“I speak the truth,” he contended. “I won’t give elegance to misfortune.”

Again, Mrs. Bennet disregarded his severity. “And you think this Mr. Winkler a better choice for Kitty?” she asked as she observed how the clergyman leaned closer to say something private to their daughter.

“First, it’s true Winkler will never have the wealth of Mr. Darcy or Mr. Bingley, but he has a secure situation under Mr. Darcy’s watchful eye. Second, observe how the man protects our Kitty. He’s quite besotted by our daughter’s charms.”

Mrs. Bennet directed her attention to Kitty and the clergyman. “Do you believe Kitty returns the man’s regard?”

“Not totally, but the seed’s been planted. It was Winkler that Kitty chased from the drawing room last evening. It was he that she tried to please with her gift to Mr. Darcy’s cottager. He inspires the best in our daughter.” They walked on in silence for a few moments. “Surely, you remember how foolish Kitty and Lydia once were. I often considered them as two of the silliest girls in England. Now that Kitty, to her material advantage, has spent the chief of her time with her two elder sisters, her improvement has been great. I always said that Kitty had not so ungovernable a temper as Lydia, and removed from the influence of Lydia’s example, she has become, by proper attention and management, less irritable, less ignorant, and less insipid. I find myself quite proud of the young lady that Kitty has become.”

He watched as Mrs. Bennet frowned when he disparaged Lydia’s good sense, but she didn’t argue. They’d had similar conversations on numerous occasions. “Should I encourage the connection? Should Kitty be made aware of Mr. Winkler’s attention? It would please me to have all my girls well settled.”

“If you can suppress your enthusiasm until after Mr. Darcy’s return, I suspect that Mr.Winkler will take matters into his own hands. Elizabeth’s husband will have to give his approval to his clergyman taking a wife and having that wife be Kitty,” he cautioned.

Mrs. Bennet glanced around for privacy. “Would Mr. Darcy object to Lizzy’s sister living at the Lambton cottage? Would the man’s pride deny Kitty a proper marriage?” she asked incredulously.

“I doubt it. However, Mr. Darcy may need to preface their joining. Winkler must be aware that Darcy would prefer to be consulted prior to the clergyman approaching Kitty with an offer.” They neared the pond. “And if Elizabeth’s husband does object, you could always steer Kitty into Mr. Manneville’s arms. Who knows? After my demise, when Mr. Collins takes Longbourn, you might discover yourself in the Southern states. I think you’ll find yourself swept away by an American.” Mr. Bennet winked at her.

“You bam me as you always do. I have no need of another husband. With five daughters, I shall spend my days in contentment, knowing I have done my best by each of them.” She accepted a seat on a wooden bench to which Mr. Bennet directed her. When he started away to join the couples, Mrs. Bennet caught his arm. “Mr. Bennet, I know we’re often at odds over our daughters, but would you do me the courtesy of explaining your dislike for Mr. Manneville?”

It was rare when they spoke honestly to each other — even rarer when he felt empathy for the woman he’d married. “I cannot pretend to know exactly,” he said softly. “Maybe it’s the man’s posturing. Maybe it’s his blatant declaration of his intentions — his descriptions of his wealth. Or…” Mr. Bennet turned to watch Manneville glide onto the ice. “Or maybe it’s his attention to Miss Bingley. The woman hurt my Jane, and not once did she apologize or show any contrition. I do not forget.”

“Neither do I, Mr. Bennet. Neither do I.”

Chapter 13

Darcy draped a lap rug over Elizabeth’s shoulders. She’d curled up in a tight ball on the opposing bench. They’d stopped at a small inn north of Rotherham for their midafternoon meal. They’d made better time than Darcy had expected. The eastern counties had obviously been spared the worst of the storm. Water dripped from the branches that canopied the road, but the passage remained relatively smooth — a fact for which Darcy was thankful, especially as he watched the gentle sway of his wife’s body as it rocked in deep sleep.

