He offered to prepare her line, but she refused, saying, I do not wish to take away from your sport, sir. If I encounter any problems, I will seek your help. She wandered up the stream to choose her own place. Isabella followed, her rod in one hand, a tackle box in the other, until Richard intercepted her, taking the tackle box and walking beside her down the bank.
Meanwhile, Lewis was caught up watching a tête-à-tête, his expression darkening when he saw Rivendell approach Miss Mary Bennet and then engage her in conversation. The man was three and thirty, a widower with four children. Far too old for a girl of nineteen, he thought.
Finishing his pudding, Lewis returned his bowl to the footman and crossed to where Mary stood. “Rivendell, how are the children? I heard measles has been going around.”
Rivendell looked alarmed. “Indeed? I had not heard of it.”
“There is a family down with it now,” said Lewis gravely. “The physician has placed them under quarantine. Isabella and I have not been exposed, so you need not fear.”
The older man relaxed. “Ah, my children had it earlier this year; the eldest brought it home with him from Harrow, but to my knowledge, I have never had it.”
“Rivendell has four children, the eldest a boy of nine,” Lewis remarked, turning to confirm, “Is that right, Charles?”
Rivendell said, “Actually, Charles is ten. This is his first year away at school, and the poor boy came down with the measles. They sent for me at once. I brought him home and kept him isolated, but the others soon caught it. The youngest could not be kept from his brother’s room; he would run in to keep him company, and so the illness spread to my three other children.”
Mary laughed at the tale, her eyes alight with amusement.
Lewis turned toward her. “Miss Mary, do you cast a line too?”
“No, sir, I prefer indoor pursuits. I could never abide touching a fish, nor the smell of one.”
The two men chuckled, then looked toward Elizabeth and Isabella, both of whom stood near the stream with their lines.
“Miss Mary, it is a fine art in your sisters’ hands,” Lewis remarked.
Rivendell added, “Lewis, your sister is also an expert. I imagine you taught her?”
Lewis shook his head. “No, my father taught us both. There is only a year between us in age, and we learned everything together.”
Rivendell observed, “Mr. Darcy is quite taken with your sister, Miss Bennet. He has abandoned his rod entirely to stand and watch his wife.”
Mary said. “Yes. He is very much in love. It does one’s heart good to see that such a thing exists outside of novels.”
Lewis’s gaze lingered on her face. “Miss Bennet, may I escort you to the dripping well? Have you seen it yet?”
She studied his face. He seemed amiable enough this morning. And he seemed to sincerely wish for her company. “I have, sir, when I first arrived at Pemberley, but I would be happy to see it again. Georgiana and I left ribbons hanging from a branch where the water drips. I should like to see whether they are hardening.”
Lewis smiled faintly. “I am afraid you must visit my estate if you wish to see true petrification. There is not enough mineral in this well, but let us see. Perhaps there is a little.”
He offered his arm, and she took it. Together they walked down the wooded path, their figures soon hidden among the trees.
Rivendell looked after them thoughtfully and nudged a tuft of grass with the toe of his boot. “She is a beauty,” he murmured to himself, “but she is only nineteen. Hearing about the children did not put her off. But I would end with ten children if I married so young a girl.”
He shook his head, smiling at his own folly, and turned back to the stream. Picking up his rod once more, he began casting with renewed concentration.
Lewis held Mary’s arm securely within his own, and as they walked, she found herself listening to him speak with surprising animation about his home, his mother, and his tenants. His conversation flowed more freely, and his eyes, she noticed, were gentle when they turned toward her.
“Does your father allow his daughters to read the newspaper?”
“Yes, sir,” Mary replied. “Whichever of his daughters wishes to read them is permitted to do so.”
“And Miss Mary wishes to read them?”
“Yes. So does Lizzy, but none of my other sisters care to keep abreast with the times, sir.”
He asked, “How many sisters have you?”
“There are five of us, Mr. Lewis.”
