Page 65 of The Longbourn Bloodline

At the name Darcy, Georgiana emitted a small “oh.”

“My grandmother knew them,” Mrs. Pratt said, pouring tea and cutting slices of hearty bread. “I thought about Alice and that boy since the last time we spoke about them. She carried a letter in her pocket. It was old and worn, but she would unfold it and read it.”

Georgiana’s eyes brightened. “Was the letter from the Darcy boy?”

“I do not know,” Mrs. Pratt said. “I was quite young. I only observed her sitting on a stile, her legs swinging, as she read the letter. Her lips moving, calling for him. His name was George, wasn’t it?”

“Yes, George.” Elizabeth drew the miniature from her pocket—the infant with dark eyes and strong brows. “I wonder if you might look at this. We found it in the attic, among Philippa’s things.”

The old woman took the miniature in both hands and held it close to the firelight. Her face softened. “Oh, a baby boy. The people at the big house have these miniatures painted. It looks quite old.”

“When do you think it was painted?” Elizabeth asked.

Georgiana leaned forward, her brow furrowed. “May I see?”

Elizabeth handed her the miniature. Georgiana studied it carefully and then turned it over.

“There is no date,” she said. “No painter’s inscription. Every miniature in our family has the date and the artist’s name on the reverse. Grandmamma insisted upon it, and Father continued the practice. Even the infant portraits.” She looked up, a small smile breaking through. “You should see the one of Fitzwilliam at six months. Those eyebrows—as though a baby could scowl.”

Elizabeth laughed, the image too perfect, tiny Darcy, already disapproving of the world from his christening blanket. “I should very much like to see that.”

“I shall show you when you visit Pemberley,” Georgiana said it easily, naturally, as though Elizabeth’s eventual presence at Pemberley was a settled matter. “We have an entire gallery of family portraits. Perhaps you could compare this miniature with others from the same period and see whether the artist’s hand matches any we have.”

“That is an excellent idea, Miss Darcy.”

“Georgiana, please, or Georgie.” The younger girl’s smile was warm. “If you are to be my sister, and I very much hope you are, we should not stand on ceremony.”

Elizabeth felt something loosen in her chest—a knot she had not known she was carrying. “Then you must call me Elizabeth. Or Lizzy, if you prefer. My family does.”

“Lizzy.” Georgiana tested the name. “I like that. It suits you.”

Widow Pratt, who had been watching this exchange with bright, knowing eyes, cleared her throat gently. “More tea, ladies? And I should tell you if you’re interested in the old stillroom knowledge, I learned a thing or two from my grandmother. Miss Alice used to share her receipts with the tenants, you know. Perhaps Miss Darcy would like to see my herb garden in the spring? It’s nothing much in winter, but come May⁠—”

“I should love that.” Georgiana’s enthusiasm was invigorating. “I have always wanted to learn more about herbal medicine and making salves, ointments, and syrups. At Pemberley, the housekeeper manages such things, and she is very territorial about her stillroom.”

“Then you must come back,” Widow Pratt said firmly. “Both of you. And bring that brother of yours. He was kind to me before he left, you know. Brought me a goose himself, walked all the way from the cottage. A good man, that one. You could do worse, Miss Lizzy.”

Elizabeth felt heat rise in her cheeks. “Mrs. Pratt⁠—”

“Oh, I have eyes, child. I saw how you ran to that carriage last night. The whole neighborhood is talking of it.” The old woman’s smile was knowing. “But I’ll say no more. Some things are best discovered in their own time.”

“I suspect Miss Lizzy is of the impatient variety,” Georgiana said brightly. “Her race to the carriage being a character study by itself.”

Mrs. Pratt bade them farewell, tucking slices of bread into their hands, and Elizabeth walked back to Longbourn with Georgiana’s arm linked through hers.

“I like her,” Georgiana said. “Mrs. Pratt. She reminds me of the older tenants at Pemberley, the ones who remember my father, who tell stories about the family that no one else knows.”

“She has been a good friend to me since I began managing the estate in earnest.”

“You do it well.” Georgiana’s voice was thoughtful. “The estate, I mean. Fitzwilliam told me about the improvements you implemented: the sluice gate design, the tenant negotiations, and the reorganization of the accounts. He was quite impressed.”

“Was he?” Elizabeth felt a smile bloom, quiet and inward. Trust Darcy to admire her management rather than her eyes or her complexion.

“He said you had better instincts than most land agents he has worked with.” Georgiana glanced at her sidelong. “Coming from my brother, that is high praise indeed. He does not give compliments lightly.”

“I have noticed.”

They walked in silence for a moment, the bare trees stark against the winter sky, the Longbourn chimneys visible now above the hedgerow.