Page 118 of Near Pemberley

“Yes?”

“Miss Lydia has shown unexpected forbearance. She is not compromised… in the physical sense. In a place like that, it was a miracle.” Darcy wiped his forehead.

“I-I did ask her this morning. Did you know she made Wickham sleep on the settee? She would not have it any other way.” She smiled bravely. But then added. “Not that it makes any difference in the eyes of the world.”

“No, unfortunately, it does not. But even more, you understand why this must not be discussed. I did not even want you to know.”

“Thank you for telling me, though. I know it must have cost you.”

“I suspect secrecy becomes difficult when you are involved.”

Elizabeth raised her eyebrow. “A dangerous admission, that.”

“I am still not afraid of you.”

Elizabeth had to smile at that.

She looked around, taking in the not-so-small garden. She looked back towards the conservatory windows. Through the glass, she could just make out Lydia and Georgiana seated together. Lydia was laughing at something. The sound was faint, but unmistakable.

A few weeks ago, Elizabeth would have given almost anything merely to hear that laugh again.

“Thank you,” she said quietly.

Darcy glanced at her. “For finding her?”

“For everything.”

He was silent for a moment. Then he shook his head.

Elizabeth frowned. “What do you mean?”

His gaze rested briefly upon the conservatory. “I found her by chance. The rest…” He hesitated. “The rest was simply what any decent man ought to have done.”

Elizabeth looked at him for a long moment.

It seemed Mr. Darcy possessed the rarest of qualities: he never appeared to notice the goodness of his own actions.

Chapter XXV

Darcy was still thinking of Elizabeth’s visit when Bingley appeared at the door of his study later that day. He was still under the influence of that dangerous and thoroughly distracting monosyllable.

The afternoon ought to have been spent on business. Several letters remained unanswered upon his desk, and the estate report from Pemberley lay open before him. He had attempted to read it twice and succeeded neither time.

His thoughts returned, with remarkable persistence, to the garden. To Elizabeth, standing beside him beneath the autumn sky. To her smile when Georgiana had innocently revealed the existence of the cake. To the astonishment on her face when he admitted receiving her letter. Most of all, he found himself remembering the simple word she had spoken when he asked whether he would have been favourably received at Longbourn.

Yes.

The memory was absurdly capable of improving his spirits.

More than once, he had caught himself looking like a fool at nothing in particular. Had Richard been present, he would have shown no mercy whatsoever.

Darcy closed the estate report and pushed it aside.

“Darcy!”

He had rehearsed the conversation three different ways, disliked all three, and abandoned every one of them the instant Bingley walked through the door.

Bingley entered with his usual warmth and extended a hand. “You might have mentioned in your letter that the matter was not one of life and death. I have spent half the journey imagining murders, bankruptcies, and at least one duel. I even packed a large purse of coins.”