Page 74 of To Love And To Cherish
Still, she wished it were otherwise. If her heart were free, she would offer it to him without reserve.
With a quiet sigh, Elizabeth picked up her needles and resumed her work, the rhythm of wool sliding through her fingers offering a small distraction from the heaviness in her breast.
That night, she prepared for bed with an ache in her heart. After lighting the candle, Elizabeth drew out the elegant leather-bound book Mr. Darcy had once given her. Tucked inside were three folded letters, well-worn, untouched since the day they had been packed for the journey to Scotland.
Rather than read them, she traced the edge of the paper, then returned the letters to their place and took up the sketch she had drawn. Tears sprang to her eyes as she gazed upon the beloved countenance. With sudden vehemence, she brushed them away, slipped the sketch inside the book, and placed them both in her trunk, shutting the lid with a decisive snap.
No word had come from home. Would Georgiana write again? Would she mention him?
Is he well?she wondered.Will he marry this Season?
Elizabeth inhaled deeply, one hand pressed over her breast, trying to steady the tremor that rose.
Blowing out her candle and climbing beneath the covers in the silence of the night, she wept herself to sleep.
Morning dawned bright but cold; the hills beyond Pemberley glistened beneath a delicate coat of dew. In the breakfast room, the household gathered in cheerful routine. Charles had departed with Caroline the day before, but Jane sat serenely at the table, pouring tea; Kitty was buttering a scone; and Georgiana quietly worked her way through a modest plate of eggs. Darcy sat at the head of the table when Walters entered, bearing a tray laden with the morning post.
Darcy took the bundle and began to sort through it. His eye caught on a familiar hand.
He paused, then wordlessly drew one letter from the stack and handed it to Jane.
“For you, Mrs. Bingley. It has been forwarded from Longbourn.”
Jane took it with a smile, her expression lighting as she recognized the writing. “It’s from Elizabeth!” she announced, holding the sealed page delicately.
Looking around the table, she asked, “Shall I read it aloud?”
Georgiana smiled warmly. “Pray do.”
Kitty said brightly, “We’re all eager for news.”
Jane broke the seal and unfolded the letter, and the room fell silent as she began to read.
My Dearest Jane,
I have received no word from you and must conclude that none of my letters have reached your hands. I did, however, receive Papa’s letter conveying the news of your marriage to Mr. Bingley. Accept my heartfelt congratulations. Until I made the acquaintance of Laird Adam Frazier, I had thought Mr. Bingley the most amiable gentleman I had ever known. I am confident you will be exceedingly happy together.
Spring is in full bloom here in the Highlands. We rise each morning to silver skies and sharp air, and still spend our forenoons riding amidst pine and heather, discovering beauties I could never have imagined. The forest paths are hushed but alive, and every turn brings a new marvel.
Afternoons are reserved for knitting and sewing for tenant families. Miss Trent has been invaluable in instructing us on patterns and stitches, while Miss King embroiders with surprising skill. Evenings are given to cheerful competition: billiards, Faro, and chess. And always, the gentlemen prevail upon us to play and sing. I am learning three new ballads, gifts from Adam, who professes a great fondness for melancholy Scottish airs. He claims my voice suits them uniquely, which I take as a great compliment, even if it is overly generous.
Miss King, who her Uncle Allister once hoped might marry Adam, has grown particularly attached to Daniel, the youngest brother. He is sweet-natured and attentive, and I suspect a formal engagement may be imminent. Miss King, I assure you, is praying for it daily. It is fortunate, too, as she is to inherit her uncle’s estate, and with Daniel beside her, she will not lack a home or a loving protector.
Miss Trent, for her part, has formed an attachment to Lucas. He has asked her to wait; he wishes to purchase a small estate and remain in the Highlands near his brothers, though he has not yet found the right property. His caution only endears him further to Miss Trent, who is nothing if not sensible.
As to Adam himself, most would call him handsome, and indeed many do. His face is not finely featured like your husband’s or that of Mr. Darcy, but his presence is commanding. He is tall and well-formed, with a fine head of dark hair and eyes that seem to see everything at once. I do not exaggerate when I say there is something quietly powerful in him. If he were to stand beside Mr. Darcy, Mr. Darcy would draw attention for the precision of hisfeatures and the striking line of his jaw. But Adam would draw notice, too. He is not conventionally handsome, but he is… compelling.
He spends much time in my company, and I am entirely at ease with him. He has not spoken plainly, but I sense that he is waiting, perhaps for my heart to catch up with his own. And that, dear Jane, is the difficulty. My heart remains stubbornly reticent.
Adam is all kindness and strength. He deserves far better than to be held at bay by my recalcitrant heart.
You must forgive my wandering thoughts. I do not know my own mind, and that is the plain truth.
Give my warmest regards to Charles, and, as I know not where you are at present, pray convey the same to any of our family with whom you are in contact. Ever affectionately, Elizabeth.
P.S. As to billiards, Adam has taken it upon himself to teach me, though my posture over the table leaves much to be desired. I suspect I am more entertaining than skillful.
After Jane finished reading Elizabeth’s latest letter aloud at the breakfast table, Darcy excused himself with scarcely a word. He made his way to his study and shut the door behind him with unnecessary force. Pacing before the hearth, he ran a hand through his hair and muttered under his breath.
