The idea came from Georgiana during one of her visits to Pemberley with her husband, Edward. They were all in the drawing-room after dinner, a fire crackling in the hearth despite the summer warmth outside. Alexander was asleep upstairs, and the conversation had turned, as it often did, to his latest exploits.
“You should have a portrait done,” Georgiana said, her eyes bright. “The three of you. It is time the gallery had a new Darcy family portrait. One that shows… this.” She gestured around the room, at the comfortable disarray of Alexander’s toys in the corner, at Elizabeth’s embroidery basket overflowing with bright thread, at the sense of warm, lived-in happiness that permeated the air.
Elizabeth looked at Darcy. The Darcy family portraits in the gallery were formal, stiff affairs.