Their earlier conversation remained fresh in his mind. He knew of Elizabeth’s grief, but her self-inculpation had taken him by surprise. She blamed herself for their losses. “My sweet Elizabeth,” he mouthed as he traced her countenance’s pure loveliness. How could she consider such accusations? How could Elizabeth think herself unworthy? It was always he who wasn’t worthy of her love.

Elizabeth had often expressed her gratitude for his saving her from a lifetime of tediousness, but it was she who’d saved him. Early on in their relationship, they had talked at each other — challenging and misconstruing, but never truly communicating. Now, they spoke with acceptance. When she first refused him, Darcy had momentarily rued the day he had ever laid eyes upon her. He’d practiced hatred for less than half the time it had taken him to return to Rosings. Then his disdain had turned inward, and he’d sought a means to turn Elizabeth’s opinions of him. He’d written her that first letter — the one in which he’d explained his involvement in separating Bingley from Jane, and in which he’d taken her into his confidence regarding Georgiana’s near ruin. When he’d reflected upon it later, Darcy had wondered about his sanity in sharing such intimate details with a woman who’d vehemently stated, “You could not have made the offer of your hand in any possible way that would have tempted me to accept it.”

But that letter had been their relationship’s turning point, and although they’d spoken of it only once since that fateful day, he was happy he’d told her the awful truth. It had freed him from the crippling guilt of inaction, and it had laid the basis for his renewed hopes.

The thought of never seeing Elizabeth again had nearly driven him to distraction. He’d destroyed any connection he might’ve had to Hertfordshire when he shared in Caroline Bingley’s scheme to end her brother’s affection for Jane Bennet. He’d wondered over those spring and summer months about Elizabeth. Did she ever think of him? Had she met someone new? Would Elizabeth marry another? Would her children possess her fine eyes? The possibility of her loving another created such havoc.

There had been moments when he’d considered riding at breakneck speed to Longbourn and prostrating himself before her, but then Fate had arrived in the form of Elizabeth’s Aunt and Uncle Gardiner’s visit to his estate. With Elizabeth in tow, they, literally, had arrived on his doorstep, and life had changed for the better.

From the haze of his thoughts, hazel eyes met his in some amusement. A sleepy droop of the lid said Elizabeth had rested well despite the cramped quarters. Unfolding, she struggled to a seated position. Stretching her arm to the side and rotating her neck to loosen the muscles, she said, “Did I sleep long?”

Darcy placed the idea of her self-chastisement away for now. He would observe his wife’s actions and words more carefully. Somehow, he thought her parents’ visit would resolve some of Elizabeth’s anguish. That is, if he and she ever arrived at Pemberley. “Long enough to restore a bit of color to your cheeks.”

Elizabeth nodded in satisfaction. “I admit to feeling the exhaustion you described earlier.” She glanced out the coach’s window. “Where are we exactly?”

“Mr. Simpson has made exceptional progress. He’s well versed in the local roads and has taken two shorter routes; we’re a bit north of Matlock. I thought we might stay the night at my uncle’s. A decent bed would do you well.”

“We’re that close to Pemberley?” she asked in anticipation.

Darcy cautioned, “Still too far to reach its doors at a reasonable hour. We’ve traveled eight hours already today, and we’ve another hour to Matlock.”

Elizabeth sighed deeply. “If you insist, Fitzwilliam.”

“I insist.”

Elizabeth teasingly tossed him an air kiss. “Only because you are the most handsome man I know do I allow you to exercise your will over mine,” she taunted.

Darcy barked a laugh. “You lust after your husband, Mrs. Darcy?”

Elizabeth’s chin rose in a challenge. “Lust, Mr. Darcy? What an unladylike quality you attribute to me.”

Darcy’s voice became breathier. “Actually, I find the concept quite enticing. Stimulating, even.”

“Stimulating indeed,” she quipped. “In that case, I hope that the Earl shan’t expect us to entertain him all evening.”

“We’ll claim the need of an early departure on the morrow,” he reasoned. “A full night’s sleep is well overdue.”

“Yes,” Elizabeth rasped. “A full night.”



“Thank you for joining me, Miss De Bourgh,” Roman said as he braced her balance with his arm.