London, in its full, frenetic glory, was a world away from the misty, tranquil peaks of Pemberley. To Elizabeth, it felt like stepping onto a brightly lit, cacophonous stage where every gesture was observed, every word dissected. The Darcy residence in Grosvenor Square was a masterpiece of elegance, but its opulent rooms felt like a gilded cage after the sprawling freedom of her home.
They were in town for the opening of Parliament, a duty Darcy could no longer shirk. It was also, he had declared with a firmness that brooked no argument, time for society to properly meet his son. Alexander, now a bright-eyed boy of four, was the undisputed star of their London entourage, his Pemberley-honed vitality a startling contrast to the pale, carefully managed children of the ton.
Elizabeth watche
