“Are lilacs a favourite flower of yours, Miss Elizabeth?” he asked, alerting her to his presence.
Lizzy jumped a foot into the air but then nearly forgot her shock as, in her jerky reaction, she ripped the bloom from its branch. It now lay at her feet, the tiny flowers crushed on one side.
“Oh no.” Lizzy knelt to retrieve the fallen flower.
“My apologies, I did not mean to startle you.” The voice came from right beside her, and this was enough to startle her once more. This time, in her surprised response, Elizabeth bumped into Fitzwilliam and knocked them both over.
“Mr. Darcy, I am so sorry,” Elizabeth exclaimed as he righted himself, coming to his knees beside her before offering her his hand. She took it and they both rose. After taking a moment to smooth her dress, calm her racing heart and catch her breath, Elizabeth looked up at her companion.
“It is entirely my fault,” he declared. Her previous work at returning her heartbeat and breathing to normal levels was immediately undone by the familiar and thrilling sight of Fitzwilliam Darcy’s almost smile and sparkling brown eyes aimed right at her.
Focusing her gaze over his shoulder and uttering a prayer that her voice would not give away the legion of butterflies consuming her entire being, she responded, “Although I am glad to allocate the blame entirely to you, I am curious as to how you drew that conclusion.”
“I saw what damage you would inflict on a poor, defenceless flower when startled. I then proceeded to place myself in harm’s way and frighten you again.”
“I was not frightened,” she protested.
“Of course not. That was a poor choice of words. I should be quite put out if you were scared of me.”
“I could never be,” she declared, looking up at him. Even as she told herself to look away, that no good could come of it—like staring directly into the sun—she could not avert her gaze. Though he said nothing, a curiosity seemed to bloom in Darcy’s eyes, and after a moment, he opened his mouth, but it was Georgiana’s voice they heard. They looked towards the sound which came from somewhere beyond the bushes in the direction of the house.
“Lizzy, please come quickly.”
Darcy and Elizabeth looked back at one another for a moment, then turned and moved to intercept the speaker the sound. They found Georgiana, about to take a path in the wrong direction, calling for Elizabeth once more.
“Georgiana, I am here. What is the matter?”
“It is Mary,” came the answer, and as Georgiana drew in a breath, Elizabeth imagined all manner of catastrophes that could have happened. “She has fallen. We were so frightened. I have never seen anything like that.”
“Fallen, where? Is she conscious? Where is she hurt? Who is with her? Has a doctor been summoned?” Elizabeth fired these questions at her friend even as she moved towards the closest entrance to the house.
Struggling to keep up, Georgiana gave her breathless answers as the threesome burst through the French doors and into a formal sitting room. “No, she is well. It is only her ankle. Miss Baxter thinks it likely a sprain, but she is in ever so much pain, and though she would not say it, she wanted you with her as we wait for Mr. Adams, Lambton’s apothecary.”
Georgiana led them through the room, down the hall and into a small parlour Lizzy had not seen before. Once inside, Elizabeth saw Mary, seated on a small couch with her left leg elevated on a mountain of pillows. Tears streamed down her face, though she made no sound. Miss Baxter knelt beside her, murmuring words of comfort. When the newcomers entered, Mary’s gaze snapped to the door.
“Lizzy,” she cried. “Oh, Lizzy.”
Elizabeth rushed to her sister’s side; Miss Baxter quickly made way.
“Oh my darling, I am so sorry you are hurt, all will be well. I promise. I am here.”
“Thank you, Lizzy. I am so sorry to cause all of this fuss.”
“Nonsense,” Elizabeth said, wiping Mary’s tears with her handkerchief. “You cause all the fuss you can—you have earned it.”
“If you insist.” Mary tried to smile, but it became a wince. She turned and sobbed into her sister’s shoulder. Elizabeth wrapped Mary up in her arms and continued to offer words of reassurance. Behind her, Elizabeth heard Darcy quietly address his sister: “Do not worry, dear one, she will be well. You were right to fetch Miss Elizabeth. Perhaps sometime soon we could have a conversation about how to deliver news such as this so as not to create the most panic possible.”
Even as Mary’s tears soaked the sleeve of her gown and she worried over her sister’s injury, this made Elizabeth smile.
It had taken two weeks for Mary’s ankle to be well enough for her to venture out again. Mr. Adams had declared the sprain a mild one and prescribed plenty of rest. Georgiana and Miss Baxter visited and helped entertain the patient nearly every day. Then came tentative walks about the room, supported by her sister and friend, and finally longer attempts out of doors. It was during one of these sojourns into Barlow Hall’s main gardens that Georgiana proposed the expedition to paint Pemberley’s lake. Mary was delighted at the prospect. The Gardiners were persuaded when the use of the carriage was confirmed. It was settled upon by the next day that the adventure would take place three days hence.
The elder Mr. Darcy arrived with the Darcy carriage at the appointed hour. He was to escort the ladies, minus Miss Baxter, who was abed with a headache, to the lakeside, where he would leave them to their artistic endeavours for several hours, at which time the younger Mr. Darcy was to pick them up and return the ladies home.
The day was bright and warm, and the ladies quickly established themselves with their easels at different points on the lakeside. The younger ladies chose spots near one another in a small grove. Elizabeth chose to set up on a small rock formation further down and away from the road. The lake was still as glass and reflected almost perfectly the trees which lined its shores all along the west and north sides. A pair of swans glided around a small cluster of rocks which jutted out near the centre of the small cove along which Elizabeth stood, attempting to begin her work.
It did not take long before she was frustrated at her inability to translate to the canvas either the breathtaking sites or even her own feelings in having it all set before her. Herpicture contained nothing more than several pots of blue and green and two white dots—the swans.
As Georgiana and Mary continued to focus on their paintings, Elizabeth decided she had had enough. Putting down her brush and removing her smock, she looked about for somewhere to explore. Behind her, a small stream extended from the lakeside back into what appeared to be a small copse of bushes and small trees. She decided to follow it.
