Mr. Bennet chuckled. “You do not allow me to get away with anything.” He watched his daughter pour the tea and serve them all their meal.
Darcy accepted both the teacup and his plate with thanks but did not begin to eat or drink before Miss Bennet had served herself.
She glanced around the room. “Mr. Ellis certainly had a considerable number of books, Papa. I worry you may never leave this room.”
“Have no fear,” Mr. Bennet said. “Not that I willneverbe found in this room, for—” he swept his hand out in front of him— “who could resist? But I am fully aware you have need of me elsewhere.”
Darcy thought this an odd statement. Why would Miss Bennet’s needs drive Mr. Bennet’s decisions, and why did Mr. Bennet sound apologetic? Perhaps he was merely being playful? Darcy raised his teacup to his lips only to be startled by something weighty striking his elbow with force. Tea sloshed over the rim of the cup and splashed onto his cravat as the precariously balanced stack of tomes he had created on the table behind him gave way, and the rest of the books cascaded around him in a sort of literary avalanche. One thick volume landed squarely on his polished boot.
For a moment, silence reigned. Darcy sat frozen, teacup still held aloft, surrounded by a sea of scattered books. There was nothing in the etiquette he had been taught that covered how to behave in a situation such as this.
Miss Bennet pressed her lips together, clearly fighting back laughter. Mr. Bennet, however, made no such effort.
“Well, Mr. Darcy,” he said, his lips twitching and eyes sparkling with merriment. “I see you have made the acquaintance of the library, and it seems to like you.”
For a moment, Darcy struggled to think of a response. But a look at Miss Bennet, her laughter choked back in deference to his feelings, decided him.
“Indeed, sir,” he said, setting down his teacup and picking up the book on his foot. He studied the title. “I read Greek philosophy at university, but I do not recall it being quite so . . . aggressive.”
At this, Miss Bennet could contain herself no longer. Her laugh was merry, and Darcy found himself joining her.
Chapter Five
The footman’s eyebrows pinched together, and he gazed sceptically at Elizabeth, holding the large sample books a little tighter.
“I will take those.” Elizabeth smiled and held out her arms, but eventually allowed them to drop. “Do you wish to enter the draper’s, Thatcher?”
Thatcher was a man in his late twenties or early thirties whom her father had newly hired to follow her about. He was of average height but broad-shouldered, with an air of quiet strength about him. “These books are rather heavy, Miss Bennet.”
Typically, Elizabeth would have argued that she was more than capable of handling the books for the twenty steps between the carriage and the draper’s, but something in Thatcher’s stubborn expression gave her pause.
“Very well, then,” she said. “Though I do not know why I travelled into town if it was not to return the sample books to Mr. Glidding. You might have delivered the list as well.”
Thatcher did not attempt to answer, only offered a shallow bow, and walked directly into the shop as if worried she would change her mind. After a moment, Elizabeth entered behind him.
“Good day, Miss Bennet,” the shopkeeper called as he emerged from the back.
“I am returning your books, Mr. Glidding, or rather, Thatcher is doing so.” She lifted her hand. “My mother has also sent this list for you.”
Mr. Glidding smiled and took the piece of paper that had Mamma’s orders neatly listed. “Your mother has a fine eye for quality, Miss Bennet.”
“She does indeed.” Elizabeth had often been exasperated by her mother’s compulsion to spend on things she deemed unnecessary, but she had never fully understood how much of Mamma’s behaviour had been driven by fear. After all, if she survived her husband, Mamma would lose all access to the estate funds one day, perhaps quite suddenly. Whynotspend as much of it as she could before that happened? Without the spectre of genteel poverty hovering over her, Mamma, while not happy to be restrained, was at least more willing to be held to their budget. She had even consulted Elizabeth on each decision without being prompted, and Elizabeth had to admit her mother had a gift for bringing beauty to her surroundings. She was fortunate to have such able assistance.
“I am traveling to Derby tomorrow,” Mr. Glidding said. He held up the list. “A few of these items come from my son’s shop in London, but I can send the order on the mail coach from there, and he will have it within a day, two at most.”
“Thank you. I am certain Mamma will be grateful.”
“Not at all, Miss Bennet. I am grateful your family chooses to do your custom here with us in Lambton.”
She had not expected a Lambton shop to have connections in London, that much was true. But Mamma had known as soon as she saw the bolts of silk and cotton in the shop. And how wonderful it was to be able to patronize the local merchants—it was certainly going to make things easier, for in London Mamma would have gone distracted. There was enough choice in this single shop to keep her happy without destroying her ability to make decisions. And Mr. Glidding had already begun to spread the word that the Bennets of Hollydale preferred to shop in Lambton. It was sure to make them popular.
Elizabeth smiled at Mr. Glidding and took her leave. She opened the door, glancing both ways before stepping out onto the pavement.
The market was bustling on the green where the high street crossed with River Lane. Elizabeth motioned to Thatcher that she wished to stroll down to it. He frowned a bit but nodded, ready to follow her into the crowd. The chestnut trees that dotted the square had turned various shades of orange and red, and fallen leaves crunched beneath Elizabeth’s boots as she approached the stalls. The cacophony grew and crested over her as she approached. The vendors hawked their wares, villagers bartered with them, and neighbours called out to one another in greeting. Children darted around the adults, collecting the conkers that had fallen to the ground and hoping for something sweet to eat before their parents dragged them home.
Elizabeth lingered at Mrs. Brown’s pie stall but thought Cook might not appreciate her arriving home with someone else’s food. She considered a mug of cider, but the woman selling it was dipping the cups into the pot rather than using a ladle, and they did not appear entirely clean.
She moved on to a stall selling fresh bread and baked goods. She looked over her shoulder at Thatcher, who was attempting not to appear interested. She smiled, purchased two tea cakes,and handed one to the footman. She put the other in her reticule to eat in the carriage on the return journey.
