She rose first, despite being the last to arrive. Darcy watched her take her leave, then pushed back his chair and made his own excuses. He deliberately feigned notice of Lady Westland’s pointed glance; to Bingley he merely said they might discuss the drainage after luncheon. Without further delay, he quitted the breakfast room.
Within minutes he had donned his coat and gloves. Stepping from his chamber, he saw Elizabeth on the stairs. He called softly to her and quickened his pace.Even if she is not ready to hear me, I can at least walk beside her. Surely, she will not object to that.
Reason urged patience, yet his heart pressed forward, deaf to caution. What harm could there be in a walk?
Chapter Twenty-Nine
13 November 1811
Netherfield Park
Elizabeth
Elizabethhadjustreachedthe last step when Mr Darcy’s voice stopped her.
“Mrs Fiennes!”
Elizabeth paused and looked up towards the top of the stair as he began his descent. He was donned in his greatcoat and gloves, his hat set squarely on his head. A flutter of anticipation stirred within her—half delight that he should seek her company, half disquiet at the thought she may be required to account for her nocturnal wanderings into the library.
“May I join you?” His tone betrayed his eagerness; colour warmed his features as though he had hastened to reach her.
Her heart gave a most ungovernable leap, and she cursed its betrayal. She inclined her head, unable to withhold a smile, and accepted his extended arm. She was startled by the ease of the gesture—the first time she had done so without reserve.
They quitted the house by a side door leading into the gardens. Searching for a safe subject, she observed the brightness of the day. “The sun is warm for November. I believe the roads will dry enough for us to returnto Longbourn.” The thought of Elinor tugged at her heart; surely her daughter would be missing her mama. She smoothed the front of her pelisse, the familiar motion soothing her as she drew a deep breath.
“Miss Fiennes must indeed miss you.” His arm beneath her hand felt strong and steady, a quiet source of comfort.
“Elinor has never been away from me overnight before,” she admitted. “Though I am certain my family have cared for her as tenderly as I would myself, I cannot help but fret.”
They walked in companionable silence. Dew still clung to the shrubbery, each droplet catching the light like a gem. The few leaves that remained on the branches were withered and brown, yet there was a certain beauty in their decay—the earth preparing for its winter rest before new life would return with the spring.
“I hope for both your sakes that the roads prove dry enough to travel,” Mr Darcy said at length. “Though I confess there are some here who will be sorry to see you depart.”
Elizabeth turned to him, eyes bright with mischief. “Do Miss Bingley and Mrs Hurst like us so well? I had not supposed it!”
A low laugh escaped him; the warmth of it brushed against her defences, soft but certain.
“Miss Bingley, I think, wavers between admiration and envy; Mrs Hurst is content to adopt her sister’s opinions as her own. Such has ever been her way. But it was not of them I spoke. Bingley, for instance, will much regret not seeing Miss Bennet at breakfast.” He hesitated, as though weighing his next words. “And I…shall miss dining with you. I know it was but one dinner, but it gave me a glimpse of what it might be to dine with you always.”
The words, full of meaning, seemed to hang in the air. For one fleeting moment she allowed herself to imagine what such evenings might be—hisvoice across the table, his gaze meeting hers without restraint—and the image unsettled her far more than she cared to acknowledge.
She had found his company most pleasant, save for that mortifying breakfast. But how best to answer him? Unsure how to respond, she fell back on another topic.
“Did you ever invite your sister to stay here at Netherfield? We have spoken of it before, but you said you would leave the choice to her. Has she written to give you an answer?”
Their steps crunched on the gravel as they rounded a bend in the path. Overhead, the branches formed a green-brown arch, and droplets fell in slow succession against her bonnet and pelisse, pattering lightly as they passed beneath the boughs.
“At your reminder, I must confess I have not yet written to ask her. I shall do so this very day and see whether I can persuade her to endure Bingley’s sisters for the sake of making some genuine friends.” He turned and gave her wink. “I am certain she will accept. If my previous account of the neighbourhood and its many delights does not entice her hither, nothing will.”
“How very artful of you, sir! What diversions and delights have you described? Are they fact or fancy? Dreadfully dull or deliciously daring? Or perhaps something quite improper of the neighbours?”
“Do you question my honour, madam?” His false affront made her grin, and he replied in kind. “I wrote nothing but the truth; I would never deceive another so. The society about Meryton is precisely to my sister’s tastes—and to mine.”
“Have you written ofmysisters?” Elizabeth asked, curiosity brightening her manner. “You have not truly met them, for they are not yet out.”
“I feel as though I have met them through your words. No, I have not mentioned them to my sister; I will tell her of them when I write. Thatthey will urge Georgiana to join me I have no doubt.” He gave a slight kick to a loose a stone, sending it skittering to the edge of the walk. “She knows Bingley is to host a ball. Should she come, I shall likely be inundated with requests to attend.”
Another curve in the path opened to a small pond fringed with rushes. Elizabeth’s steps strayed from the gravel, carrying her to the water’s edge, Mr Darcy still offering his arm. For a few moments, they stood in silence, watching the ducks and geese drift across the mirrored surface.
