“Oh, do you draw?” Elizabeth asked. “I confess I have never been good at it. Please, why do we not leave the artistry to you, and I shall be a lookout?” she suggested. “You are certainly possessed of a great many accomplishments.”
“Thank you,” Miss Darcy said shyly. “My brother has always encouraged me in my endeavours, and it does not hurt that I enjoy creative expression.” She looked across the sitting area to where her brother and Mr Bennet were visiting.
“Indeed. I wish I were more creatively inclined, but alas, I seem to enjoy experiencing other people’s creativity more than attempting my own. Though I have thought about trying my hand at writing a short story or novel of my own. I have been very inspired since coming to Scotland.”
“Oh, I would be most interested to read what you have written so far. What is the story about?” Miss Darcy asked.
Elizabeth smiled. “I only have a few thoughts jotted down. But I will show them to you as soon as I have some kind of direction. And may I say, that was very well done, as far as engaging someone in conversation.”
Miss Darcy blushed under her praise. “I did say I would try my best,” she said. “I know I have a lot to learn, but I am so thankful for your willingness to help me.”
Suddenly, she felt someone’s eyes on her. Elizabeth glanced across the sitting area and saw that Mr Darcy was watching her. Had he heard their conversation? And how would he feel about her revelation that she was writing? A woman-novelist was unheard of in polite circles, as a woman’s income should come from a husband and not from her own toils. It was very common indeed for a woman to work for her own provision.
Elizabeth could not interpret the look in his eyes. At the thought that they would be nearly alone the next morning, with only Miss Darcy as a chaperone, nervousness shuddered all through her. She was excited at the prospect of an adventure and seeing Nessie, yet there was something more. She wondered at the confusing feelings blooming in her middle. It was not for Mr Darcy, surely. For all she had come to respect him since their disastrous first meeting, it would be folly to think there could be anything more between them.
Mr Darcy was not the man for her. And even if he were, it would be the utmost arrogance to think that she would be of any interest to him.
Chapter 10
Mist rose from the green hills as early morning shadows crept along the ground. Darcy looked again at his pocket watch, which read 5:57, and wondered again at the impatience roiling in his chest. Surely Miss Bennet would not want to miss this adventure. She had seemed so keen the day prior, as had Georgiana. Indeed, he had not seen his sister so animated about anything in a very long time.
“She will be here, do not worry, Fitz,” Georgiana said from her seat in the carriage. Although it was summer, the air was fraught with chill, so he had insisted that they await their charming guest in the carriage, tucked snugly beneath a thick wool blanket.
“Do I seem worried?” Darcy asked, not expecting a response.
“Yes, quite worried that she will stand you up,” his sister went on. He could hear the smile in her voice, and he looked up at her sharply. He could see the mischief dancing in her eyes.
“This is not an outing,” he said. “That is, not an outing in the way you are framing it. I had not suspected you of harbouring such romantic thoughts, Georgiana.”
“You always used to say I was not allowed to have such fanciful thoughts until I was at least five and thirty,” Georgiana said, her eyes suddenly a mask of demure innocence. “I would never dream of it.”
Darcy knew better, but he could not bring himself to scold her. Georgiana’s improved mood showed him she might at last emerge from the dark cloud she had been trapped under for so long. For such a blessing, he would accept any amount of teasing.
“Ah, here she is,” Georgiana said, nodding toward the front stoop.
Darcy turned. His breath nearly caught in his throat.
She is wearing a gown that could not cost half as much as any of Georgiana’s. She is not beautiful — at least, not in the style of a porcelain doll, as a London beauty ought to be. And yet she is more striking than any woman I have ever seen. More vivid, more entirely alive.
More beautiful, but in a style all her own.
With an effort, Darcy shook off his stupor. He cleared his throat, then waited for her to come to the bottom step before offering his hand to her. “How good of you to come,” he said with a weak smile. Unfortunately, it seemed his muscles would not work properly, too frozen in trepidation or shock, he was unsure. “We are so glad you could join us. I know it is early.”
Miss Bennet wore an odd expression for a split second before accepting his hand and his help into the carriage. “I do apologise for keeping you both waiting. I misplaced my shawl, and I knew it would be a chilly morning.”
“Yes, you were very sensible to locate it,” Darcy agreed. He climbed into the carriage behind Miss Bennet and took the seat opposite them.
Darcy tapped on the carriage roof, alerting the driver that they were ready to depart.
“Well, it promises to be a beautiful morning, does it not? Not a cloud in the sky!” Georgiana said as she leant toward the east-facing window on the right and breathed deeply of the fresh, heather-scented air. “I am sorry if you found it difficult to rise this early, Miss Bennet.”
“On the contrary. I am used to rising early. I do love to be awake when the rest of the house is quiet.” Miss Bennet glanced his way. “I enjoy an early morning walk, though perhaps not quite so early as this.”
“I always suggest an early walk to begin the day right,” Darcy replied.
Georgiana gave him a highly significant look — though significant of what, he hardly knew. Darcy frowned quellingly at her. Though normally loath to discourage her, his patience for matchmaking was limited, even for his sister.
But discouraging matchmaking was no excuse for incivility. Darcy sighed and took a moment’s respite before speaking, looking out the window. Since he faced the rear of the carriage, he could see Strathalt House disappearing as they bumped down the slight incline. “How does your father like Scotland, Miss Bennet?”
