Page 70 of The Longbourn Bloodline

“Mr. Darcy. Do come in and sit down before your sister rearranges my father’s books.”

“I was not rearranging,” Georgiana protested. “I was admiring.”

“In this household, the distinction is perilous. My mother once admired a vase so thoroughly she relocated it to three different rooms in a single afternoon.”

Georgiana laughed and dropped into the armchair by the fire, tugging off her gloves with the assurance of a girl who, after two days at Longbourn, had decided she belonged.

“We must congratulate your sister properly,” Georgiana said, her eyes dancing. “Mr. Bingley’s proposal was—well. I have never seen a gentleman drop to one knee with such velocity. I thought he might go straight through the floor.”

“His enthusiasm was certainly commendable,” Elizabeth agreed. “Jane, however, received him with a composure that would have done credit to a duchess. I believe she had been practicing her serene acceptance in the mirror, though she would deny it under oath.”

Georgiana’s laugh was musical, and even Darcy managed a dry chuckle as he settled into the chair opposite the writing desk—her father’s chair, though Elizabeth chose not to mention this.

A thump followed by a plaintive meow landed near Darcy’s boots. Cleo had apparently jumped from her perch atop the bookshelves to greet her favorite gentleman.

“She has missed you,” Elizabeth observed. “She spent four days in the steward’s cottage after you left, you know. Waiting.”

Darcy bent to stroke the cat’s ears. “I did not know cats could be loyal.”

“Cleo has always had excellent judgment.” Elizabeth watched the movement of his fingers through the cat’s fur and the almost-smile at his mouth. Only yesterday he had raced his horse across a frozen field to reach her, and the recollection still kindled a warmth in her chest.

Darcy said nothing, permitting the cat to leap onto the armchair and settle beside him.

“Will Jane be taking her mare to Netherfield?” Georgiana asked as she accepted a cup of tea from Elizabeth.

“You mean old Molly?” Elizabeth poured another cup for Darcy, marveling at the steadiness of her hands. “I suppose she would, as she will need to ride her around the estate for inspections and such. It is one of my failings, not being able to ride, and so I have not inspected the farthest reaches.”

“Oh, but Bingley said he would be hiring a steward so Jane can be a proper mistress of Netherfield.” Georgiana took the plate of Shrewsbury cake offered. “I only wondered because Molly has the look of the Pemberley line of bays, and she has the conformation of my grandfather’s careful breeding.”

“Perhaps Molly was sired by your great-grandfather George’s horse,” Elizabeth began, and felt the words turn strange in her mouth even as she spoke. Great-grandfather George was Darcy’s to speak about. Not a Bennet, but a boy lent in case Thomas left no heir. A boy who had agreed to take the Bennet surname should it have been needed.

Darcy took the mention in stride, his expression barely changing as he sipped his tea, but color rose to Georgiana’s cheeks. “I knew it when I saw Molly. The other horses are grey, but the way she holds up her head, and her perfectly straight knees. From her high-neck carriage, she appears to be a warmblood rather than the usual stock or hunter.”

“I would suppose several generations would have passed since George’s horse stayed at Longbourn,” Darcy said. “He left a hundred years ago.”

“Yes, and Widow Pratt says he never returned.” Georgiana’s face lit with curiosity. “Brother, did you know that Elizabeth’s great-something-aunt Alice fell in love with George Darcy?”

“I am aware.” Darcy shifted uneasily in his chair. “Although I am sure Miss Elizabeth is not taking tea with us to talk about our ancestors.”

“But if he left his horse, wouldn’t that have been romantic?” Georgiana clearly believed romance was the only reason for taking tea.

“Many things can be interpreted as romantic.” Darcy regarded his sister with an almost fatherly affection. “However, George never returned to Longbourn, and here our story ends.”

“Maybe not.” Georgiana’s eyes brightened. “Elizabeth found a miniature of a baby boy labeled George among her great-something-grandmother Philippa’s things.”

“Indeed.” Darcy’s gaze shifted to Elizabeth and the open improvement journal where she had been copying Philippa’s receipts, and the pink ribbon she used to mark her place. “Is this the source of your sudden interest in cordials, tinctures, and preserves?”

“I only wondered about this Darcy boy who had spent time here at Longbourn,” Elizabeth explained, not sure why she was uneasy. Was Darcy uncomfortable with their discussing his ancestor? “However, as he returned to his proper place in Pemberley, I suppose we Bennets have come to view Alice’s life as suspended in the silence of faded ink.”

“Miss Alice Bennet appears in George Darcy’s journal,” Darcy said, setting his teacup down. “He truly did miss her, but duty called. I believe he regrets not ever returning, but he married his elder brother’s betrothed and continued the Darcy line.”

“I am named for him,” Georgiana said. “Brother, since we are inside the Longbourn library, perhaps our George left something behind. A favorite book or a note he wrote in the margins.”

“You are looking for a love note,” Elizabeth said, smiling at Darcy’s sister’s curiosity. “I daresay my father has combed every inch of this library and enjoyed every love note he found. He would not mention them to my mother though, not wishing to stimulate her nerves.”

“I have no doubt of your father’s sagacity,” Darcy replied dryly, but Georgiana was already on her feet, moving a stepstool toward the shelves.

“Our library at Pemberley has over thirty thousand volumes,” she said, examining the shelves starting at the far wall. “I believe you must have at least five thousand here.”