“Why?” She was frowning mildly, gazing at him intently. With a sudden jolt, he perceived that the question was asked with true perplexity and curiosity.

“Miss Bennet, I shall be completely blunt and honest and beg your pardon if I cross a line in some manner; however, I sense you are requesting a candid response.” He paused, awaiting her favor until she nodded. “I feel drawn to you in a way I do not totally understand, yet there it is. I have never felt so inclined toward another. What this connection bodes for the future, I do not know. You are pretty, intelligent, honest, proper, and many other fine qualities I believe I could list without hesitation. I think it entirely probable you and I would be perfect for each other. It is my intention to discover if this is possible. I do not wish to trifle with your emotions, nor do I wish to have my own sensibilities manipulated; therefore, if you cannot imagine even the remotest chance of returning affection, tell me now and I shall abide by your pleasure. On the other hand, if you sense, even vaguely, a returned interest in me, then let us proceed with willing minds and hearts.”

Mary remained silent for a bit, studying his guileless face. Her thoughts rushed. Mary was a simple, innocent young woman, unaware of the fact that what was passing between them was highly improper in its frankness. A true society woman would faint away at being addressed so boldly by a gentleman. Mr. Daniels knew this and anticipated her reply with bated breath; fearful of having spoken too candidly and thus frightening the first woman he had ever been truly drawn to. Yet, Miss Bennet appeared not the least bit frightened or shocked, merely intrigued.

With a small smile she said, “Very well, Mr. Daniels. With open minds and hearts, we shall proceed. Now, tell me exactly what a solicitor's duties are.” And with a casual sip of tea, she turned the conversation to mundane matters. Mr. Daniels smiled happily, then launched into a detailed accounting of his profession.

Lizzy sat across the room attending with extreme concentration to her needlework, in truth having completed perhaps ten stitches. She could not hear every word spoken between her sister and Mr. Daniels, but enough to glean the context. It was difficult to contain her smile. Approximately ten minutes later, Kitty and Georgiana returned via the arrangement, allowing Lizzy to dash to Darcy's study.

She told him everything, ending by teasing that he should have taken the time to acquaint himself with Mr. Daniels years ago, then perhaps he would have known how to be forthright with a woman. To which he replied that it no longer mattered, for now he had won his maiden's hand and forthright conversation was therefore not essential. Of course, Lizzy took umbrage and assaulted her husband with well-placed tickles, leading to kisses and intimate caresses that quite likely would have lead to further intimate activities, but the door chime interrupted them.

Quickly readjusting clothing, they hurried to the foyer, but rather than Darcy's uncle it was a representative from Tillbury's Carriages. With a broad beam Darcy grasped his wife's hand and followed the man to the street where Lizzy's curricle sat. Completed, it was more beautiful than Lizzy had imagined. Polished to a high sheen, metal and wood glistening in the bright sunlight, the curricle was exquisite. Lizzy had chosen a brocade of forest green with maroon and gold stripes for the cushions, elegantly coordinating with the glossy maroon enameled sides. The Darcy crest blazed in the sun. Again Lizzy was moved to tears, Darcy casually handing her his handkerchief while the man from Tillbury's rendered a full inspection for Mr. Darcy's approval.

Reentering the foyer while the curricle was being properly stowed for later delivery to Pemberley, they encountered Mr. Daniels and the girls approaching.

“Mr. Darcy, Mrs. Darcy,” Mr. Daniels said, bowing. “I wish to thank you for allowing me to call upon Miss Bennet and for guesting me in your enchanting home. I have had a delightful afternoon.”

Darcy bowed in return, formally welcoming Mr. Daniels to visit whenever he wished, which led to discussions of museums and picnics with Miss Bennet, Mary quietly standing nearby. Kitty giggled, reverting momentarily to her naturally giddy behavior, while Georgiana merely smiled sweetly. A state of moderate chaos reigned while Mr. Travers patiently waited by the open front doors with Mr. Daniels's overcoat and hat. No one was attending to the doorway itself, which is why the booming voice startled all of them into abrupt silence.

“I daresay, William, do you always host festivities in the grand foyer?”

All eyes snapped to the towering gentleman blocking the sunlight from his casual dominance on the threshold. It was Georgiana who first speared the oppressive silence with a squeal as she rushed into the arms of the lanky intruder, declaring with confident delight that it was Uncle George.

“Unhand me, woman!” Dr. Darcy mockingly commanded, with a wink to a broadly smiling Darcy. “It is not proper for a woman of breeding to embrace a strange man!”

“Uncle George! It is me! Georgiana!”

“Impossible! Georgiana is a grubby faced child with pigtails.”

“I have never worn pigtails in my life!”

