The next day, Mr Darcy proposed that the reunited couples take a walk in the grounds after breakfast, keen to be renewed by reacquaintance with the familiar outlines and vistas of the estate of which he was master, and to feel the slight weight of his fleet-footed wife on his arm. As the party gathered in the foyer of the great house, somehow the question of the piano-tuner accompanying them arose, and a servant was sent to invite him to join them. ‘He will probably decline,’ said Mr Darcy; ‘we do not wish to keep him from his work,’ but indeed Herr Rosenstein came that moment down the stairs, seemingly eager for exercise and company.

Charlotte did not know whether to be dismayed or relieved when her husband attached himself to the musician, keen to continue the conversation of last night, and to beg the names of works of literature he might recommend not just to his wife, but to Lady Catherine as the doyenne of the Rosings library. At some point, the path they were following narrowed so that she was obliged to slip her arm from that of Mr Collins and, at that moment, Mr Darcy looked around and beckoned for her to join him and his wife. She had little choice but to step forward and join the couple ahead, but the Darcys made her welcome, and there was no sense of intrusion on marital communication as Lizzy included her in the scope of her remarks.

‘We have enjoyed ourselves, have we not, Charlotte? Who would have thought a small gathering of women and children could be so rowdy! Indeed, Mr Darcy, you have returned in time to civilise us once more, and not a moment too soon. We have been picnicking, both indoors and outdoors, picking fruit like gypsies, dancing with the children – such song and noise and games, Pemberley has at times resembled a bear garden.’

‘I am sorry you feel my absence is required for such debaucheries. Perhaps I too might be persuaded to make my dinner from sandwiches or dance the hornpipe in the company of such charming girls as the young Misses Collins.’ A fondness in Mr Darcy’s eyes as he looked at Lizzy robbed his words of any potential sting, and Charlotte glowed at the compliment to her daughters.

She felt light-headed. In the background, the conversation between her husband and Herr Rosenstein had moved on to German philosophy, on which topic Mr Collins seemed to be discoursing with more enthusiasm than knowledge; and yet she was able to take pleasure in thoughts of her children, the lush summer views that stretched in all directions, the support of a strong masculine arm when the path grew uneven. She kept waiting to be wracked by guilt and anxiety, but these emotions arose mostly from their lack.