Darcy turned his head, intrigued. “And do you suppose the heavens were impressed?”
Elizabeth glanced at him, amused. “They must have been. I believe there was a small lightning strike the summer she turned sixteen. She took it as divine encouragement.”
He chuckled softly. Miss Bingley, however, lookedskeptical.
“Well,” Miss Bingley said archly, “all the best houses have a folly. It is a mark of refinement. Some are Grecian, some Gothic, but it is always the sign of tasteful leisure. When my brother comes into his estate, I shall impress upon him the need for a proper Grecian temple. All the best families have one.”
There was a moment of silence.
“Pemberley has no folly,” Darcy said evenly. “I have seen no reason to add frivolous structures to Pemberley. I prefer the grounds as they are. The natural design suits the land. It is enough.”
Miss Bingley’s brow twitched. “Oh, of course. Nothing is wanting at Pemberley.”
Darcy refrained from commenting further, though her sudden shift in tone did not escape him. Elizabeth wisely said nothing—though he detected the faintest quaver at the corner of her lips.
They reached the folly just as Bingley and Hurst finished laying out a thick blanket in a patch of sun near the base. The footmen had opened the baskets and begun to arrange a cheerful spread: crusty loaves of bread, slices of cold ham, soft rounds of cheese wrapped in muslin, a jar of pickled vegetables, apples polished to a shine, and a few hand pies filled with minced lamb and herbs. A small pot of spicedwine steamed near the edge, warming gently on a portable brazier.
“What a delightful repast,” Miss Bennet said warmly, kneeling gracefully onto the blanket beside Bingley, who looked entirely pleased with himself.
“I had no hand in it,” he said with a boyish grin. “It is entirely the work of Mrs. Nicholls and her miracles.”
“I suspect you requested all my favorites,” Miss Bennet said quietly.
“I may have hinted at a few,” Bingley said, clearly pleased to be found out.
Hurst was already seated, carving a chunk of cheese with enthusiasm. “Now this,” he declared, “is an outing worthy of my effort. No long walks, no horses, just food and wine and not a stiff chair in sight.”
Mrs. Hurst adjusted her shawl and gave him a withering glance. “You are easily pleased, my dear.”
“Indeed,” Hurst said, reaching for a slice of bread. “It is one of my more charming qualities.”
Miss Bingley selected a corner of the blanket with fastidious precision, taking great care not to sit too near the edge. “Do you suppose we will have music this evening?” she asked the group at large. “I could be prevailed upon to play, if desired.”
“How generous of you,” Elizabeth saidsweetly.
Though I daresay your generosity depends on the strength of the applause.Darcy did not speak it aloud, true though was the retort.
Miss Bennet stifled a laugh. Miss Bingley offered Elizabeth a thin smile, then turned to Darcy.
“Do you often picnic at Pemberley, sir?”
“On occasion,” Darcy replied. “When my sister is at home, we sometimes dine beneath the old chestnut tree near the western meadow. It is her favorite spot.”
Elizabeth perked up. “Is she musical, Mr. Darcy?”
“She plays the pianoforte quite well, and has begun composing small pieces. She is also fond of sketching. And of walking.”
Elizabeth smiled. “A woman after my own heart.”
“She would enjoy your company very much,” he said, before he could stop himself. He meant it, of course—but the sudden awareness of how true the statement was caused something unfamiliar to stir in his chest.
A breeze rustled the dried leaves nearby, and a pair of birds chased one another above the tree line. The folly cast a long shadow across the lawn, but the warmth of the wine and the brightness of the company countered the chill. Conversation turned to the approaching winter, to holiday plans and family traditions, and Darcy found himself, for once, entirely content.
Not because the company was agreeable—though it was—but because of the woman beside him, whose wit and warmth continually surprised and disarmed him. The more time he spent in her presence, the more he wondered how he had ever considered her merely tolerable.
After their repast, the party settled into various activities suited to their natures. Bingley, ever eager to prolong his time with Miss Bennet, invited her on a short stroll along the tree-lined edge of the meadow, and the two wandered off with the ease and comfort of mutual affection. Hurst, thoroughly satisfied by the meal and fortified by the warmed wine, leaned back against one of the folly's columns and promptly drifted into a doze, his hat tipped forward to shield his eyes from the sun.
Mrs. Hurst dabbed at her forehead with a lace handkerchief and gestured towards the surrounding grove. "Caroline, a turn about the folly would suit you. The air is quite invigorating."
