Page 9 of To Love And To Cherish
He paused. “No, she never told me.”
“Did she tell your father, perhaps? On her deathbed?”
He thought again. “No. He said her last words were that he must spend more time with Georgiana and me, since she would have none left herself.”
“Then perhaps Lady Catherine misinterpreted something,” Mrs. Gardiner said gently. “Or imagined it altogether. Have you ever asked your father why she believes it was your mother’s dying wish?”
Darcy shook his head. “No, but I will. That is an excellent point. My father arrives tomorrow and intends to spend my final week in England with me. I shall ask him. I have long wished to understand the circumstances of my mother’s passing, what took her, how it happened.”
He paused, his expression growing thoughtful. “I do not recall Aunt Catherine being at Pemberley during that time. In fact, I should like to know why she was not at her only sister’s side.”
He looked up at Mrs. Gardiner, a flicker of doubt in his eyes. “If she were not at my mother’s bedside, how could she presume to know what her dying wish was?”
Later that afternoon, he brought Elizabeth a farewell gift.
It was a handsome book, leather-bound, gilded, and a rare first edition on ancient herbal remedies. He handed it to her solemnly, the weight of parting in his eyes.
Elizabeth opened it, marveling at the fine paper and meticulous illustrations. On the inside cover, in a bold, elegant hand, he had written:
August 6, 1805
To Miss Elizabeth Bennet—
In appreciation of your lively mind, your earnest friendship, and your rare and fearless courage. May this volume bring you joy in study, comfort in uncertainty, and strength in your own convictions.
With sincere regard,
F. Darcy
Elizabeth, in turn, presented him with a finely crafted wooden box, purchased with her uncle’s assistance. Within, nestled in velvet, lay vials of herbal tinctures, powdered charcoal, and a small leather-bound journal. He opened it to find her handwriting, neat and elegant, with each page dedicated to a remedy: its name, a hand-drawn illustration, its benefits, instructions, dosage, and preparation.
The first page bore a dedication, written in elegant feminine script:
To Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy—
Thank you for your friendship, your respect, and your time. Thank you for listening when I needed to be heard, and for helping me reason through the difficult issues, about my mother, about choice, and about what truly matters.
I made this for your travels, but also as a remembrance of the hours spent in the stillroom.
Keep safe, Will.
With deepest gratitude,
Elizabeth Bennet
He closed the journal slowly and tucked it back into its resting place.
They played one final game of chess after supper, neither of them truly attending to the board, preferring instead to speak with one another, perhaps for the last time.
And when it came time for him to leave, Mrs. Gardiner saw the look they exchanged, tender, unspoken, complicated beyond their years, and knew that, whatever the future might hold,something lasting had begun in that little stillroom of dried herbs and early mornings.
Chapter 6: Letters From Darcy
The first letter arrived on a crisp morning in early October.
Outside, the trees lining Gracechurch Street had begun to turn ochre, gold, and rust, gleaming in the pale sunlight. The air was sharp with the scent of early autumn, and the servants had begun to light small fires in the hearths each morning.
Mrs. Gardiner entered the breakfast room to find her husband already seated, the tea poured, and a silver tray placed neatly beside his plate. Atop it sat a single letter, addressed in a familiar, bold hand.
