Relief flashed across his features, quickly masked by his usual reserve. “I am gratified to hear it.”
A crash of thunder directly overhead interrupted the moment. William, startled from his play, let out a frightened wail. Before Elizabeth could rise to comfort him, the child was already racing across the room—not toward her, but directly to Darcy.
With a cry of distress, William flung himself against Darcy’s legs, small hands clutching at his trousers as another peal of thunder shook the windows. Darcy looked utterly startled, his hands suspended awkwardly in the air as if uncertain whether touching the child would be appropriate.
“I do apologize,” Elizabeth said, rising quickly. “He is easily frightened by storms.”
But before she could retrieve her son, Darcy had already lifted William onto his lap.
“There now,” he said, his voice gentler than Elizabeth had ever heard it. “The thunder cannot harm you. It is merely the clouds expressing their disagreement with one another.”
William’s sobs subsided to hiccups as he stared up at Darcy withwide, trusting eyes. His small hand reached up to touch Darcy’s face, a gesture of such innocent familiarity that Elizabeth felt her heart constrict painfully.
“He appears to have formed an attachment to you,” she observed, unable to keep a tremor from her voice.
Darcy looked up, his expression caught between confusion and something deeper, more primal. “Children often form inexplicable preferences,” he said, though his arms had naturally adjusted to hold William more securely.
“Not William,” Elizabeth replied softly. “He is typically wary of strangers.”
A particularly violent crash of thunder sent William burrowing against Darcy’s chest, small fingers clutching at his waistcoat. Without apparent conscious thought, Darcy’s hand came up to stroke the child’s dark curls, an instinctively soothing gesture that brought tears to Elizabeth’s eyes.
“Perhaps he senses you mean him no harm,” she suggested, fighting to keep her voice steady.
“I would never harm a child,” Darcy said with unexpected fierceness. Then, more quietly, “Least of all yours.”
The words hung between them, laden with meaning Elizabeth could not fully interpret. Was it mere gentlemanly sentiment, or something more personal? Before she could decide, Lady Eleanor called from across the room.
“Since it appears we are to be confined indoors for the evening, perhaps we might engage in some form of entertainment? Georgiana, would you favor us with a performance?”
The moment broken, Elizabeth reached to reclaim her son. Darcy surrendered him with evident reluctance, his hands lingering momentarily as the child was transferred between them. Their fingers brushed, and Elizabeth felt that same jolt of recognition she had experienced when he helped her in the rain—as if her body remembered what his mind had forgotten.
From his expression, she wondered if he had felt it too.
Dinner that evening was an intimate affair, served in the smaller family dining room. The storm continued unabated, occasional flashes of lightning illuminating the windows while thunder rumbled in counterpoint to their conversation.
William had been put to bed after much protest, leaving the adults to dine in relative peace. Elizabeth found herself seated opposite Darcy, a placement that forced her to either stare at her plate or meet his gaze more often than she would have preferred.
“I understand you have been instrumental in improving Bellfield’s breeding program,” Darcy said as the main course was served. “That is quite an accomplishment for someone not raised to agricultural pursuits.”
The comment might have seemed condescending from another man, but Elizabeth detected genuine interest beneath his formal delivery.
“My father kept sheep at Longbourn,” she explained. “Though on a much smaller scale. I always found their management fascinating, if only because it was considered an unsuitable interest for a young lady.”
“You enjoy defying expectations,” Darcy observed, something like amusement flickering in his eyes.
“I enjoy being underestimated,” Elizabeth corrected with a small smile. “It provides such an excellent opportunity to surprise people.”
Mary glanced between them with evident curiosity but remained silent. Lady Eleanor, however, seemed delighted by this exchange.
“My nephew has never cared for conventional thinking,” she remarked. “Though he sometimes forgets this about himself.”
Darcy raised an eyebrow at his aunt. “I was not aware my character was a topic of such general interest.”
“Not general at all,” Lady Eleanor replied smoothly. “Merely familial.”
The conversation shifted to more neutral topics, but Elizabeth remained acutely aware of Darcy’s gaze returning to her throughout the meal. There was a quality to his attention that reminded her oftheir time at Netherfield—that same intense scrutiny, as if she were a puzzle he was determined to solve.
After dinner, they retired to the drawing room, where Lady Eleanor suggested parlor games to pass the evening. Cards were produced, and a lively game of commerce ensued. Elizabeth, who had initially pleaded fatigue as an excuse to observe rather than participate, found herself drawn into the play by Georgiana’s gentle insistence.
