“We really should wait, Mamma, for it will not be tuned until next week. But I shall be happy to play for you then.”
“Good day, Mrs. Bennet,” Mr. Darcy said with a bow. Then, with a glance at Elizabeth and a perfectly straight face, he added, “I was just telling Miss Bennet how much I admire your husband's dedication to his family. In fact, Mr. Bennet mentioned his intention to accompany you to Lambton today. He seemed quite eager to assist you in selecting new fabrics and ribbons for your daughters as presents for the festive season.”
“Truly?” Mamma asked, clasping her hands together. “He is an excellent father is he not, Elizabeth?”
“He is,” Elizabeth agreed. “You should insist on taking him today, for I know that he has no other appointments.”
Mrs. Bennet's face lit up with delight. “Oh, how wonderful! I must go and thank him at once for being so thoughtful. Mr. Bennet!” she called, hurrying from the room. “My dear Mr. Bennet!”
As soon as her mother was out of earshot, Elizabeth turned to Darcy. “Mr. Darcy, you are quite devious.”
“Fair recompense for his little trick this morning.”
She chuckled. “My father does enjoy my mother's company, but I dare say he will be utterly confounded by the intricacies of selecting ribbons and fabrics. Mamma will be sure to shop for lace as well. Shall we position ourselves near the breakfast room to witness his attempt at feigning enthusiasm for the outing?”
“I find myself quite intrigued by the prospect.” Mr. Darcy's lips twitched in amusement.
They were not quick enough, however, for when they arrived, her father was already being helped into his coat. His narrowed eyes promised retribution, but Elizabeth smiled at him—a genuine, happy smile—and Papa’s dark expression transformed into resignation. He did pat his wife’s hand when she took his arm, though, and leaned down to whisper something to her.
“Thomas,” she responded, then tittered.
And then they were gone, leaving the breakfast room blissfully empty.
“The room is clear, Mr. Darcy. Would you care for that coffee now?” Elizabeth inquired.
He smiled at her. “I would, Miss Bennet.”
They stepped inside, and Elizabeth moved toward the sideboard, reaching for the coffee pot. Her hands stilled when she felt the weight of his gaze on her, and she turned, meeting his eyes. The way he looked at her, warm, steady, and with that same glimmer of amusement that she had missed while he was gone—it made her heart flutter.
“Mr. Darcy,” she began, “I had an interesting note from Mrs. Milner yesterday. Did you know that someone has gifted Mrs. Higgins with a lovely new ladle?”
His cheeks flushed. “Really? I suppose it was time. The handle was badly bent.”
This embarrassment meant that she had been right. “It was you.”
“I do not know what you mean,” he said, looking away.
Elizabeth felt as though she could burst into song. She hadknownMr. Darcy was the right man for her. And she had been right. Wordlessly, she poured the coffee and handed him his cup. Their fingers brushed briefly—was it strange that she felt the heat of it all the way up her arm?
Elizabeth watched him take a sip. “And will you be gifting anyone else with kitchen utensils this week, Mr. Darcy?”
His cheeks flushed again, but this time, a smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “I suppose that depends on how many more I find in need of replacement.”
Elizabeth let out a soft laugh, shaking her head as she turned toward the door. “Well, do let me know before you restock the entire village. I should like to assist you.”
Mr. Darcy chuckled softly. “I shall be sure to seek your counsel—though I suspect your help might prove invaluable beyond ladles and spoons.”
“Well, Mr. Darcy,” she replied archly, “I do try to be of service where I can.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Darcy sat tall and proud, guiding his favourite pair of sleek bays as they pulled an open carriage. Beside him, Miss Bennet was bundled up in layers of wool and fur, her usual lithe form hidden beneath a mass of winter attire.
After they were well away from the house, he glanced at his companion. “I can hardly see your face beneath all those layers,” he teased. “Are you certain you are warm enough, or shall I fetch another blanket?”
Miss Bennet turned to face him. What he could see of her cheeks were rosy from the cold, and her eyes were bright with both exasperation and mirth. A few errant curls escaped her bonnet, dancing in the breeze. She pulled the scarf away from her mouth so she could speak. “My mother has somehow forgotten I am not five, but lately I find it is best to humour her.” She squirmed, attempting to loosen the wraps. “Please, no more blankets. I fear if I add one more thing, I will topple right out of this carriage.”
“We cannot have that,” he said with a soft smile. “While your mother was smothering you in warm garments, I had to promise your father I would return you in one piece.” As he maneuvered them around a bend in the road, he caught Miss Bennet watching him with what he hoped was admiration. He flexed the muscles in his arms a little more as he drove, just in case.
