Page 28 of Unwillingly Mrs. Darcy
“Mrs Darcy,” he said softly, and Elizabeth started, spinning to face him.
“Oh!” she said, her voice tinged with both surprise and self-conscious amusement. “I did not hear you approach. Please, do not call me that—not while we’re alone.”
He inclined his head, smiling faintly. “Elizabeth, then. May I join you?”
She hesitated for a moment, searching his face, then said, “If you wish.”
They fell into step together, the path wide enough to accommodate a comfortable distance between them. The rustling of leaves overhead and the distant twitter of birdsong filled the pauses in their conversation. For a time, neitherspoke, but it was not an uncomfortable silence—more a mutual weighing of how to begin.
At last, Darcy glanced at her. “You seem preoccupied. I hope this morning’s service was not too tiresome.”
Elizabeth sighed, her gaze fixed on the path ahead. “The service was bearable. It is everything surrounding it that weighs upon me.”
Darcy frowned, his steps faltering slightly. “What do you mean?”
She stopped and turned towards him. “My sisters. My father. Their future, uncertain as it is, preoccupies me constantly. When I consider what may happen if my father’s condition worsens…” She trailed off, pressing her lips tightly together.
Darcy’s jaw tightened, and his voice, when he spoke, was steady but intense. “You need not face this uncertainty alone, Elizabeth. I promised to help, and I intend to honour that promise.”
She appeared to study him for a long moment, then began walking again. “You do seem determined to prove yourself honourable,” she said, her tone teasing but tinged with earnestness.
“I must,” he replied. “If only to show you the truth of my character. I would never offer reassurances I did not mean.”
Elizabeth glanced sideways at him, a flicker of appreciation in her eyes. “I begin to see that your desire for precision is not as cold as I once believed.”
Darcy smiled faintly at the unexpected praise but sensed her hesitation. “You have doubts still.”
“Not doubts,” she said, frowning slightly. “Questions. Uncertainties that time may resolve, though I cannot say whether they will resolve in your favour.”
Her words stung, but Darcy accepted them. He was silent for a time, weighing his next words.
“And your sisters?” he asked gently. “Do you think they will adjust to their new surroundings?”
Elizabeth gave a soft sigh. “It is difficult for them. Mary has always been the quiet sort and it is difficult to get her to stop thinking and fretting. Kitty, likewise, has been reserved. I had hoped they would find a way to find joy again here, away from Longbourn and the constant reminders of father’s illness, but to no avail.”
Darcy nodded thoughtfully. “I too had hoped their time here would be a respite from the worry of the recent months. I regret that it is not the case. Do you think it would be better for them to return to Hertfordshire?”
“I think not,” Elizabeth said, not wanting to admit that she didn’t want her sisters to leave in part because she was desperate for their company, even if it was a quiet, withdrawn company. “I only wish for them to settle, to find some purpose.”
“They deserve that much,” Darcy said as he scratched his chin thoughtfully.
“I hope,” he said carefully, “that in time, Pemberley will come to feel less like a house and more like a home—for you and your sisters.”
Elizabeth looked up at the stately structure, its grandeur softened by the warm afternoon light. She glanced back at him, her expression tinged with gratitude.
“Thank you,” she said simply.
Darcy held her gaze for a moment longer than necessary, then offered her his arm. “Shall we return?”
***
The sun had almost dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows over the sprawling gardens of Pemberley. Darcy stood at the drawing room window, his fingers lightly clasping the curtains as he observed the stillness outside. Yet his mind was anything but tranquil.
Hosting Elizabeth’s sisters at Pemberley was a task he had agreed to with determination but little preparation. They were a family so different from his own in both demeanour and temperament—loud where his family was restrained, whimsical where his was focused, and now, in light of Mr Bennet’s illness, visibly burdened by concerns he could only speculate upon.
His promise to Elizabeth—to care for her family as if it were his own—had come easily enough in words. But now the reality of it loomed larger. It was no longer just about ensuring Elizabeth’s comfort. Her sisters were anxious, displaced, and, frankly, felt uneasy in his presence.
A small, hesitant voice broke his reverie. “Fitzwilliam?”
