Page 48 of What Change Entails

Darcy turned toward them, then back to Elizabeth.

“I am sorry as well,” he said. “More than I can easily say here.”

Here. With her aunt and uncle behind them, his sister ahead, the bright grounds of Pemberley stretched around them. It was both too public and far too intimate.

Elizabeth’s throat felt dry. “Your letter corrected many of my errors.”

“I wish the correction had not been necessary.”

“So do I.” She forced a short laugh and failed to make it light. “Though had it not been, I might have continued very happily despising you.”

His eyes moved over her face, serious and searching. “Were you happy in it?”

“No,” she said, surprising herself. “I was certain. That is not always the same thing.”

The corner of his mouth curved, then steadied. “No. It is not.”

They reached a turn in the path where the house came fully into view again. From this angle the windows shone open to the afternoon, and the roses near the terrace made a deep blush against the pale stone. Servants moved near the entrance. One carried linens; another directed two footmen bearing a satchel that must have belonged to Mr. Darcy or Miss Darcy. The house was already preparing for more arrivals.

Perhaps for them.

Elizabeth directed her attention toward the servants crossing the grass and wished, absurdly, that the house would cease preparing itself so visibly.

Mr. Darcy must have taken her silence for admiration of the view, for he said, “The public tour includes the principal rooms, the gallery, the dining parlor, the music room, and portions of the south front. If your aunt and uncle desire it, Mrs. Reynolds will show them everything usually unseen by visitors.”

“And you?”

“I had thought…” He stopped.

Elizabeth waited, but he did not go on.

Darcy’s gaze drifted toward the house, then to the path where Miss Darcy and Lydia were still engaged with the dog. “There are other rooms that may interest you, in particular. The library, perhaps. It is not often included unless a guest has particular interest.”

Elizabeth’s breath did not catch. She was very determined that it should not.

“The library?”

“If you would care to see it.”

“I would.”

The answer came too quickly. His attention settled upon her, and something like warmth entered his eyes before they dropped.

“Then I shall show you.”

The walk back to the house took longer than Elizabeth expected, partly because Lydia insisted upon asking Miss Darcy whether all the rooms had carpets from Turkey, whether the mirrors were French, whether Miss Darcy possessed her own maid, whether the servants ever became lost, and whether Mr. Darcy had ever forbidden anyone from sliding down a banister.

Miss Darcy answered each question with increasing amusement.

“No,” she said to the last, though her eyes strayed toward her brother. “I do not believe anyone has attempted it.”

Lydia gave Darcy an assessing look. “That is because you discourage imagination.”

“Possibly,” he replied.

“Have you forbidden it?”

Darcy shrugged. “I have never found it necessary.”