Mr. Darcy nodded.
“I only ever wanted to dance with Harry,” she said sombrely. “But he was killed in Portugal just before we left.”
Mr. Darcy lowered himself into a chair and leaned forward, his forearms resting on his thighs. “And you had trouble letting go?”
“Papa was only recently recovered from a terrible fever, and then we lost Mama and Harry so close together. Kitty took very ill once we were on the ship home, and we all thought we would lose her, too.” Elizabeth closed her eyes. “It was honestly too much for me. I do not believe I could even begin to work through it all until we had been here almost a year. And then . . .”
After a few moments, he said, “You did not want to say farewell.”
“No,” she said. “To dance with another man felt disloyal, as though I could live my life pretending he had never existed. But I believe I have at last made my peace with it.”
“How?” The question was impossibly gentle, and Elizabeth wondered if anyone other than his family and her knew how tender this giant of a man truly was.
“I said farewell to Harry the first time I danced with Papa, not long after we came out of mourning for Mama. But one farewell is never enough.”
Mr. Darcy nodded.
“I had made little progress until you and I began practicing your steps,” she told him with a self-conscious laugh. “Giving up the idea that I would never enjoy dancing again, at least not with an eligible young man, that was the start of it.” Had that been too forward?
He shook his head at her as though he understood. “I am pleased you enjoyed dancing with me. And your mother?”
“I must admit that it was easier for me to bid Mama farewell. Not that it was easier to lose her, you understand, only that her loss was a shared one, and above all, she wanted us to be happy.”
“Do you not think Lieutenant Tanner would wish you happy?”
“Of course he would, but . . . I know that here,” she said, touching her temple just as he had when they discussed the losses he had experienced. “It is harder to know it here.” She placed a hand over her heart.
He smiled. “So youwerelistening.”
“Only when you make sense,” Elizabeth said impishly.
He nodded slowly. “Then you are always listening. I thank you for that.”
Elizabeth’s scowl was playful. “Very well, Mr. Darcy.” She motioned to a small table he had not seen in the room before. “Would you like to play a game of chess? We have rescued the set from Papa’s study, as we are obliged to remain indoors at present.”
“Do you play? Why have you not said before?” he asked, delight brightening his features. He really was a handsome man when he was not frowning. Even now, the little thrill she felt when he smiled at her sometimes caught her unawares.
“I do not wish to raise your expectations,” Elizabeth warned him. “I know the game, but I have not had any formal instruction.”
“It would be a pleasure to teach you, if you like,” he said gallantly. “I believe it is a game well-suited to your intellect.”
“There now,” she said approvingly, “youhavelearnt to offer a compliment, sir. I commend you.”
“It is only the truth, Miss Elizabeth,” he replied warmly, and moved to the board. He pulled out a chair for her. “Shall we begin?”
Miss Elizabeth was not a poor chess player at all, Darcy decided as he readied himself for bed. She was untutored and at times impulsive, but he could foresee a day where she would match him splendidly. Miss Elizabeth had only rolled her eyes expressively at him when he had said so, then answered with something pert he could not recall because her eyes had been sparkling so brightly.
He had a difficult time falling asleep, the pleasant memories of time spent with Elizabeth clashing with the danger that threatened the family. Hardiman had not had much luck at the tavern or in Meryton, but his methods were more subtle than Fitzwilliam’s or even Darcy’s would have been. He was posing as Mr. Todd’s replacement at Longbourn and waiting for a local to approach him. He did not think it would require more than a week. In the meantime, the men Bennet had called upon had taken up their posts around the property and a few would even ride on the outside of the carriage when the party from Longbourn attended the Netherfield ball. Bennet felt it would give rise to speculation should they not appear, and that no attempt would be made in such a crowd. Miss Bingley had not invited the militia officers, so there was nothing to fear on that score. Everything was in order. Darcy was not overly concerned about an imminent attack. They had been taken unawares, before. Now they were on the alert.
Satisfied for the moment, Darcy’s thoughts wandered back to the ways in which his life had changed with a single letter last May. He offered a little prayer of thanks to his great-uncle, for without the judge’s generosity, he would still be in Spain, trudging along roads, building defences, helping develop the tools required for a siege, trying to keep his men and himself alive.
He would never have returned to England to stay unless he was fortunate enough to survive to an advanced age. He would surely never have met Miss Elizabeth. Now he could no longer imagine his life without her.
Having had these months to experience a different sort of life, Darcy concluded that whilst he had been a good soldier, even an excellent one, it had not come naturally to him. He had thoroughly enjoyed learning the details of running an estate. The sense of common purpose with the tenants, the details of keeping such an enterprise running smoothly, the order of the account books, sitting by the fire with a book or listening to Elizabeth on the pianoforte—it held an appeal for him that his work in the army never had.
Fitzwilliam was another matter.
Darcy had once accused his cousin of feeling more at home in London’s society because he had grown up at Matlock surrounded by the wealth and power of England’s elite, and to an extent, that was true. However, Darcy had also wondered from time to time how his cousin felt, enjoying the privilege of aristocracy only on sufferance. The Matlocks had two sons and no daughters; in his family, Fitzwilliam alone had no access to the Matlock coffers. He had a good allowance, it was true, but only because when Uncle Matlock had received an inheritance from his mother, he had immediately tied it up for Richard’s benefit. Fane had the ill grace to be piqued by that still.