Page 31 of Unwillingly Mrs. Darcy
Kitty chimed in before Elizabeth could respond. “And I am to volunteer at the orphanage near Lambton! Mr Darcy wrote to the matron there himself. He spoke so highly of me—can you imagine? Me! She met with me yesterday and has asked me to help with the younger children.”
Elizabeth turned to Kitty, her heart softening at her younger sister’s enthusiasm. “That sounds wonderful, Kitty. Are you looking forward to it?”
Kitty nodded vigorously, her curls bouncing. “Oh yes! She introduced me to them just this afternoon. Georgiana took me. The children are so sweet, and they’ve already started calling me Miss Kitty.” She trailed off, searching for the right words. “I feel like I’m doing something good. Important, even.”
Elizabeth’s chest tightened with emotion as she regarded her sisters. For so long, she had seen their lives stifled by the constraints of Longbourn—by their mother’s ambitions for them, by the lack of opportunity in Meryton. She remembered Kitty’s dissatisfaction, her longing for attention and adventure, and Mary’s sombre isolation. Yet here they were, thriving. Mr Darcy had not merely welcomed them into Pemberley, he had seen their potential and found ways to nurture it.
“You both seem… changed,” Elizabeth said softly, her voice laden with awe.
Kitty grinned, her cheeks rosy. “Perhaps Pemberley has magic in its halls! Or maybe—” She broke off, feigning thoughtfulness. “Maybe Mr Darcy is secretly a knight in shining armour after all!”
Mary scoffed but did not entirely mask her smile. “Let us not descend into such childish fancy, Kitty. Mr Darcy is a practical man, not a knight or an enchanter.”
Elizabeth laughed, their easy camaraderie lightening the weight in her heart. She leaned back in her chair, observing them fondly. “Be it magic or mere kindness, I am glad to see you both so well-placed and—dare I say—happy.”
Kitty reached across the table to clasp Elizabeth’s hand, her grin fading to something softer. “And what of you, Lizzy? Are you happy?”
Elizabeth hesitated, looking down at their joined hands. “I do not know yet,” she confessed. “But seeing you both so fulfilled gives me hope. Perhaps, in time, I too might find my place here.”
The quiet crackling of the fire filled the room, the rich scent of the evening’s feast still lingering in the air. Elizabeth allowed herself a moment to revel in the peace of the scene, her sisters’ faces flushed with excitement and a hint of contentment.
Though she had once considered this marriage an act of duty and compromise, there was something undeniably comforting in seeing the good that had already come of it.
Chapter 18
Darcy
29th July 1812
Darcy briskly descended the stairs the following morning, the sun already high in the sky.
He had shared the good news with Miss Kitty and Miss Mary the previous morning and had been in attendance when the pianoforte teacher had begun to instruct Mary. He had seen how delighted she was. Likewise, he understood that Kitty genuinely appreciated his efforts to secure her position at the orphanage. He was more than happy with what he had been able to accomplish for the two young ladies, and he genuinely hoped that it would help them find their place.
However, the truth was that what he really wanted to know was how Elizabeth would react to these deeds. Yes, it was true—he had wanted to help her sisters. But at the same time, he had also wanted to show Elizabeth that he could genuinely be counted upon and trusted. That he truly meant to help her and her family. By now, he had hoped this was evident, but one could never be certain.
Anticipation filled him as he poked his head into the breakfast room, but he found only her sisters and Georgiana sitting around the table, deep in conversation. The trio didn’t even notice him. The footman opened his mouth, ready to welcome him, but Darcy quickly shook his head. He didn’t want to be seen, not now. He didn’t want to interrupt the sisters and be drawn into a conversation.
Not when he desired to see Elizabeth.
Turning towards the drawing room, he checked to see if she might be there, aware that at times she took breakfast in that quieter space. It too was empty. He sighed, hands sliding into his pockets as his shoulders slumped. She must still be asleep. He considered asking Mrs Reynolds but decided against ringing for her just for this. Instead, he opted to take a walk. She’d surely be awake by the time he returned.
Stepping outside, he breathed in the fresh scent of blooming flowers. It was a peaceful day. The sky was a brilliant blue with only a few white clouds here and there. The air was alive with the chirping of sparrows and the occasional warble of blackbirds—a concerto of Derbyshire in summer and Darcy smiled. He always loved the sound of birdsong.
He clasped his hands behind his back, a habit picked up from his grandfather, who often walked the estate in the same fashion. Georgiana frequently teased him for this resemblance, saying it made him look far older than he was. Of course, she had never met their grandfather, who had died before she was born. But his portraits—along with his other illustrious forebears—still hung in Pemberley, capturing the same thoughtful stance.
At the lake, Darcy paused to watch the ducks and swans circle lazily. He wished he’d brought some kitchen scraps for them to enjoy. Just as he pondered returning with some, a commotion drew his attention. A flurry of birds—ducks and swans—took flight towards the far end of the lake, all seeming to congregate in one spot.
Darcy tilted his head in curiosity, peering in that direction. There, standing among the flock, was Elizabeth.
A smile tugged at his lips. She stood tossing greens to the eager birds, dressed in a pastel peach gown with a pelisse lightly draped at the front. Her hair was styled in a half-up, half-down fashion, her bonnet resting beside her, along with her gloves.
Steeling his resolve, Darcy started towards her, though a pang of hesitation lingered.
As he neared, she turned and greeted him with an open smile. “Mr Darcy,” she said lightly, though there was something warmer about her today.
“Elizabeth,” he replied, dipping his head. Then, after a brief pause, he added, “Please—if I am to call you Elizabeth, perhaps you should call me Fitzwilliam. Or William.”
Elizabeth hesitated, biting her lip. “I do not know if that would be proper.”
