Darcy crossed to her and bent near, as though to examine the work upon the table, but his eyes lingered on her face. The glow of the firelight heightened the color in her cheeks, already warmed by hours in the open air.
“You have the look of one well-pleased with the day,” he said softly, his voice for her alone.
“I am,” Elizabeth answered, glancing up with a smile. “It was an excellent outing. Charlotte and I proved ourselves equal to the task, and Georgiana made great progress.”
His face softened. “You look lovely, my dear.”
A flush rose in her cheeks, and she reached out to take his hand. “Thank you, Fitzwilliam.”
Georgiana held up another fly. “Look, Fitzwilliam. This fly is much better than my first.” Darcy took a seat beside his sister and then reached down to take the fly she held in her palm, holding it between his thumb and forefinger. He looked into her eyes and smiled. “This one is very good, my dear.” He bent and kissed her hair and then lingered at her side to watch her tie the next.
Chapter 74: A Picnic at Pemberley
It was the day of the picnic, and Elizabeth stood looking out the bedchamber window when she heard the bedsheets rustling behind her. “Will it be a dry day, darling?” She dropped the edge of the drape. “It is a lovely day, Fitzwilliam.” Elizabeth turned and saw her husband partially covered with the sheet. He was watching her. Her eyes traced down the length of his legs before rising to his face. She sighed. “You are so beautiful, Fitzwilliam. You could have been Michael Angelo’s David.” She crawled onto the bed and ran her fingers through the wayward lock that hung over his left brow. He shifted to his side and gathered her against him, his kiss deepening until they were lost in each other’s embrace.
The drive to the stream required but a quarter of an hour in the Darcys’ two carriages, and upon arrival, the party dispersed to the several fishing holes indicated by Fitzwilliam.
“Darcy, Lancaster mentioned your plan for a charitable fund to cover the expenses of the indigent in this parish. I have not taken the opportunity to thank you, but I am most grateful.” Colin Rutledge extended his hand, and Darcy shook it.
Darcy prepared his rod. “You are a fine physician, Rutledge, and we wish to support your efforts with the indigent of our parish. It is an injustice to allow you to shoulder that burden alone.”
Elizabeth heard no more because she walked out of hearing. She climbed a large boulder and caught the sound of Georgiana giggling. Hugh Rutledge stood at the edge of the stream, instructing her in the art of casting.
“Oh! The hook has caught in my gown, sir.” Georgiana tugged at the rod, and the skirt bobbed up and down each time she pulled.
Hugh laughed. “Never fear, Miss Darcy. I shall release it, but you must cease tugging, or it is my finger that will be caught next.”
Elizabeth lingered a moment, uncertain whether she ought to remain with her sister to serve as a chaperone. When Georgiana’s gown was freed, the young girl asked, “What is the most interesting thing you have seen this summer?”
He secured her line and paused before replying. “I witnessed a gallbladder operation in London, performed by my brother. A woman had been suffering from stones, and he removed the gallbladder surgically. Did you know he has established a surgical theatre on the ground floor of his house here in Meryton?”
Satisfied that the pair conducted themselves with propriety and that they remained well within sight and sound of the rest of the party, Elizabeth moved on.
She drew near the spot Fitzwilliam had indicated as a popular fishing hole and climbed over the rocks and small boulders to reach it. Elizabeth had just begun to prepare her rod when the rector approached.
“Mrs. Darcy, may I join you? Mr. Darcy directed me here, assuring me I was certain to catch something in this very pool.”
She smiled at him. “It is my pleasure, Mr. Roberts.” As she spoke, she secured her line. “Do you have family in the area, sir?”
He opened his box of flies and bait. “No, ma’am. My father’s estate lies in Surrey. I moved here when a curacy became available and now I have fallen in love with this corner of England and its people.”
Further down, Charlotte stood at the edge of the stream, her small wooden fly box set upon a flat stone. She was examining its contents, weighing which insect to imitate against both the time of day and the season, when Mr. Seton drew near.
“Forgive me, what has you so intent in that little box?”
Charlotte looked up and then grinned. “I am choosing a fly, sir. The fish are rising near the bank.”
He leaned closer and saw the neat rows of tiny, feathered flies. “Where did you acquire such a fine collection?”
“I tied these, Mr. Seton.”
He lifted one, examining it between his fingers. “These are remarkably well-made. Where did you learn the art of dressing flies?”
“My father was an avid fisherman. We spent hours upon a stream that runs through our estate. I learned everything I know from him.”
“And you, sir? Do you have much experience?”
He chuckled. “Very little. My father sent us to school at a young age; by the time I was ten, I was sent away and remained at school until I completed my studies at Cambridge. Afterward, I established myself in London as a barrister. I have been a city-dweller these past six years.”
