Elizabeth’s mare had made the sea voyage with the Darcy coach and was now trotting along behind them, together with Darcy’s own mount.

‘Yes, I think I would.’

Darcy knocked on the roof of the carriage and it began to slow, pulling up before it had gone much further.

‘I should have worn my habit,’ said Elizabeth as he handed her out.

‘There is no one to see you here, only me, and I cannot fault your appearance,’ he said with a smile.

Her mare’s reins were untethered from the back of the coach, as were the reins of Darcy’s horse, and he helped her to mount before mounting himself. The coach set off again and they rode beside it, keeping to the highway when it was bordered by walls but riding over the fields when they could, enjoying the freshness of the wind as it blew past their faces.

They rode intermittently as they travelled south, returning to the carriage when Elizabeth was tired or when showers made it unenjoyable, until at last they neared Rome. They passed by a pine forest that filled the air with a clean, sweet scent and beyond it they could see the Mediterranean Sea. The water was a deep and vibrant blue, changing shade where the water grew deeper, and stretching into the distance, where it met the horizon in a barely perceptible line of differing shades of azure.

The coachman had been given directions to the villa but even so he had to stop a number of times and ask the way.

The Prince had called it a villa, and Elizabeth had no idea what to expect, whether it would be a small gentleman’s residence or a vast estate, but at last they saw it in the distance. The villa was three storeys high, but it gave the impression of being a low building because it was so vast. It was symmetrical, with tall arched windows and balconies adorning the façade. As she and Darcy turned into the gates, they found themselves travelling through formal gardens. On either side of the impressive driveway there were flowerbeds laid out in rectangles and squares. The flowerbeds were edged with low hedging and filled with flowers which bloomed as profusely as if it were August and not November. The whole was a riot of colour: pink and red and orange, backed with splashes of green.

The flowerbeds were divided by gravel walkways which were raked to a smooth surface. Where the paths crossed, fountains played. They were adorned with statues of mythical figures, mermaids and griffins and satyrs, which threw water into the air. The statues’ faces were turned towards the spray, and they seemed to watch it as it hung at its exuberant apex for a moment before descending as a shower of brilliant diamonds, winking and sparkling in the sunlight.

‘I never knew anything like this existed,’ said Elizabeth, as she let down the window in order to get a better view. ‘Last November I was looking at the rain in Hertfordshire and now here I am, in the midst of all this beauty, at the same time of year.’

Darcy smiled with the whole of him. His joy in her pleasure was tangible, filling the carriage with energy, like the after effects of a thunder storm.

And indeed, Elizabeth felt as though she had weathered a storm. The dark dreams were behind her and a few weeks of light-hearted pleasure in the villa were just what she needed.

The carriage wheels crunched over the gravel drive and they drew nearer and nearer to the villa with every turn of the wheels. When Elizabeth could tear her eyes away from the gardens she turned her attention to the villa itself. Its entranceway was on the first floor, and it was approached by two flights of steps, one leading up from the east and one leading up from the west and then meeting on a terrace in the middle.

The carriage came to a halt and liveried footmen flooded down the steps to form a living avenue of purple and gold, through which came the Prince. He was dressed in cloth of gold and looked at home amongst all the splendours of his home, but he welcomed them warmly, without ostentation, and led them up the east flight of steps to the front door.

As they reached the terrace, Elizabeth saw that its roof was supported by marble columns, around which sculpted sirens were entwined. Elizabeth was reminded of her first visit to Rosings with its many splendours, though Rosings paled beside the villa, and she wondered what Mr Collins would make of it. She imagined him walking in front of her and telling her about the weight of the columns, the size of the sculptures, the number of windows, and reciting an account of what the glazing had originally cost.

‘Something has amused you?’ asked the Prince.

‘Not really—well, yes. I have a friend whose husband is impressed by large houses. I was just imagining his reaction to the villa.’

‘Ah! Yes, we have such people in Italy. You, yourself, are not impressed.’

‘On the contrary, I am,’ said Elizabeth, looking around her as they entered the hall and admiring the frescoes, the marble statues, and the paintings. ‘It’s a truly remarkable home and very beautiful.’

‘But you do not admire it as vocally as your friend. Nor, I think, as obsequiously?’

