from a gentleman he would rather pitch headlong into the Derwent.
“You are welcome to call, Mr. Lefevre. Shall we expect you at four o’clock? That will give Miss Lucas time to prepare for your visit.”
“You are very good, sir. Until tomorrow, then.” Lefevre bowed to Elizabeth, bowed to Charlotte, tipped his hat to Darcy. “I am most grateful for your generosity. Mr. Darcy. Mrs. Darcy. Cousin.”
He departed with a final nod, though Elizabeth’s cheeks warmed uncomfortably under the persistence of his gaze.
Charlotte watched him go with fond exasperation. “He has always had more charm than timing.”
Elizabeth turned to Darcy, whose jaw was set in a line that spoke of considerable self-mastery. His eyes met hers, and she saw the old uncertainty lurking at the edges. She rose on her toes and pressed a kiss to his cheek, quite in view of anyone who cared to look.
“Let us go home,” she said. “I find I have had quite enough of society for one morning.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
A QUESTION OF CHOICE
Darcy could not recall a carriage whose arrival he had awaited with greater impatience. The family equipage had been dispatched to Derby the previous day to collect his sister and her party; yet, for all Richard’s assurances that Georgiana was unscathed, the echo of her frantic letter pressed upon his thoughts with the persistence of a headache.
She had declared she must marry immediately.
Elizabeth had dismissed it as a younger sister’s mischief, but Darcy’s experience of the world—and of gentlemen who preyed upon heiresses—left little room for charity. The mere thought that a man of the cloth might have targeted his impressionable, vulnerable sister filled him with a dark, violent urge to throttle James Ashworth rather than offer him the hospitality of Pemberley. He could only pray Richard was right—that the young scoundrel had been abandoned on the road, because God help him if he lurked anywhere in the vicinity.
Elizabeth found him pacing the entrance hall.
“Dearest, you have been brooding since I finished my tea,” she said, settling her hand on his arm. “If the carriage does not appear within the next five minutes, you will wear a groove in the flagstones.”
“I came to inspect the entrance. The brass work requires attention.”
“The brass was polished this morning. Hannah supervised it personally, and her cap remained perpendicular throughout, which I understand is a household record.”
“You are to have a proper lady’s maid,” he said. “If our spring lambing yields what Miller anticipates, and we clear the lower pastures, I intend to—”
“Hannah suits me perfectly, Fitzwilliam. I have no desire for a towering French abstraction who spends half her day powdering her nose.” She paused, offering a soft, appeasing smile. “Though, now that my quarterly interest has arrived, I suppose I might agree to engage an additional kitchen maid or two if the establishment requires it.”
“Pemberley’s staff must be supported by Pemberley’s revenues,” he countered instantly, his tone firm. “Your private funds are your own. While I accept your generosity regarding the estate, I will not have your personal fortune bled to cover ordinary household maintenance.”
“Very well, Mr. Tyrant,” she murmured with a dry, teasing lift of her brow. “Then I shall confer directly with Mr. Miller this afternoon to examine the account ledgers and discover precisely how we may juggle the accounts without offending your aristocratic sensibilities.”
The sharp clatter of hooves forestalled any further discussion. Darcy’s head snapped toward the tall arched windows, where Colonel Fitzwilliam’s scarlet coat flashed through the sycamores as he cantered ahead of the mud-splattered conveyance.
The yellow-paneled carriage ground to a halt with a groan of fatigued springs. Before the footman could even drop the folding iron steps, the colonel dismounted and handed his mount to a waiting groom.
“Cousin!” Richard hailed, unceremoniously dusting mud from his cuffs as he strode up the steps. “She is well. Tired, romantic, and convinced that I am a tyrant for insisting she eat breakfast before writing love letters, but well.”
“Thank you, Richard.”
“Do not thank me yet. We have matters to discuss.” He bowed smartly to Elizabeth, and she curtsied. Then his eyes caught Miss Charlotte Lucas standing slightly apart on the stone terrace.
“Charlotte, allow me to present Colonel Fitzwilliam to you,” Elizabeth said. “You might have seen him at the wedding, as he is the only member of my husband’s family to grace us with his presence.”
“Pleased to meet you, Colonel,” Charlotte curtsied, her grey eyes assessing him with swift, intelligent calm. “Mr. and Mrs. Darcy have graciously included me in their household, and I am heartened to find that Miss Darcy has been restored to her family unharmed.”
“Miss Lucas is like a sister to me,” Elizabeth added with a fond smile.
Richard bowed again, warmth touching his tired features. “Then Miss Georgiana is exceptionally fortunate, Miss Lucas. Being guided by two such discerning and sensible minds will be a welcome anchor after her recent tempestuous travels. I take great pleasure in leaving her in such capable hands.”
