“She is sixteen,” Elizabeth observed at last. “Perhaps she might attend the first half and depart after dinner—or spend the evening at Longbourn with my sisters. Mama and Papa will not permit Kitty and Lydia to go; of that I am certain.” Her youngest sisters had indeed matured somewhat in the past year, but her parents remained firm in their decree that no further come-outs should occur until their older sisters were married or engaged.
“I should infinitely prefer the latter,” Darcy admitted. “I have had the raising of Georgiana since she was eleven. To think of her as anything but the delightful sprite she was is very difficult. She has grown so much this past year and borne more than her fair share of trials, yet I resist the thought of her growing older. What man, I wonder, could ever be worthy of her? I think none.”
“That will be for her to decide, will it not? If you have taught her well, that is all that can be done. She will make her own choices—wise or foolish—and you can only do your best to guard her from miscreants and malcontents who might seek her hand.”
“Your use of alliteration is superb, Mrs Fiennes.” His lips curved in amusement. “Have you the same facility with words in every aspect of your life?”
Though she was sure he was attempting to jest, Elizabeth found his words raising her anxiety once more. “N-no,” she stammered. “I am afraidwords often fail me when they would do the most good. Shall we return to the path?” The turn in conversation made her uncomfortable, and she longed for the safety of the house.
He nodded and let her back across the damp grass to the gravel walk. As they neared the terrace, Miss Bingley’s shrill voice rang out.
“Mr Darcy! Mrs Fiennes! How surprising it is to see you walking about this morning! I had thought you would remain within after such a violent rainstorm.”
Uncertain whether Miss Bingley addressed herself or Mr Darcy, Elizabeth remained silent. He did likewise, acknowledging the intrusion with no more than a courteous bow.
“May we join you?” cried Mrs Hurst. “I dare say a brisk stroll will do me a world of good.”
“I must decline,” Mr Darcy answered. Gone was the gentleness that had coloured his manner as they walked. In its place came the calm authority that brooked no argument. “We have already walked far enough and were returning to the house.”
Miss Bingley’s smile turned syrup-sweet. “Surely, if Mrs Fiennes is fatigued, she might return to the manor unaccompanied. The door is plainly in sight.”
The lady’s rudeness irked Elizabeth. It would be dreadfully improper for Mr Darcy to abandon his present companion for another’s company. Yet she made no move to reply; she had no wish to spar with her host’s sister.Another reason to return to Longbourn as soon as may be.I do not enjoy being where I am not wanted.She was not blind to the lady’s antipathy—nor to its cause.Perhaps the lady’s manners will improve once I am gone.
“You will forgive me for declining.”
Mr Darcy’s tone had cooled, each word deliberate, edged with warning. Elizabeth wondered whether Miss Bingley would heed it.
“I shall escort Mrs Fiennes back to the house. My correspondence awaits, and I must see to it.” He offered a curt bow and led Elizabeth away.
When they had gone far enough from the ladies to ensure the ladies could not overhear, he spoke. “Pray forgive my barely civil replies. Bingley’s sisters try my patience sorely.”
“Miss Bingley values your attention; I cannot fault her for that, for you are excellent company.”
Elizabeth was being honest, but even as she said the words, she knew they might sound more intimate than she intended, and inwardly she winced. To deflect, she added. “How pleasant it must be for her to have you as her guest.”
Her attempt succeeded; his brow furrowed. “She desires my company permanently,” he grumbled. “I have indicated to the lady that her hopes are fruitless, and yet, she persists. Miss Bingley would make some man a fine wife, but that man is not me. I desire more than posturing and pretension in the partner of my life. The woman I marry must be all that is good—companion, confidante, friend, helpmeet…” He paused and gave a self-deprecating smile. “I could go on, but I fear I should weary you.”
He slowed, then came to a halt, turning fully towards her.Something in his manner changed; the reserve that usually guarded his features gave way to a look of such deep regard that she felt it before she dared meet his eyes. She stilled, caught by their warmth. The world seemed to narrow until there was only the sound of their breathing and the faint rustle of wind across the path. He released her arm and took both of her hands. “Elizabeth.”
For a heartbeat she could not move.How did he become so dear to me?The thought startled her as much as his touch. His fingers brushed her cheek, tracing lightly down to the chain about her throat—the spinel pendant she always wore, her father’s final gift, and the emblem of all she hadendured. The gentle trail of his fingers to the pendant stirred a confusion of feeling—fear, remembrance, and a warmth she dared not trust.
A sharp breath escaped her. She stepped back, the motion abrupt. Heat rose to her cheeks. “I—” She broke off, then forced herself to remain calm. “I need to go inside. Thank you for the walk, sir, and I hope your letter to Miss Darcy meets with success.” She curtsied and hastened away, unwilling to look back for fear that she might find reproach in his eyes—or worse, something gentler still.
He is not Fiennes. Of late, thoughts of her husband intruded more often than she liked, and she was heartily sick of them. With effort she forced the memories aside.It does no good to dwell on what cannot be changed. Think of the past only as it gives you pleasure.
When she entered her chamber, she was not surprised to find Suzanne waiting. Elizabeth removed her bonnet and reached for her shawl.
“Well?” Suzanne enquired. “Tell me of your walk.”
“What would you know?” Elizabeth crossed to a chair opposite her friend. “We walked as far as the pond and watched the ducks. Mr Bingley’s sisters intercepted us on our return, demanding Mr Darcy’s company.”
“Tell me he did not abandon you!” Suzanne gasped, eyes wide with outrage.
“Of course not.” Elizabeth sank into her chair with a sigh. “Mr Darcy is a gentleman.” She drew her feet beneath her and wrapped her arm round her knees.
Suzanne regarded her in silence, the searching look in her eyes discomposing. It was as though she sought answers Elizabeth herself could not name. “Do you like him?” Suzanne asked at last.
“I do…I like him very much. He unites sense, integrity, and kindness beyond what I have seen in any other gentleman—and has become a valued friend. I esteem him above any other man of my acquaintance.”