There was humour in his voice.

‘No,’ she admitted, thinking, That would be impossible!

‘Besides, you have a beautiful home of your own. I hear that Pemberley is very fine.’

‘Yes, it is,’ said Elizabeth, with a glance at Darcy. ‘And full of memories.’

‘Already? But how can that be? I understood that this was your wedding tour? But ah! You visited it before your wedding, of course.’

‘Elizabeth came there with her aunt and uncle,’ said Darcy. ‘Not very often, but they are days that neither of us will ever forget.’

Elizabeth smiled at him and they shared a private moment as they remembered the occasion when she had unexpectedly met him again. It had been a moment full of awkwardness and embarrassment but nonetheless exquisite for all that—full of apprehension and yet full of hope, too.

‘I pray you will treat the villa as your home,’ said the Prince. ‘There is a fine library and a music room, and I beg you will use them at any time. You will find a great deal of company in the villa, for I have many guests, and I hope you will find them amusing and entertaining. You will meet some of your countrymen here, as well as people from all over Europe and beyond.’

Having made them thoroughly welcome he left them to the housekeeper, who inclined her head respectfully and then showed them to their apartment. The rooms were elegant and fresh, with marble-topped furniture everywhere and huge ornate mirrors on every wall. Elizabeth saw that her dress had become disordered and she repaired the damage before going downstairs.

She found the other guests, as well as Darcy and the Prince, in the garden. The heat of the day had gone and there was a cooling breeze which made walking out of doors a delight.

Elizabeth soon felt at home. The Prince gave her a glass of wine, which he took from the tray of one of the footmen who wandered the grounds with refreshments, and introduced her to a dozen English guests, several of whom knew Hertfordshire. To her surprise, one of them, Sir Edward Bartholomew, knew Sir William Lucas, as they had been knighted at the same time.

‘I remember it well,’ he said. ‘These very knees have knelt before the King, and these very shoulders have felt the touch of his sword as he dubbed me Sir Edward Bartholomew. I have never known a prouder moment than when he invested me with my insignia. I was nothing but a humble shopkeeper until my knighthood, Mrs Darcy, I never thought I would rise to such heights.’

‘But we all thought it,’ said his wife loyally. Turning to Elizabeth, she said, ‘Sir Edward has made a great contribution to our neighbourhood and his mayoralty was exemplary. Everyone said so.’

Sir Edward smiled modestly and said that it was nothing, adding, ‘Sir William Lucas feels as I do, that it is an honour to serve our country and that we are amply rewarded by this recognition of our services. His family are well, I hope? His wife and his charming daughters?’

‘We met them all in London,’ Lady Bartholomew explained, ‘or at least we met the older children. The others were felt to be too young to understand the honour being bestowed on their father.’

‘Yes, they are all well,’ said Elizabeth, as she sipped her wine. ‘His eldest daughter, Charlotte, is now married. She married a relation of mine, a Mr Collins, who is a clergyman in Kent.’

Lady Bartholomew looked surprised, but quickly hid her astonishment and said, ‘I am very pleased to hear it. She was a most sensible and agreeable young woman. She is not settled too far from home, I hope?’

‘My husband thinks it is an easy distance, but I think not, for it is nearly fifty miles,’ said Elizabeth.

‘Little more than half a day’s journey on good roads,’ said Darcy.

‘Ah, good roads, how I long for some!’ said another Englishwoman, Mrs Prestin. ‘We seem to have been jolted this way and that ever since leaving England.’

The other guests joined in the conversation, the French and Italians declaring that travelling was far easier in their own countries than anywhere else, and one, a Monsieur Repar, claiming humorously that he had been overset three times in his carriage when visiting England.

‘It is good to hear you laughing,’ said the Prince, coming up beside Elizabeth. ‘I knew you would love my home. I am honoured to have you here, and your husband, too. I like very much the English, and any friend of Colonel Fitzwilliam is always welcome here.’

In the warm, balmy air, Elizabeth felt her spirits revive. She and Darcy were able to take advantage of a lull in the conversation to drift away from the different groups and walk by themselves through the gardens, where the whiteness of the gravel paths contrasted with the scarlet flowers and the sea’s clear blue.