Her mother’s shoulders slumped, but she nodded. “You are right, dear, everything in its time. The drawing room should be first.” She patted the silk lovingly and set it aside.
Elizabeth was surprised her correction had been taken so easily. Mamma would normally have argued with her, but the events of the past week had been remarkably salutary to her mother’s effusive nature. She had not requested her salts once in the week they had been in residence. Shehadmade a few remarks about how Hollydale was inconveniently located all the way here in the north. It was a shame she would not be able to visit her friends in Meryton very often, nor would they be able to see her in the new estate. She had blushed when Papa had to gently remind her that Elizabeth would be mistress at Hollydale, but these behaviours had comforted Elizabeth rather than irritated. Mamma was still Mamma.
At the end of another hour, Mamma had narrowed a dozen options to four different fabrics she preferred, and she laid them out on a table to compare. She had an artist’s eye, catching the slightest variations in pattern, colour, weight—she even held each one up to the light to see how it would look in a window.
Elizabeth enjoyed pretty things as well as her mother, but after such scrutiny of so many fabrics she required a brief respite. She told her mother she would return shortly, and Mamma nodded.
“Do not wander off, Elizabeth,” she said, as though Elizabeth was still a child.
“No, Mamma,” she replied, amused.
As her mother began to debate the merits of each choice with Mr. Glidding the draper, Elizabeth opened the door and stepped outside.
Darcy was striding up the pavement along Lambton’s high street, intending to stop in the bookshop, his mind still on the advice Mr. Hawkins had given him, when two small boys burst around the corner, racing towards him at great speed. The older boy, his face flushed with exertion, gripped his younger brother’s hand tightly as they ran, their threadbare coats flapping wildly behind them.
Before he could puzzle out what the boys might be fleeing, a young lady stepped out of a shop directly into their path. The boys, their heads down and focused on their feet, did not see her, and the woman, her head turned in Darcy’s direction, did not see them.
“Watch out!” he shouted as he hurried forward. The older boy’s head shot up at the sound and he swerved to one side, but his momentum was too great. His shoulder clipped the woman as he raced past, and the force of the unexpected blow causedher to spin to one side and stumble backwards towards the street.
She threw out her arms—it was a vain attempt to regain her balance, but it did keep her upright just long enough for Darcy to catch her with one arm and ease her the rest of the way to the ground.
When she glanced up to see who had arrested her fall, he found himself looking past a short-brimmed bonnet and into a pair of fine dark eyes that betrayed surprise but also good humour. He took her arms and helped her to her feet, one hand remaining under her elbow to make certain she was steady.
“Are you harmed, Miss?” he inquired, concerned.
The woman straightened and shook out her skirt. “No, I am well, thanks to your gallantry.” She glanced in the direction the boys had fled and then back at him. “Leave it to me to be caught up in a whirlwind.”
Darcy turned to watch the boys disappear around the corner in the direction of the mews, then glanced the other way. Two older boys stood at the corner, looking around before seeing Darcy, offering him a polite nod, and walking away. Some altercation between them, he supposed.
He addressed the lady. “Those rapscallions might have caused you serious injury.”
“Oh,” she said, offering him a small smile, “I am sure they meant no harm. They could hardly have expected me to step out of the shop at just that moment.”
“Which is precisely why they ought not to have been running past.” He reluctantly removed his hand now that he could see she was well. “You are very forgiving, Miss . . .?”
“Bennet,” she said. “I am sorry there is no one here to properly introduce us, but given our unusual situation, I cannot suppose it matters. May I know the name of my rescuer?”
Darcy made a quick bow. “I am Mr. Darcy of Pemberley, Miss Bennet.” He paused, searching for something to say. “Are you visiting Lambton? I do not recall seeing you here before.”
“No, I have not been here in several years. I am Miss Bennet of Longbourn in Hertfordshire and now Hollydale House as well.”
He felt a pang of melancholy. Darcy had liked Ellis, who was his closest neighbour, and had visited him not long before his last illness. He had not been aware the old man had any family to leave Hollydale to, other than the husband of a distant cousin he had never met. Perhaps he had other distant relations.
“I am familiar with the estate,” he began but was interrupted when a bell jingled and the door behind them opened to reveal Mr. Glidding, the draper.
“Good day, Mr. Darcy,” the shopkeeper said, glancing between the two of them. “Miss Bennet, your mother is ready for you to assist her in making final selections.”
Miss Bennet nodded. “Thank you, Mr. Glidding.” The merchant disappeared into his shop, and she watched him go with a little sigh. He did not know what she had intended to do when she exited the shop, but apparently, she had lost the opportunity.
“Thank you again, Mr. Darcy.” She dipped into a shallow curtsy, and he touched the brim of his hat.
As Miss Bennet returned to her mother, Darcy made a note to pay a call on Miss Bennet’s father sometime soon. To welcome them to the neighbourhood, of course.
Elizabeth returned indoors only a few minutes after she had exited. But her attention was no longer on the house, the inheritance, or Mr. Ellis’s instructions, but instead the handsome man who had saved her from an inelegant tumbleinto the street. Mr. Darcy of Pemberley. Elizabeth allowed herself a moment of appreciation for the way he had so easily caught her in one arm and set her to rights. The way his hand on her arm had set her heart fluttering as he inquired about her health . . .
“There you are,” her mother said, interrupting her fanciful thoughts. Elizabeth laughed silently at herself. Who knew she could be as silly as her younger sisters?
“These are the last three, but which do you prefer? Would not each one make the most beautiful wall covering? I daresay we could not find anything so fine even in London.”
