“I beg your pardon,” he panted, bending forward with his hands on his knees to catch his breath.
“It is I who must beg your pardon. I did not think anybody would notice if I slipped away for a short time.”
“Do not make yourself uneasy. I am not part of a search party.” He straightened, put his hands on his hips and grimaced, no less short of breath. “Well, I am, but you are not the quarry. I am after our cricket ball.”
“Oh, you are playing cricket? You were speaking with Jane when I left you.”
“I was, but…” He coloured slightly and looked at his feet. “I do not think your sister much cared for my talk of Nova Scotia. Goulding saw me standing idle and press-ganged me into the game.”
Elizabeth attempted not to allow her frustration to show. “Pray, do not mistake Jane’s serenity for indifference, sir. She often prefers to listen to other people’s opinions on a subject before forming her own.” At least, that used to be true.
Several bellows of “OUT!” from beyond the crest of the rise confirmed somebody else had found the ball.
“Excellent, that saves me a job,” Mr Bingley said, puffing out his cheeks. He took out his handkerchief and mopped his brow. Then, with a quizzical look, added, “May I be so bold as to enquire what that is?”
Elizabeth followed his gaze to the crayon sketch in her lap. “Oh, this is me!” she said, laughing. “My cousin drew it. She is but four years old. I think it a very good attempt, from memory.”
He agreed it was and enquired whether she saw her relatives in London often.
“Not as often as I should like,” she answered, refolding the pages of her letter. “And my aunt writes with news of another delay. I am to accompany her and my uncle on a tour of the northern counties in the summer, but it seems my uncle’s business will prevent us leaving assoon as we had planned or staying away for as long. We will no longer be able to travel as far as Yorkshire.”
“That is a great shame.” He perched farther down the same root upon which she was sitting. “I hail from Yorkshire. It is a wonderful part of the country.”
“I still hope to see it one day, but for now, I shall have to content myself with Derbyshire.”
“That is no great hardship. Derbyshire is delightful. You will enjoy walking in the Peak, I think. And you could visit Pemberley while you are there.”
The mention of Mr Darcy’s home so thoroughly unsettled Elizabeth that she stumbled over her reply but managed to make it known she thought it unlikely he would appreciate her visiting.
“Nonsense! Darcy takes great pleasure in entertaining his friends at Pemberley. I daresay he would be delighted were you to visit.”
Something tugged inside her at the thought of how far fromfriendsshe and Mr Darcy must now be. Then she rallied indignantly with the remembrance of his avowed disdain for her connections. He would not be delighted to receive her at Pemberley with her relations from Cheapside in tow.
“You ought to go,” Mr Bingley said, a sly grin overtaking his countenance, “if only to hear Mrs Reynolds’ panegyric on him.”
“Mrs Reynolds?”
“His housekeeper. She is a delightful lady—most amenable, very intelligent—butexcessivelyfond of Darcy.”
“Does she not have good reason to be so?”
“Certainly. Only she does rather like to boast of his virtues. She has a sort of paean to which all tourists and visitors are subjected.” To Elizabeth’s vast amusement, he affected a falsetto voice and screeched, “The best landlord, the best master that ever lived! Never had a cross word from him in my life, and I have known him since he was four! He is sweet-tempered, generous-hearted, good-natured!” With each accolade, he flopped his head from side to side. “Affable to the poor, revered by his tenants and servants, the most wonderful brother, and”—he put the heels of his palms together under his chin and splayed his fingers—“I am sure I know none so handsome!”
It was too much. Elizabeth burst into laughter. “I have no need to go there now since you have acted her part so faithfully!”
“As I said, it is quite something.”
“It is a very fine account,” she observed, for notwithstanding the silliness of his performance, every commendation he attributed to the housekeeper was favourable to Mr Darcy’s character, and what praise could be more valuable than that of an intelligent servant?
“And justly given,” he assured her.
“You are very good to speak so highly of him.”
He shrugged lightly. “It is no effort to speak highly of good friends. Which brings me full circle—Darcy speaks very highly ofyou. He would be very well pleased if you were to visit Pemberley.”
Elizabeth scarcely knew what she said in response but nodded gratefully when he suggested they return to the other guests.
Great was her confusion! Mr Bingley had been in company with Mr Darcy more recently than she. What could possibly have been said—or not said—to make him think his friend still held her in high esteem? And what did it matter? For if despite everything, Mr Darcy still felt some lingering regard for her, it only made both their situations more pitiable. No man so savagely rejected could ever concede to rekindling such a disastrous acquaintance. Knowing that did not prevent her from endlessly examining every new morsel of information about him she had gleaned.
