“Miss Elizabeth, I hope you enjoy your day,” he said with his familiar tone of amusement and formality. “May I help you?”
Lizzy had trouble focusing on anything he said after her name. For reasons she could not explain, it always caused a sensation that combined what she felt the time the vicar admonished her in church in front of everyone for not paying attention and the time she beat John Lucas in a race at the Meryton fair.
After a moment, she saw Mr. Darcy’s hand was extended to her. He was offering to assist her into the phaeton. First. Meaning she would sit in the centre. Next to him.
She stared at his hand. She knew she was taking too long to respond when she looked up at his face and his perfect dark brow was quirked in question. Her heart had not slowed down. She wondered how it would respond to his touching her. He wore gloves. They were brown, fine and slightly worn on the palm side. She was not wearing gloves. Her aunt and uncle had gifted her a new pair, off-white with embroidered pink flowers. They were a soft leather, and she had loved them so much that she left them behind, not wanting to get them dirty. Rarely did her fine things last more than a week before she stained or ripped them beyond hope of recovery.
Her bare hand in his gloved ones. She could survive that. This is what she told herself as she slowly placed her hand in his. His fingers closed over hers. But before he could move them to the steps of the gig, the other Mr. Darcy addressed them all.
“Fitzwilliam will take the birthday girls in the phaeton. Gibbs will take the rest of us in the barouche box.”
“Oh, how lovely,” Mrs. Gardiner exclaimed.
Lizzy’s hand continued to rest in Mr. Darcy’s. How had she not erupted in flames?
“Shall we be off, then?” old Mr. Darcy asked, indicating the small open carriage which sat in the drive.
“Yes,” Mr. Barlow agreed. “Are we certain young Mr. Darcy is up to the task of escorting our young ladies?”
His fingers squeezed hers before he answered.
“I believe I can handle it, sir. However, I would not object if you wanted to chauffeur the guests of honour.”
Elizabeth did not know if her Mr. Darcy knew how much this offer would mean to Mr. Barlow. The older gentleman was sometimes treated as a child who was not capable of doing the things common to gentlemen of his station, such as driving a gig. Even her beloved aunt and uncle seemed, in recent years, to consider him unable to contribute in meaningful ways. It was a conspicuous change to her, so she knew he must feel it. He was now seen as one who was in need of care as opposed to one who provided it.
“Oh, you must,” she beamed at him. Mr. Darcy released her hand, and she moved to Mr. Barlow, taking his arm. “Surely, you cannot resist such a fine conveyance.”
“I suppose,” he answered, trying unsuccessfully to keep the excitement from his voice. “I would not mind.”
Her Mr. Darcy helped Mr. Barlow ascend into the driver’s seat, then he reached for her hand once again. She took it quickly this time, squeezing his fingers. He looked at her in question.
“Thank you,” Elizabeth said quietly. He nodded and raised one side of his lips in that almost grin she had come to love, and her heart stuttered. In that moment, she felt they understood one another and had accomplished something together. It was such a heady feeling she almost missed the final step. As she settled into her seat and Georgiana sat down beside her, she lamented the missed opportunity. Perhaps he would have caught her if she had, in fact, fallen.
Soon, her attention was called to the beautiful scenery all around them, excitedly narrated by Georgiana and Mr. Barlow, sitting tall in his seat and asking questions of Miss Darcy about much of what they saw.
The path took them around the back of the house and quickly onto the lane that traversed Pemberley Wood. The trees were tall and thick, their green leaves creating a canopy that blotted out the sun for a moment before they reached a fork in the road, which took them to the edge of the wood and then down a sloping verdant hill, winding back and forth so the descent felt easy, though the hill itself was fairly steep. At the bottom was the lake, but when they reached its edge after five minutes, they continued along the road, the water to their left, until, after another five minutes, the gazebo came into view.
As they came closer, Elizabeth saw that not only were there blankets laid out beside it with pillows and baskets, but the gazebo itself was decorated for the occasion. There were flowers, white roses and hydrangeas in multiple shades of pink and blue in bunches along the rails, the latter flower being Elizabeth’s favourite and the former Georgiana’s. Their favourite colours were also on display with cloth festoons gracing the large double-wide opening as well as the surrounding rails—purple and pink. They went well together.
It was lovely without being oppressively opulent. There was beauty but no pretence. Or at least that was how Elizabeth saw it. It was likely no matter what the decorations, meal or desserts were, she would have been pleased. She was so taken by the site that she was startled when they came to a stop beside the blankets. Mr. Barlow helped her and Georgiana down as the other carriage pulled up. Everyone exclaimed at the beautiful decorations, the food which was laid out in such a way that the quantity and delicacy were apparent and the weather which seemed to be cooperating in their plans for outdoor enjoyment.
Two servants, a maid and a footman stood to the side, waiting for Mr. Darcy’s word to begin serving the guests. Before doing so, old Mr. Darcy invited everyone to sit. There were two chairs and a small table beside the blankets where he invited Mr. Barlow to join him.
“We are so glad to welcome new and old friends for this little celebration,” he said, then, with a smile at the girls, added, “to Miss Bennet and Miss Darcy, Elizabeth and Georgiana, many happy returns. May fourteen and eleven be your best years yet.”
“Here, here,” the others responded. The servants then sprang forwards and began to fix plates for everyone. Elizabeth was unsurprised to find all of her favourites among the offerings.
The hour the group spent partaking of the many different dishes passed quickly. In addition to the amazing food, there was no shortage of good conversation. Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy discussed Beowulf, which he had suggested she read after Gulliver’s Travels. She didn’t have the heart to tell him she found the former book boring, and though it was quite short, only her knowledge that he would be asking about it made Elizabeth finish. In listening to Mr. Darcy’s enthusiastic recitation ofcertain lines and his thoughts on the beauty of both the language and the fantastical scope of the poem, Elizabeth rethought her own opinions, though not enough to consider actually rereading the text. Sometime after the two agreed to disagree on the merits of the poem, Mr. Barlow coaxed Elizabeth into sharing the story of her most memorable birthday, before this one.
“Yes, Lizzy, tell our friends about the gift you got yourself when you were a little girl,” Mrs. Gardiner insisted with a laugh.
“Very well,” Elizabeth agreed with pretended reluctance. “I was sure they would let me keep it,” she told her eager audience. “It was my sixth birthday.”
“Oh, I can just picture you as a little girl,” Georgiana exclaimed.
“She was the most adorable child,” Mr. Gardiner confirmed.
“What was she like?” Mr. Barlow asked.
