Page 76 of The Difference of a Darcy
“I care more about his character than his pocketbook,” she said, “and it would not matter if we remained in England our entire lives, so long as we are together.”
Darcy was quiet for a moment, watching the frost-glazed trees blur past the window. Then, almost casually, he said, “Perhaps his affairs will make it possible. For example, I have an estate in Scotland I try to visit every other year.”
He held his breath, waiting for her response.
∞∞∞
Elizabeth’s heart fluttered. Her breath caught, though she tried to cover it with a slight laugh. “Is that so?”
He turned toward her, a half-smile on his lips—but his eyes, they were intent. “It is remote, and often wet, but the mountains there are green and ancient. The lochs are still as glass, and the sky feels closer, somehow. I think… I think you would like it.”
Their eyes met and held.
Warmth bloomed in her chest, spreading outward until her fingertips tingled. It was not the promise itself, not even the place, but the way he saidyou. Like he was already picturing her there. Like he wanted her there.
She said nothing at first. She could not. The feeling swelled too large to be named. But then, softly, she replied, “I think I would, as well.”
And though nothing more was spoken, the quiet between them was rich with possibility.
Together felt like more than a word.
It felt like a future.
∞∞∞
They reached the posting inn near dusk, the light fading quickly beneath a sky heavy with clouds. It had not snowed that day, but the threat of it hung in the air, and Elizabeth was glad for the warmth of the fire as they stepped into the modest common room.
Their dinner was a simple affair—thick mutton stew with crusty bread, and a small pot of weak tea that tasted faintly of smoke. She did not mind. She was far too tired to be particular.
They spoke little over the meal, both weary from the road and, perhaps, from the undercurrent of anticipation that neither dared give voice to. Tomorrow they would reach Lambton. Tomorrow the strange, uncertain future would finally become the present.
Their room was no different than the others they had shared—narrow bed, drafty window, a worn hearth with a crack in the mantle. But it was private, and it was theirs for the night. Elizabeth changed into her nightdress while Darcy tended to the fire, then slipped beneath the blankets and turned to face the wall.
He joined her shortly after, careful as always to keep his body a respectful distance from hers, though she felt the dip of the mattress as he settled beside her, the faint shift of thebedclothes, the comforting sound of his breath just behind her ear.
For a while, there was only silence.
And then, softly, he said, “We will reach Lambton tomorrow.”
She blinked in the dark, her fingers curling around the edge of the blanket. “Oh?”
“I know,” he said, his voice low. “It feels as though we have lived a thousand lives since we left Kent. But the journey is nearly done.”
She turned slightly, just enough to glimpse his profile in the firelight. “Do you have a plan?”
He hesitated. “I do.”
She waited.
“I cannot simply arrive at Pemberley’s gates and announce myself. Not if they do not recognize me, and there is no evidence to suggest that they would. Such an arrival would invite chaos… suspicion. And if Georgiana has been harmed, it could place her in even more danger.”
Elizabeth’s throat tightened. “So, what will we do?”
“Lambton is close—less than five miles from the estate. And the inn there is small, but decent. We will stay a day or two, ask careful questions. Most of the townsfolk have family at Pemberley: cousins, uncles, siblings. I hope we may learn something of the household’s state.”
“That is clever,” she said quietly.
He gave a faint, humorless chuckle. “I am desperate. But thank you.”
