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“Then I hope we shall hear it.”
“You shall; it is the E-flat major number 52.” Georgiana smoothed her skirts and moved to the pianoforte. Her fingerwork was fast and accurate, and the feeling she put into it showed an interpretation beyond her modest number of years. The Haydn was followed by a sprightly Mozart that lightened Darcy’s heart considerably despite the shadow of Georgiana’s demand for an immediate marriage.
Darcy’s attention was divided: one ear for the music, the other for Lefevre, who lounged with his tea and appeared absorbed in the performance, though his gaze strayed to Elizabeth with a frequency that did not escape notice.
“Your sister is remarkably talented,” Lefevre said, leaning toward Elizabeth as the sonata’s final notes faded. “You must be very proud.”
“My husband is the proud one.” Elizabeth’s smile was directed at Darcy, warm, private, and entirely for him. “I am merely grateful.”
“I am certain you are being modest, Mrs. Darcy.”
“I leave modesty to those who can afford it,” Elizabeth retorted smoothly, serving him a view of her profile. She rested her hand on the arm of Darcy’s chair.
Darcy seethed, but he would not give Charlotte’s insolent cousin the satisfaction of sitting in his drawing room, speaking to his wife, and stroking her vanity.
Charlotte, perhaps sensing the tension, cleverly steered the conversation to garden walks, from daffodils to primroses, and the peace of the lakeside pavilions.
“I should love a tour of the grounds,” Mr. Lefevre said. “Perhaps Miss Darcy might show me her favorite childhood places? Every garden has its delights and secret nooks.”
“I loved the hothouse,” Georgiana said, collecting her music books from the pianoforte. “When I was a small child, we had strawberries for dessert every day. My mother, Lady Anne, tended orchids—so rare that they are truly one of a kind. I cannot wait to see it restored.”
“Do you mean to say the hothouse has fallen into disuse?” Lefevre turned sharply toward Darcy, a slow, mocking smile spreading across his face. “Surely, with such rare beauty gracing the drawing room, Mr. Darcy requires the finest exotic blossoms to match. It would appear the responsibilities of bachelorhood have left certain domestic treasures somewhat neglected.”
“My brother has had to make do whatever the under-gardeners can manage,” Georgiana agreed candidly. “But now that Brother has married, Pemberley will be restored to what it once was. Elizabeth’s fortune will make everything right again.”
Darcy felt the color drain from his face and then rush back with a heat that climbed from his collar to his hairline.
Elizabeth, to her eternal credit, did not flinch.
“My husband’s plans for Pemberley are ambitious,” she said smoothly, her voice carrying the same easy warmth it had maintained throughout the conversation. “I am merely pleased to contribute what I can to their realization. Charlotte, have you shown Mr. Lefevre the jeweled globes in the gallery? The terrestrial and celestial pair are quite a marvel of cartography.”
Charlotte caught the cue instantly. “Byron, I do believe we have been remiss with family news. My mother would beg for details on your latest foray into getting your poetry published. Shall we continue with dinner? Perhaps at the inn you are staying?”
Mr. Lefevre stood and bowed slightly to the Darcys. “It appears my cousin wishes to inquire about family news. I thank you for taking my call, and especially, Miss Darcy,” he caught Georgiana’s eye, “a preview of your talents.”
Darcy’s hands tightened, but Mr. Lefevre was already retreating with Charlotte. Georgiana and Mrs. Annesley, claiming they needed refreshing before dinner, departed soon after, and Colonel Fitzwilliam remained behind, staring intently at the Plutarch he paged through at prodigious speed.
“You are brooding,” Elizabeth said, and he turned to find her standing in the drawing-room doorway. “Your jaw has that particular set it gets when you are composing lectures you do not intend to deliver.”
“I have no words,” he said slowly, rising from his chair. “Other than to know how you remain so calm in the face of such insolence.”
“He is Charlotte’s cousin.” She walked into the corridor and headed for the staircase.
Darcy followed, unable to comprehend her forbearance, especially since she had never spared him her disapproval. “A misfortune I am certain poor Charlotte bears with Christian fortitude, though it scarcely excuses his total lack of breeding.”
“Then he is a man of excellent taste.” She closed the distance between them, her fingertips brushing the rigid line of his jaw. “And no threat to you whatsoever. I chose you, Fitzwilliam. I continue to choose you. A charming cousin of Charlotte’s cannot alter that, no matter how many times he smiles at me across your drawing room.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
TWO UNCLES
“Oh, Mrs. Darcy, may I call you Lizzy like a true sister?” Georgiana clasped Elizabeth’s hand as she guided her down the second-floor gallery. “You cannot imagine what it is to finally possess a sister, for Brother tells me you grew up with four. Imagine that, it must have been so diverting.”
Elizabeth would not have described it so, but she smiled at the voluble young lady, as animated as her two youngest sisters on a promenade with officers, and glowing brighter than Jane upon receiving a bouquet from Bingley. This impromptu visit to Pemberley, undertaken without her guardians’ express sanction, was as naughty as anything Lydia had ever dared, though executed with vastly superior resources, including a private carriage and a paid companion.
No matter how straitened Darcy’s financial ledger, he plainly provided his sister with every luxury and protection. That security, no doubt, was why Georgiana spent her winters under the formal eye of Lord and Lady Matlock in London, rather than being left alone to rattle about the grand, echoing halls of Derbyshire.
“My bedchamber is in this direction.” Georgiana practically pulled her down the corridor. “Closest to my mother’s, and oh, it must be yours by now. My mother had them hung with the most delicate robin’s egg blue silk, and neither my father nor my brother has displaced a single stitch of it since.”
