She returned his bow. “Likewise, Mr Darcy.” For a moment, she faltered, but then remembered he had spoken of his home with great affection when they had first met. “I have long wished to ask you, how does Strathalt House compare to Pemberley? I hear the gardens at your home are magnificent.”
He seemed sincerely pleased, replying with an enthusiasm that seemed due to his liking for the subject as well as his wish to help his sister. “They are indeed. How good of you to remember, Miss Bennet. My grandfather and father worked diligently to create and expand the gardens. I can only hope I might add to them and improve them as time goes on.” He paused, never once taking his eyes off her. “Perhaps you might come to see them someday?”
She told herself not to get flustered by the suggestion. Surely it was only a part of their play-acting. “How very thoughtful. If I ever have occasion to find myself in the Peak District, I would very much like to see them.” She was surprised and gratified to see how seriously he was treating the exercise, for she had half-expected him to treat it as a silly game.
He smiled charmingly at her, another surprise. “Our door will always be open to you, Miss Bennet,” he said with such feeling that she almost felt he meant it.
They continued their conversation for a while longer, so Miss Darcy could get the feel for what she might say to a stranger, and then they were joined by her father and Mr Campbell for tea. As they parted ways to find their chairs in the sitting area, she could not help but feel flustered over the lesson.Despite her misgivings, she could not deny that she was drawn to Mr Darcy.
Elizabeth’s growing interest in him frightened her a little. Surely, he would never be seriously interested in a woman like her, a woman of inferior station and wealth. Then again, how would that account for the way he had looked at her before Miss Darcy had joined them in the drawing room?
“Well, it seems the two of you will be taking a little piece of the Highlands home with you. How do you find our local tartan?” Mr Campbell asked Miss Darcy after tea had been served and they had settled with their refreshments.
“I like it very much. The seamstress in town is wonderful with a needle, would not you agree, Miss Bennet?”
She snapped her head up, nearly spilling the contents of the delicate teacup all down her new tartan. Elizabeth reproached herself for being so entirely engrossed in her own thoughts. If this kept up, she would do better to seek lessons in charm from Miss Darcy. “Oh, yes. I agree. She has done wonderful work with the stitching.” She did not have the heart to look up and see if Mr Darcy was looking at her. To her relief, her voice had sounded calm and even, but her heart was still beating fast.
“Are you well, my dear? You look a bit flushed,” her father pointed out. It was not done in malice, but she fervently wished he had kept his musings to himself and not drawn even more attention to her, for he only made her plight worse.
“I am quite well. It is just that the woollen material is a little thicker than I am used to. I am the only one who is a little over-warm?” she asked.
“I am not too warm, no. Perhaps you should have a lie-down?” Miss Darcy asked, looking concerned.
Mr Darcy also looked concerned and seemed about to say something, but Elizabeth rose before he had a chance. “Yes, I think I am feeling a little feverish. I will change and lie down for a while. Please excuse me,” she said and hurried out of the room without so much as waiting for everyone to finish their expressions of concern. Impolite as it was, Elizabeth did not feel that she could wait another moment. She badly needed some time to think.
She had only made it a short way down the hall when her father called after her. Elizabeth waited for him to catch up, and they walked up the stairs together. “Are you sure you are well? Shall I call for a doctor?” He clicked his tongue in mild disapproval. “I am sure your early morning walks, not to mention that excursion to the loch, has made you catch a cold of some kind.”
“No, Papa, I assure you that all is well. I only need some time to lie down and rest. Despite being in the country, I have had no end of amusements and activities to take up my time.” Elizabeth sighed as she came to her guestroom. “Have you been able to decipher anything more about the riddle?”
Her father shook his head. “I have been wracking my brain since Mr Campbell gave us the riddle, and spending the afternoons scouring the library to see if anything might be of use. He seems to enjoy using literature as his inspiration. But I have not landed on anything useful.”
Elizabeth nodded and kissed her father on the cheek. “Well, I shall try to be of better use to you, Papa. The sooner we can solve this riddle, the sooner you will inherit the house.” And the sooner she could put some distance between her andMr Darcy, and the impossible feelings she feared she was developing for him.
Chapter 12
The following day dawned with a light rain falling and turned into a misty afternoon. Darcy sat in the library, thinking over the riddle. Many days had passed since Mr Campbell had given them the clue; Mr Bennet must be close to solving it. Yet the contest was not over yet. Something in the riddle had seemed familiar, and so he had shut himself into the library to scour his books and see if something might help set him on the right path. If Mr Bennet solved the second riddle before he could, the contest would be over, and Strathalt House would be his.
With a crooked smile, he admitted to himself that it was not altogether an unpleasant idea. Darcy had more than enough houses, whereas Mr Bennet and his family would benefit from the inheritance much more than he and Georgiana. Even so, he had to try, for Georgiana’s sake. She was becoming attached to the place. And even more so to Miss Bennet. The sentiment was understandable. Darcy himself was more fond of her than he ought to be, and he feared his feelings were growing stronger with every passing day.
But such foolish musings would do nothing to solve the riddle. He would not make a fool of himself. He would concentrate on the task at hand.
As he walked the shelves, he came across a copy of a collection of poems by Sir Walter Scott. His mind suddenly jogged with a memory of a certain poem, “The Lady of the Lake.” He took the volume down from the shelf and fingered through the leaves, searching for the poem.
He found the very lines that Mr Campbell had given in the seventh section of the poem’s first canto.. Darcy held his breath in anticipation, his heart pounding. This must be it. Better still, one line was missing.
“Thus up the margin of the lake…” Darcy read aloud. That changed the image the riddle gave considerably.
∞∞∞
Nor nearer might the dogs attain,
Nor farther might the quarry strain,
Thus up the margin of the lake
Between the precipice and brake
O’er stock and rock their race they take.
