A flurry of excited voices answered at once. Elizabeth, meanwhile, searched for Miss de Bourgh as a sudden suspicion crept into her mind. But the lady was nowhere to be seen. The colonel had also vanished, and the coincidence was too glaring to ignore. Their absence, unnoticed by most, unsettled Elizabeth more than she cared to admit. Miss de Bourgh’s scheme, it seemed, had been far from harmless, and Elizabeth could not dismiss the feeling that more was at play.
Mr. Darcy took a step closer. “Would you care for some refreshment, Miss Bennet? You must be thirsty after such exertion.”
“A gentleman who dislikes games offering solace to a lady reluctantly caught in one? I find that rather ironic, Mr. Darcy.”
His lips quirked slightly. “Perhaps I am merely proving that I am not as ungallant as you might believe.”
She arched a brow, accepting his offered arm. “Oh, I have never believed you ungallant, sir. Only. . . indifferent.”
“Indifference can be a convenient disguise. But I do not always wear it well.”
“Then perhaps you should try discarding it more often.”
As they made their way towards the refreshment table, Elizabeth stole a glance at him. He did not look at her, and a renewedsense of frustration overcame her. The morning's letter from Jane still weighed heavily on her and she could not quite banish the suspicion that Mr. Darcy might have played some part in her sister’s disappointment. If he sensed her agitation, he chose not to acknowledge it. But Elizabeth was determined—she would not be charmed into forgetting.
A servant poured them two glasses of lemonade. “Despite your reluctance, Miss Bennet, you are quite skilled at engaging in lively activities. You prefer those that require a sharper wit, I assume?”
Elizabeth took a sip before replying. “I do enjoy certain pastimes, but I find those requiring observation and conversation far more rewarding than those that rely solely on physical exertion.”
“Ah, then we do share common ground. While I do enjoy engaging in sport, I have always preferred reading and discussion.”
“Yet I hear you are rather accomplished at fencing. Your cousin speaks of it with great admiration.”
“Colonel Fitzwilliam enjoys exaggerating. He is a much better swordsman than I. I am merely competent. But I must confess, I do find the discipline of fencing engaging. There is a strategy to it, much like a well-matched debate.”
“A well-matched debate? I am certain you are not referring to our exchanges, sir, for you seem to hold little regard for contradiction.”
“On the contrary, Miss Bennet.” He gave her a measured look. “I find a well-reasoned argument invigorating. Provided, of course, that the other party is equally invested in reason rather than prejudice.”
She caught the underlying meaning in his words, but before she could respond, a gust of wind rustled the nearby trees, drawing the attention of both to the shifting sky.
Mr. Darcy gestured towards the terrace that bordered the cliff. “The air today is stifling. A walk by the cliffs might offer some relief.”
“Indeed.” Although she acquiesced, her mind was still occupied with lingering preoccupations. “Let us see if they offer respite from this heat.”
They walked side by side along the stone terrace, where the distant waves crashed against the rocks below.
“How high would you say this cliff is, sir?” She placed a hand on the stone railing and peered down.
“Be careful.” Mr. Darcy held her elbow and pulled her back. “It is quite high. Dangerous, in fact. These balusters are centuries old and not well maintained.”
To prove his point, he shook the railing and a few loose pebbles tumbled into the abyss below. Elizabeth gasped.
“Your aunt should see to its repair. It is not safe.”
“My aunt does not care for Rosings’ upkeep. Neither did her husband, not even in his better years. Rosings has suffered from generations of neglect. A capable hand could make it prosperous again.”
She glanced at him. “What a shame. Perhaps she might benefit from your advice. Your experience as master of a grand estate could be of great use to her.”
“My aunt does not take counsel, nor do I intend to waste my breath offering it.”
The rigidity of his tone told her this was a subject he did not wish to dwell upon, so Elizabeth chose a prudent silence.
He exhaled, resuming their walk. “I recall hearing you play the pianoforte in Meryton, Miss Bennet. You have a fine touch.”
Elizabeth was also glad for the change of topic. “I cannot claim mastery, but I play tolerably well. And you, sir? Do you play any instruments?”
“The violin, though I have not applied myself to the instrument in many years,” he admitted. “I find music to be a curious thing—it can either quiet the mind or stir it beyond reason.”
