Page 69 of The Longbourn Bloodline

“It was well before your time, Darcy.” Bingley, always easy to forgive, clapped his shoulder. “I tell you this because I am rather partial to my great-grandmother who married a hardworking tradesman who cherished her. I believe they were happy together despite the loss of her dowry and her family name.”

Darcy did not know what to say. It mattered to Bingley that he believed the story, but if true, it meant his family erased inconvenient daughters, which rather put a new light on the tradition that they only birthed sons.

It being late, Darcy and Bingley mounted their horses to return to Longbourn. The ride was quiet now, companionable in the way of two men who had said what needed saying and could leave the rest unspoken. As they crested the gentle rise above the Longbourn lane, Darcy saw them.

Two graceful female figures crossed the frozen field from the direction of the tenant cottages. They walked arm in arm, swinging an empty basket. Elizabeth’s head was tilted toward Georgiana’s, either listening to a story or sharing a confidence.

Georgiana’s laughter floated through the air, and a sharp pang turned in Darcy’s chest. The two women he loved most in the world were walking together like old friends, and yet, here he was reproaching himself for his guardedness even from Bingley, his closest friend.

He could not tell if they saw him, perched atop the ridge in the uncertain winter light. The field stretched wide between them. He raised his hand in a small, private salute, but they continued on, absorbed in their own easy companionship.

Bingley wasn’t watching Elizabeth and Georgiana. His gaze turned to Jane’s distant figure at the Longbourn gate, where she had come out to meet them.

“Come on, then.” Bingley gathered his reins, his voice carrying no residue of injury. “Let us go and face Mr. Bennet. Shall we race?”

Grinning like a schoolboy, he flicked his wrists and his grey lunged forward into a gallop over the open field. Darcy, not wishing to make a spectacle of himself, yet unwilling to concede, gave the bay a sharp, firm nudge and urged his mount into a thundering, full-stretch gallop.

The wind bit his face, cold and sharp, but Darcy didn’t blink. Ahead, Elizabeth and Georgiana had stopped at the sound of rushed hoofbeats. Elizabeth’s hand rose to shade her eyes against the glare of the setting sun. Darcy saw the moment she recognized him—a sudden, sharp stillness. He did not slow. Propriety and the dignity of his name could wait; all that mattered was reaching her first.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

UNFINISHED HISTORY

Elizabeth’s laughter escaped her as she made her way to the library after breakfast. The spectacle of Darcy and Bingley vying to corner Mr. Bennet had been worthy of a wager at Tattersall’s, with Bingley snatching victory by a nose. Darcy, detained by Georgiana’s inquiries, was left in the dust while Bingley spirited Mr. Bennet into his study.

There was no getting through the phalanx of Mrs. Bennet and her girls when she was sure an offer of marriage was pending. That Darcy, perhaps, had meant to speak to her father about something other than drainage, the fallen tree, and needing a steward to oversee the mill repair and spring planting, did not pass Mrs. Bennet’s single-minded determination to lock down Bingley for Jane.

And so, the evening passed with Darcy subdued, Jane and Bingley duly celebrated, for no sooner had Bingley emerged from Mr. Bennet’s study with his permission for courtship, than did that ebullient gentleman drop to one knee in front of his dear Miss Bennet and propose marriage.

Jane accepted with her usual grace, while Mary and Kitty propped up their mother, and Georgiana cast her brother a look that suggested he ought to follow Bingley’s example without delay. Elizabeth, for her part, was perfectly content—her happiness for Jane unalloyed. Not even Mary ventured to mention the impending change of name, as Bingley declared his intention to purchase Netherfield Park, thus ensuring Jane would be only three miles from home. The celebration, in true Bennet fashion, was more loquacious than sensible, stretching past midnight with toasts, Mary’s dutiful performance at the piano, and a spirited game of charades, which Mrs. Bennet used chiefly to hint at wedding attire and guest lists.

So it was that the next morning found the entire household abed, save Elizabeth. She breakfasted alone, then slipped her pink improvement journal under her arm and retreated to the library, careful not to disturb Jane’s blissful repose. Her sister slept on, a smile lingering about her lips. Elizabeth, meanwhile, had receipts to record and a scheme brewing: Widow Pratt might yet earn her living by presiding over the Longbourn stillroom, selling cordials, preserves, salves, and medicinal herbs for every common ailment.

Elizabeth studied one of Philippa’s receipts—a cordial of elderflower and lemon balm with marginal notes in faded brown ink advising three spoonfuls for melancholy, five for a husband. The ingredients themselves were manageable, although Longbourn’s hothouses would have to be repaired to allow lemon trees to survive the cold and damp winters. Perhaps elderberry cordials with a few drops of honey could serve as the basis for a cough syrup, and of course, all ladies required red-tinted lip balm in the wintry months. She estimated the costs of ingredients and a partnership with Mrs. Foster, who drove her own donkey gig of baked goods to Meryton for sale on the high street every Wednesday.

A tentative footstep paired with Georgiana’s delightful giggle brought a smile to her face. The Netherfield party was no doubt eager to call, as well as the entire neighborhood to view the soon-to-be bride. Hill would have spoken to Reed, the Lucases’ maid of all work, who would have gone to Meryton and… well, there would be no peace in Longbourn until the beautiful heiress married the charming prince of wool from Yorkshire.

A measured knock sounded on the door, and Hill announced, “Mr. Darcy and Miss Darcy here to call on Miss Elizabeth. Shall I bring tea to the drawing room?”

“Since my father is still abed, perhaps we can take tea here.” Elizabeth lifted her quill from the inkwell.

Hill nodded and withdrew, and a moment later the library door opened wider to admit the two Darcys. Georgiana swept in first, still wearing her riding habit and gloves, her cheeks bright from the cold.

“Elizabeth, for I may call you Elizabeth, is that right?” She turned to Darcy with an almost reproving expression that he had not proposed, and Elizabeth suppressed a smile at the visage he presented, a slight tension but gaze steady on her.

“Yes, Miss Darcy, you may indeed call me Lizzy. I rather believe you have already taken the liberty yesterday while we visited the home cottages.”

“I did, indeed. I hope you do not mind that Brother and I rode our horses instead of taking the carriage. I wished to experience riding where the paths are unkempt with a rustic wilderness about.”

“Is this a way of implying that our grounds are not as manicured as Pemberley?” Elizabeth asked with a hint of humor. “Because I can assure you, our grounds are as undisciplined as this library is organized.”

“Oh, it is wonderful.” She clasped her hands together. “At Pemberley, the library is arranged by a method my grandfather devised, and only the male Darcys understand. My brother claims it follows a rational principle. Still, I suspect it follows no principle except that the first Mr. Darcy who assembled the collection placed each volume wherever he happened to be standing when he finished reading it. Every subsequent Darcy has been too proud to admit the system is nonsense.”

“Our system is simpler,” Elizabeth said. “We have no system whatsoever. My father knows where everything is through a process he describes as instinct, and I describe as chance.”

Darcy entered behind his sister. He filled the doorway in a way that ought not to have affected the room’s proportions but somehow did—the library contracting, the bookshelves drawing closer, and the space between the writing desk and the fireplace suddenly insufficient. He wore his dark-blue coat, the brass-buttoned one, and his gaze found Elizabeth before the rest of him had quite finished arriving.

“Good morning, Miss Elizabeth.”