Dr. Darcy peered intently into his niece's face, the corners of his mouth twitching precisely as Darcy's did when attempting not to laugh. “Well, you do resemble her somewhat, although the Georgiana I remember did not have bosoms and curves. William, how could you allow this to transpire? Did I not instruct you to prevent her growing?”

Darcy spread his hands. “Unless you have discovered a potion to stunt aging, Uncle, I have no control over the matter.”

George Darcy, a man of some fifty years, so resembled his nephew it was uncanny. They were of an identical height, although Dr. Darcy was far leaner, almost skeletal, with sharp angles at every joint. His eyes were the same brilliant blue, hair the same brown, though with streaks of gray at the temples and wavy where Darcy's was straight. His handsome face was a thinner, lined mirror image of Darcy's, with skin tanned bronze by the harsh desert sun. Instead of traditional English garb, he wore an impeccably tailored Indian Punjabi suit, consisting of churidar trousers and kameez tunic in bright turquoise with red trim and a tan sherwani richly embroidered with a rainbow of hues across the hem and over the long sleeves. The effect was exotic and beautiful.

Georgiana was beaming, far too ecstatic to be embarrassed by references to “bosoms and curves,” tenderly gripped by her uncle's right arm as he surveyed the stunned occupants of the foyer. “Well, as my nephew appears to have lost his wits and well-honed English manners, I shall guess.” He looked straight into Elizabeth's face with a friendly but piercing gaze all too familiar to her and stated assuredly with a proper bow, “Mrs. Darcy, I am certain. The combination of intelligence, long-suffering, and humor, all of which are of necessity to endure marriage to the man-child behind you, as well as the fact that you are obviously with child, mathematically compute. Congratulations, Mrs. Darcy, on your nuptials, and blessed tidings.”

He bowed yet again, brushing her slack fingers with his lips, and then laughed a resonant chuckle identical to her spouse's. “Do not be so shocked, my dear. I am a physician. Your state is clearly written upon you.” Still laughing, he glanced up at Darcy. “Congratulations to you as well, nephew. Despite the paralysis of your beautiful spouse, I am confident of my original assessment and am therefore relieved that you have chosen wisely.”

Darcy laughed and bowed dramatically. “Thank you, Uncle George, on both counts.” He stepped forward, clasping hands with his uncle who then enveloped him in a hug, Darcy wincing slightly but returning the embrace with enthusiasm. “Allow me. This is my wife, Elizabeth Darcy. Dearest, my uncle, Dr. George Darcy.”

“Please, ‘George’ is what I prefer. I am on vacation, so the doctor has been left in India, although I will take a gander at that arm of yours, William, if you wish it.”

“How did you…?” Lizzy blurted in surprise.

George smiled. “He flinched, grunted faintly, and did not grip as tight as he normally would have. Let me guess. A horse, William? Or have you taken up pugilism as well as dueling? Ah, there you are, Raja!”

All eyes now focused on the new arrival: a man in his mid-thirties of average height, stocky build, and swarthy, with coal black eyes and thick, curly hair as black as a starless midnight sky. He smiled, teeth gleaming ivory as he bowed. He too wore an outfit of traditional Indian style, although far more sedate and unadorned than George Darcy's. So dark was he that Lizzy thought he was Indian, but then he spoke. “Saludo. Greetings.”

“Allow me to introduce my colleague Dr. Raul Penaflor Aleman de Vigo. His full name is far longer and I frankly cannot remember it all. A Spaniard, but do not let that influence your opinion! He is a good man and excellent physician—nearly as skilled as me! Is not that so, Raja?”

Dr. Penaflor flashed another dazzling smile. “As you say, George.” His voice was rich with a heavy accent, his enunciation of “George” so altered as to be nearly indistinguishable.

Darcy stepped forward, exerting his authority as the Master of the manor to extend all the proper introductions. Mr. Daniels, with a last glance and nod to Mary, finally escaped. The rest retreated to the parlor, Dr. Darcy's robust timbre frequently ringing out with a witticism or comment. Lizzy understood why Darcy said his uncle reminded him of Richard Fitzwilliam. The two did have a similar easy humor and irreverence about them at odds with the seriousness of their professions. The comparable traits between Darcy and his uncle were as striking as their contradictory characteristics. Despite the aforementioned minor physical differences, there was no doubt to Lizzy she was catching an arcane vision of her husband in twenty years. Like his nephew, George Darcy missed nothing. His hawk-eyed gaze was piercing and showed his supreme intelligence, and his brows arched intensely, as did Darcy's, but with a profound softness at the edges, undoubtedly a result of ultimate empathy and daily dealing with suffering. Both men were quick witted, but George Darcy seemed utterly indifferent to the nuances of propriety and clever phrasing. He spoke eloquently but bluntly, not purposely offensive yet unconcerned with coddling one's sensibilities. Lizzy found it refreshing and liked him immensely.