A Wife for Mr. Darcy

can say without hesitation that I will remember my time here at Pemberley for all of my life.”
    “But I hope you will soon return to Pemberley,” Darcy said, surprised that she thought she might not be coming back.
    Lizzy looked at him with a puzzled expression. “I do not think that likely, Mr. Darcy.”
    “Elizabeth, I know there has been a lot of confusion, but I want you to know that I am taking steps…” and he took her hand in his.
    Lizzy waited for him to finish the sentence, but he said nothing. Why could he just not tell her what he was doing? Say what he was feeling? Why was it necessary to have all of this suspense?
    “Mr. Darcy, you have me at a disadvantage as it appears you know things that I do not. So let me say this. Picture, if you will, a castle on a hill with a village below. Dividing them is a deep chasm. If the two are ever to come together, it must be bridged, but you cannot span a chasm in a series of small steps. You must do it in one great leap of faith. There is no guarantee of its success, but it is the only way.”
    “I understand. I truly do. But I must ask for your continued patience. I leave for London in the morning, and the matter that awaits me there will be settled. I am looking forward to a time when I may speak freely—when nothing binds me to silence.”
    Lizzy saw the struggle in his eyes and leaned forward and put her cheek against his and rested it there for a moment before wishing him Godspeed and a successful journey.

After the maid had helped her out of her dress, Lizzy went to the dressing table so that Ellie could take down her hair. This was the part of having a maid that Lizzy had come to enjoy the most—someone brushing her hair. At home, Jane and she took turns, but here, she had the pleasure of someone running a brush through her hair night after night and doing so until asked to stop. But after tomorrow, she was back to taking turns with Jane.
    “I hope you don’t mind, miss, but me and Lucy, Mrs. Gardiner’s maid, snuck downstairs and had a peek at the dancing. I never seen anything like it before.”
    “Were you shocked, Ellie? Because, at first, I know I was. But the movements are so elegant. It is as if you are floating on a cloud, and everything is spinning all around you. It is exhilarating.”
    “I was there when Mrs. Gardiner was dancing with His Lordship, and because her dress is wider than yours or Miss Darcy’s, it made it look like she was a spinning top—but a beautiful one. And I saw you dance with the master, and you were a right handsome pair.”
    Lizzy steered the conversation away from Mr. Darcy. She felt it inappropriate to discuss the master of Pemberley with one of his servants, but she could not help but be pleased with Ellie’s comment.
    Just before leaving, her maid reminded her that the letter that had come for her that morning was on the writing desk.
    “Thank you. I had forgotten. I am sure it is from my sister,” and she was equally sure that Jane was writing to tell her that Lydia was doing her best not to return home from Brighton.
    But after retrieving the post, Lizzy decided that she wasn’t quite ready to read her sister’s letter. Instead, as she lay on the bed staring at the pleated rose canopy, she remembered her last dance with Mr. Darcy and the feel of his hand around her waist and how he had brought her closer to him with each turn until they were only inches apart. The only way Mr. Darcy could have been closer to her was if he had actually pulled her into an embrace. She then remembered the previous night’s dream when Mr. Darcy had come to her bed, and she went over the scene again and again. Turning on her side, she pulled the pillow to her and dozed off in Mr. Darcy’s arms, and Jane’s letter lay unread on the bed.

    “Richard, Antony, let us have a brandy in the study,” Darcy offered. Hearing the word “brandy” was enough to get His Lordship on his feet. After taking a drink, he remarked, “It is excellent, Darcy. Do you have it smuggled in from France?”
    “My man arranges it. Apparently, Mercer has contacts on the coast from his coaching days, and because of Napoleon’s wars, the importers of wines and spirits from France are the ones who are suffering. It is my way of showing my support for the merchant class.”
    “As a Tory and one who rarely supports any Whig policies, I must say I agree with this one,” and Antony raised his glass to allow the light to pass through the