“Thank you, Mr. Darcy. May I know what has become of Mr. Wickham, or is this an improper question?”
“It is not improper, for you were intimately connected with that calamitous affair. I have not yet had occasion to express my gratitude for your courage in preserving my sister from disgrace and lifelong suffering. Georgiana has related to me the particulars, and I can only give thanks that you were both preserved from greater harm.”
He regarded her with earnest concern. “Are you much troubled by the violence you were compelled to employ against him?”
“It did affect me, sir, though I endeavored to conceal it. I sought chiefly to divert Georgiana’s mind. On the following day, we set out upon a shopping excursion in hopes of occupying our thoughts.”
A smile crinkled his eyes. “Yes, and as a result, two colorful companions accompanied us to Netherfield. She would not be parted from them, nor from Daisy.”
Elizabeth laughed. “I am pleased they have afforded her comfort. You may be thankful that she did not fix her affections upon a primate as well. There was a small monkey of most engaging appearance, but she preferred the parrots.”
He regarded her with amusement. “Unlike Miss Elizabeth, who was captivated by the monkey.”
“Yes, sir, I confess I admired him exceedingly, yet I knew it was not to be entertained. My mother would never have permitted such an animal within our home.”
Chapter 32: Family Secrets
Darcy smiled. “I am thankful that Georgiana did not fix her affections upon the monkey, yet had it afforded her real comfort, I should not have objected.”
Mr. Darcy glanced at the sky and then withdrew his watch. “Miss Elizabeth, the hour advances. It is already half past eight. Georgiana will soon descend to breakfast and find herself alone if I do not leave now.”
“Are you quite certain, sir, that Miss Bingley will not await you at the breakfast table?”
He laughed. “Perfectly certain. Nothing, not even the expectation of my company, would induce her to rise at so early an hour. She does not appear before eleven.”
He regarded her with a look of quiet amusement. “It is, I confess, a fortunate circumstance. We are spared her society for the greater part of the morning. I trust, Miss Elizabeth, that you will not repeat my observation to her.”
“Never, sir. You may rest assured that I am no bearer of tales. I wish you a very good morning.”
He parted, saying, “You shall see me again soon. Georgiana has secured my promise that I will escort her to Longbourn at eleven to pay her respects.”
“We shall receive you with pleasure, sir.”
She inclined her head as he mounted and took his leave.
“Sparky.”
She glanced about in search of the little terrier, who had strayed among the trees. At her call, she heard him bark in response, and then she heard rustling through the fallen leaves before he emerged, circling her with evident satisfaction, and then falling into step beside her as she began her descent toward Longbourn.
Elizabeth smiled to herself. The impeccably dressed Mr. Darcy had appeared as handsome as ever, and his attentions had not been bestowed lightly. Her heart stirred at the recollection. He had sought her out, had conversed with her at length, and had remained in her company for more than an hour. Indeed, he had arrived soon after sunrise and departed only after eight, which meant he had spent nearly two hours alone with her, in conversation, in her favorite retreat. Her conscience stirred uneasily. It was improper to be alone with a gentleman. Yet he had conducted himself with perfect propriety, and no one need ever be the wiser.
Thus, she attempted to justify her conduct, though not before acknowledging that her solitary meeting with Mr. Darcy bore an uncomfortable resemblance to Lydia’s clandestine interviews with Wickham. She pressed her lips together. There was, however, a distinction. Lydia’s meetings had been deliberate, whereas her own tête à tête with Mr. Darcy had been entirely accidental.
She found herself charmed by his conversation and by the particular expression of amusement that so often animated his eyes. He liked her, and for this day, she would permit herself to treasure the hours spent in his company, without regard for a future she could never have with him.
She hastened down the hill and, upon reaching the house, went directly to her chamber and rang the bell. She possessed but one other black gown, reserved for church and for visits to thevillage. She drew it from its peg and passed her hand over the bombazine. The cloth was so dark that it seemed to swallow the light; its surface was dull and flat. After a moment, she replaced it. There was no necessity to change. The gown she wore was clean, for the ground had been dry, and the hem remained unsoiled. Her petticoat was another story altogether.
A light knock sounded.
“Enter.”
Alice stepped within and curtsied.
“Alice, pray have my bath water brought up.”
“Yes, miss.”
Elizabeth drew the portable bath from beneath her bed and set out the soap and towels within easy reach. When Alice returned with two pails of heated water and withdrew, Elizabeth placed the screen for privacy.
