Despite his pique, Elizabeth found herself smiling fondly at him, for it was becoming ever clearer that he had come to her seeking neither advice nor answers but only to vent his spleen. After all her regrets to have left him broken-hearted and comfortless following their quarrel in Kent, she rejoiced at being able to provide him such consolation. She returned to brushing her hair and simply watched him, content to let him rail until his ire ran cool—and rail he did.
“There is not room enough for Magnus to board with Powell or Craig. I shall have to reopen the long barn, and have it fitted out for all the extra hands.”
He paused to send her an exasperated glance. She smiled sympathetically.
“Ennings will have to stand in for Donaghue—no! There is the north gable to be seen to this autumn. He cannot be spared either.”
She thought he might be biting off an oath when he snapped his mouth shut and threw her another irate scowl. She smiled again.
“Somebody else will have to be found,” he resumed. “God alone knows who will replace Donaghue permanently if his leg does not heal! How Barnaby thinks to arrange it all before he leaves for York is the devil’s own guess. And this—this—is the day the man thinks it prudent to ask me to be godfather to his child! Would that he ask his brother, or cousin, or one of the damnedsheep, for I want no part of it,and for the love of God, would youcease your infernal humming woman!”
They both froze, staring at each other, dumbstruck. Darcy looked horrified. Elizabeth was immobilised with the near-insurmountable urge to guffaw. Persuaded by his vast dismay that now would be the most inappropriate time to do so, she turned away to hide her amusement.
“I beg you would forgive me, Elizabeth. That was unpardonable.”
Would that he be less contrite, that her amusement might seem less unfeeling! Her shoulders began to shake with silent laughter.
Darcy was at her side in an instant. “Love, pray, do not cry. I am sorry.”
Oh, good heavens, he thought she was weeping!A snort of laughter burst from her lips, and she clamped a hand over her mouth, shaking her head for him to cease apologising, but he would not desist. He reached for her hand and turned her gently but insistently to face him. His expression was one of mortified concern—briefly. It was soon overtaken with confusion then affront.
“You are not crying.”
“No.” She sniggered despite herself and pressed her lips closed.
He stepped away from her. “You are laughing.”
“Yes, a little.”
“Elizabeth, I just bellowed at you.”
“I noticed.”
“I fail to see the humour in that! I have never shouted at a person in such a manner in my life! That I should have done so atyouis insupportable!”
“Ah, but you have never had amebefore to cut up your peace. Besides, you would not be the first person to be irritated by my humming.”
“Your humming does not irritate me. Not usually.”
She supposed growing up almost as an only child meant he was unaccustomed to the compromises and vexations of living with another person. She felt a little teasing was in order to compensate for his deprivation. “’Tis well, Fitzwilliam, I am not offended. Your pacing does not usually irritate me either.”
He frowned at her. “My pacing?”
“You pace. More so when you are agitated. But it is not as vexing as when you grind your teeth.”
“What?”
Elizabeth thought he was doing an admirable job of maintaining his dudgeon given her own broadening grin. How she adored him and his silly pride! “When you are concentrating, you grind your teeth.”
“I do not.”
“Yes, you do. And you sneeze too loudly.”
“What sort of objection is that? One cannot regulate the volume of one’s sneezes.”
She shrugged her shoulders. “It makes me jump.”
At last, his lips quirked. “Is there aught else?”
