Page 122 of Honor Requires

By the third day, her patience, never infinite, gave way to resolve.

She dressed after her walk, selecting her gown with more care than the occasion strictly required. It was not a formal call, not in the sense of established acquaintance, but neither was it entirely casual. The balance must be struck with care.

When she fastened the shell necklace at her throat, her fingers lingered upon it for slightly longer than necessary.

If she is there…if it is truly she…

The thought remained unfinished.

Elizabeth descended, informed the butler of her intention, and set out on foot. The distance between Matlock House and Darcy House was slight, but the walk felt longer than it ought, each step carrying with it a growing awareness of what she might encounter.

When she reached the door, she paused only briefly before knocking. A servant answered. Elizabeth presented her card, expecting, if not refusal, then at least hesitation. Instead, she was admitted at once. That, more than anything, surprised her.

She was shown into a parlor of considerable elegance, though it bore the unmistakable marks of neglect. The furnishings were arranged with care, but there was a sense of incompleteness and disregard, the house giving the impression of having gone too long without proper attention.

Elizabeth had scarcely taken in these details when her attention was drawn to those within.

Mr. Hargrave sat near the hearth, Mrs. Younge occupying a chair beside him. And at the pianoforte, her back partially turned, her hands moving lightly over the keys, sat Georgiana Wickham.

Elizabeth’s heart leapt.

The music faltered as she entered.

Mr. Hargrave rose at once, his expression smooth, his manner composed.

“Miss Bennet,” he said, inclining his head. “What a pleasure.”

Elizabeth curtsied, her gaze moving briefly to Mrs. Younge before returning to him.

“Sir.”

Despite Mrs. Younge's smile, no warmth accompanied it.

“Miss Bennet. How unexpected.”

Elizabeth inclined her head, her tone polite but cool.

“Mrs. Younge.”

Mr. Hargrave’s attention lingered upon her, appearing to assess something not immediately visible.

Then, with a lightness that did not quite disguise its intention, he turned to Mrs. Younge and bent to kiss her cheek.

“I must leave you, my dear,” he said. “Business calls.”

Mrs. Younge accepted the gesture with evident satisfaction. Elizabeth found it…odd.

Mr. Hargrave straightened and bowed once more.

“Miss Bennet.”

She returned the acknowledgment, watching as he departed.

Only then did Georgiana rise.

She turned fully, and the years seemed to fall away.

“Miss Bennet,” she said, her voice low but brightening with unmistakable pleasure. “How glad I am to see you.”