She lifted her chin. “Yes, Papa. I locked him in the wooden box with bars.”
Mr. Bennet gave a small, satisfied nod. “Excellent. No cat to interrupt our callers today—and your mother safely out in Meryton. A rare moment of order.”
***
The party emerged from the house into the pale autumn sun, the chill softened by the sheltered paths of Longbourn’s modest shrubbery. They set out together along the gravelled walk, admiring the last of the roses and the bright marigolds, while fallen leaves danced around their feet.
It was clear enough that Mr. Bingley could barely keep from turning all his attention to Jane, whose soft voice answered hisin gentle encouragement. Elizabeth, watching them, felt her own cheeks warm with pleasure at her sister’s shy happiness.
At a branching path, Bingley paused and turned to Darcy with almost solemn gravity.
“Darcy—might I persuade you to take the right-hand walk with Miss Elizabeth? I shall see Jane safely along this path.”
Elizabeth felt her lips part in surprised protest, but Darcy offered his arm without a word, his eyes meeting hers with unflinching steadiness. She hesitated only a moment before laying her fingers on his sleeve.
“I suppose,” she said, a wryness softening her voice, “it is the natural arrangement.”
He gave the smallest bow of the head. “I can think of none better.”
They turned onto a narrower path, gravel crunching lightly beneath their shoes, the tall hedge to one side lending them a polite illusion of privacy. Behind them, Mr. Bingley and Jane lingered in clear view, pausing near a small bench before settling onto it with quiet, companionable ease.
Elizabeth glanced back at her sister and the young gentleman with fondness. “They suit one another so easily,” she murmured.
Darcy’s gaze followed hers, but his reply was measured. “They do. It is a rare thing to see.”
Elizabeth lifted her head, amusement and curiosity mingling in her eyes. “You say that as though you approve, Mr. Darcy.”
He met her gaze directly. “I do indeed.”
On the bench, Bingley had begun to expound his views on country life with enthusiastic gestures toward the fields, while Jane nodded with gentle patience at every remark.
Elizabeth walked a little farther, voice lowering. “They will see us if you insist on staring so openly.”
Darcy’s mouth quirked, betraying a spark of unguarded humour. “You think I am staring?”
Elizabeth arched a brow. “Am I wrong?”
He hesitated—just long enough to be telling. “No,” he admitted quietly.
Elizabeth looked away to hide her smile, affecting primness. “Then do stop it at once, sir. It is terribly improper.”
Darcy let out a quiet huff of laughter but dutifully turned his eyes to the countryside. He clasped his free hand behind his back to occupy it.
They had reached the little arbour at the edge of the shrubbery, the hush of autumn leaves lending them a rare, private moment. Darcy paused, hand resting lightly on the ironwork trellis, and turned toward her with a thoughtful gravity that made Elizabeth’s breath catch a little.
“Miss Elizabeth,” he began carefully, “forgive me if I am too direct. But I should like to know—what is it you wish for yourself? What are your aims, your dreams?”
Elizabeth blinked at him, caught off guard by the earnestness in his voice. She lowered her gaze to the gravel path, scuffing it lightly before meeting his eyes with candid steadiness.
“I fear you may find my dreams rather prosaic, sir,” she said at last. “I would wish to see my family secure.” Elizabeth took a slow breath, letting her gaze drift over the hedged path before speaking carefully. “If I am to be honest, Mr. Darcy, my greatest wish is to see my family secure. My father’s estate is entailed away, you see, and once he is gone it will pass to a distant cousin. Everything feels... uncertain.”
Darcy slowed his step, frowning slightly in genuine surprise. “I was not aware of that circumstance, Miss Elizabeth.”
She met his gaze levelly. “Most people are not. It is not something we boast of. But I see little point in pretending otherwise with you. It is the chief concern in my mind when people speak of prospects and hopes.”
Elizabeth did not wish to complain, only to be honest. Concealing the truth felt worse than any embarrassment it might cause.
Mr. Darcy’s expression softened. He inclined his head slowly with grave courtesy. “I appreciate your candour. Truly. And I trust things may yet improve, Miss Elizabeth. Circumstances need not dictate happiness entirely.”
