Page 21 of Mr. Darcy's Runaway Bride
“You care for her deeply,” Elizabeth observed.
“She is very dear to me.” He hesitated, then added, “She knows what we are doing. I shared the truth with her before departing London.”
Elizabeth was surprised. “You told her everything?”
“I deemed it necessary. Georgiana is the only person whose good opinion matters greatly to me. I could not deceive her, even by omission.”
“And her reaction?”
“Initial astonishment, followed by concern for both our sakes. She is far more perceptive than many realise.” His lips curved in a slight smile. “I believe she is eager to make your acquaintance.”
“I shall look forward to meeting her too.” The tension in her shoulders left somewhat. “I informed only Jane,” Elizabeth admitted. “She encountered me as I waited for your carriage. She thinks me utterly mad to embark on such a scheme.”
“Perhaps we both are,” Darcy replied, his tone containing a trace of humour. “Though I maintain our arrangement offers a pragmatic solution to our respective difficulties.”
“I am inclined to agree,” she said.
“Tell me of Longbourn,” Darcy requested. “I should like to know more of your home.”
“It is nothing so grand as Pemberley must be,” Elizabeth said. “A modest estate in Hertfordshire, with pleasant grounds and comfortable rooms. My father’s library is its crown jewel—filled with volumes collected over generations. The gardensbloom beautifully in spring, with roses that scent the air through summer.”
“It sounds charming.”
“What of Pemberley?” she enquired. “I know only that it lies near Lambton in Derbyshire.”
Darcy’s expression brightened visibly. “Pemberley has been the Darcy home for ten generations. The house stands on a rise overlooking a lake, surrounded by woods and parkland. The grounds contain several miles of walking paths that wind through groves and gardens. There is a stream that flows near the house—clear, swift water that teems with trout.”
“You speak of it with such affection.”
“It is more than mere property to me,” he confessed. “Pemberley represents my family’s legacy, but also my responsibility to the land and those who depend upon it. The estate supports numerous tenant farms and the village of Lambton relies upon the custom generated by the house.”
His sense of duty was admirable. “My Aunt Gardiner grew up in Lambton. She speaks of it with great fondness.”
“I recall. The world proves smaller than one might imagine.”
“Do you consider that a benefit or a detriment, Mr Darcy?”
“In this instance, I count it a fortunate circumstance. It seems to lend a certain… propriety to matters.”
Elizabeth could not help but smile at his attempt to find order within their decidedly improper situation. “A tenuous thread of propriety, but I shall accept it.”
As the day advanced, their conversation continued in fits and starts, each disclosure revealing another facet of their personalities. Elizabeth discovered that Darcy possessed a dry wit that emerged when he felt at ease, while he seemed surprised by her forthrightness on matters literary and philosophical.
“You dismiss Richardson so readily?” he asked, eyebrows raised, after she had delivered a particularly scathing assessment ofPamela.
Literature especially inspired more than one lively exchange.
“I find his heroine’s excessive virtue tiresome,” Elizabeth replied. “No woman exists in such a state of perpetual moral elevation. I prefer Fielding’s approach—his characters possess both virtues and flaws, rendering them truer to life.”
“And what of Shakespeare?”
“The finest observer of human nature,” she said without hesitation. “Though even the Bard occasionally sacrificed plausibility for dramatic effect.”
“Which of his plays do you favour?”
“Much Ado About Nothing,” Elizabeth answered. “Beatrice and Benedick’s verbal sparring delights me each time I read it.”
Darcy nodded, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “I confess a preference for Hamlet, though I appreciateMuch Ado’s wit. And what of more contemporary works? Are you familiar with Sir Walter Scott?”
