“Darcy,” she corrected automatically, her cheeks warming at the child’s persistent mispronunciation. “Remember, William, it’s Mr. Darcy.”
“Good morning, young explorer,” Darcy said solemnly, settling William against his shoulder with practiced ease. “Are you prepared for today’s expedition?”
“Da-see! Go! Go!” William repeated with delight.
This was precisely what she had feared. William was forming an attachment to Darcy that could only end in heartbreak. When the truth eventually emerged—or worse, if it never did and they were forced to leave Bellfield—her son would suffer a loss more than his little heart could take.
And what of her own heart? Elizabeth was not so self-deceived as to deny the dangerous warmth that spread through her whenever Darcy showed kindness to William, or when his dry humor emerged in their conversations. It would be all too easy to fall again for this man who was both familiar and strange—the same commandingpresence, the same intelligent eyes, yet unburdened by their complicated history.
“Shall we proceed?” Georgiana asked with barely concealed impatience. “The morning is perfect for walking, and I’m anxious to show Elizabeth the view from the oak hill.”
“Indeed,” Mary agreed, though her expression suggested she found the entire enterprise suspiciously convenient. “Such a beautiful autumn day should not be wasted on indoor pursuits.”
Elizabeth allowed herself to be shepherded into the walking party, though she noticed with dry amusement how quickly her supposed chaperones found reasons to lag behind or surge ahead, leaving her in Darcy’s exclusive company with only William as protection against impropriety.
William alternated between riding on Darcy’s shoulders and charging ahead on his own small legs, exploring every fallen branch and interesting stone with the thoroughness of a natural philosopher.
“William seems to have inherited your enthusiasm for exploration,” Darcy observed as they watched the boy examine a particularly fascinating pinecone.
“Along with my tendency to disregard muddy hems in pursuit of interesting discoveries,” Elizabeth agreed with a rueful glance at her son’s already soiled trousers. “I’m afraid he will return to the house looking like a chimney sweep’s apprentice.”
“The mark of a successful expedition,” Darcy replied. “My mother used to say one could measure the quality of a child’s day by the quantity of dirt acquired.”
“Lady Anne sounds remarkably sensible,” Elizabeth said, surprised by this glimpse of what must have been a warm maternal presence. “Most ladies of her station would prioritize maintaining appearances.”
“She believed in the value of experience over excessive propriety,” Darcy said, his expression softening with memory. “At least where children were concerned. I was forever returning to the housein various states of disarray, much to my father’s amusement and my governess’s despair.”
Elizabeth tried to imagine Darcy as a small boy, hair tousled, clothes muddied from outdoor adventures. The image was surprisingly easy to conjure—she could see it in the way William tilted his head when considering something of importance, in the serious set of his mouth when concentrating on a task.
“It seems William comes by his exploratory nature honestly,” she said before she could consider the implications of her words.
Darcy’s glance was sharp but unreadable. “From you, certainly. I cannot imagine his father shares similar proclivities.”
“And who, I daresay, do you supposed his father to be?” Elizabeth knew she bordered on impertinence, but it seemed as if Darcy had already formed an opinion.
Darcy’s steps faltered, color rising to his cheeks as he realized the impropriety of his comment. “I… forgive me, Miss Bennet. That was unconscionably rude. I have no right to speculate on such personal matters.”
His response disappointed her, dampening her spirits. How could he not sense how personal his interest should be? Yet another reason to guard her affection and that of her son’s.
What would happen when the novelty wore off? What would happen when Darcy tired of playing at domesticity and returned to his real life in London? How would she comfort William when his beloved “Da-see” inevitably disappeared from his world?
They walked in awkward silence until William darted back, his small hands filled with tiny acorns and pebbles.
“Mama,” he announced, presenting Elizabeth with a smooth black stone.
“Thank you, my love,” she replied, examining it with appropriate gravity. “A most excellent specimen.”
“William clearly regards you with complete devotion,” Darcy said, his voice carrying a quality she could not quite identify. “A testament to your character as much as his instincts.”
The casual compliment sent warmth spreading through her chest in a way that had nothing to do with the autumn sunshine. When had she become so pathetically grateful for crumbs of male appreciation? When had Darcy’s good opinion begun to matter more than her pride?
“You flatter me, sir,” she replied, aiming for lightness. “Though I suspect your judgment is influenced by William’s shameless campaign to win your affections through strategic displays of charm.”
William seemed to bolster her claim by presenting Darcy with a rather bedraggled feather.
“I am honored,” Darcy said, accepting the gift with the same seriousness he might accord a diplomatic presentation. “A superior example of its kind.”
William beamed with pleasure at their appreciation, then scampered off to rejoin Mary and Georgiana, who had paused to admire a particularly picturesque view.
