He looked at me sharply, as though my agreement were more suspicious than defiance.
“Going forward,” he continued, his tone shifting from reprimand to negotiation, “I should like to be consulted before any outings beyond Netherfield’s grounds. I am not forbidding them. I am asking to be informed.”
“Informed, or present?” The question slipped out before I could restrain it.
“Both, if the occasion permits,” he said, then looked straight ahead as if the hedgerow required his full attention.
“Very well. I shall present my proposed adventures for your review each morning. You may approve, amend, or join them as you see fit.”
“I appreciate your understanding,” Mr. Darcy replied, his gaze softening. “Your proposed arrangement seems fair.”
I hesitated, then ventured, “If I may inquire, sir, what qualities did you seek in a companion for Miss Darcy?”
His stride faltered, barely perceptible, but I had been watching his boots since we left Longbourn and had established a reliable baseline.
“Qualities,” he repeated, as though the word required translation.
“You had music masters, language tutors, a governess with credentials to satisfy a duchess. What did you imagine a companion would provide that they could not?”
“Conversation,” he said. “Georgiana’s tutors instruct. They do not converse.”
“And you wished her to have practice in the art of conversation with someone of inferior rank and no particular accomplishment?” I kept my tone light, as though the question carried no import. “That must havenarrowed the field considerably.”
He shot me a glance. “That is not what I said.”
“It is rather close to what you said, Mr. Darcy. At the assembly, you observed that I possessed a sharp tongue—common enough in country society, I believe, were your words—and then suggested to Sir William that your sister might benefit from such a companion.”
The tips of his ears went bright pink, and Cinnamon, sensing the shift in her chosen human’s composure, opened one eye and resettled against his waistcoat.
“I spoke carelessly that evening.”
“Really? You always speak precisely. It is one of your more alarming qualities.” I bent to pick a sprig of rosemary that had fallen from the herb basket and tucked it into my sleeve, taking my time. “You assessed my intelligence, found it serviceable, and assigned it a function. I merely wonder whether the function has met your expectations, or whether you are regretting the investment.”
“I do not regret my choices.”
No, I suppose a man like Darcy would never own up to a mistake. Somehow, I enjoyed his discomfort more than a proper lady should.
“Then why did you engage me for your sister’s improvement programme? Surely, Miss Bingley, who has made quite a thorough study of society, fashion plates, and comportment, would have taken Miss Darcy’s programme to heart.”
“Miss Bingley takes nothing to heart.” The words tumbled from his lips before he could catch them. “Pray pardon me. I seem to speak carelessly when under the hot Hertfordshire sun.”
“Yes, I suppose the Derbyshire clouds would provide quite a reservoir of reserve appropriate for any Darcy.”
“You have a talent, Miss Bennet, for turning a man’s county of origin into an indictment of his character.”
“And you have a talent for classifying people within thirty seconds of meeting them. We are both gifted.”
He looked at me with the expression of a man who has stepped on a rake and is deciding whether to blame the rake or the gardener. Cinnamon stretched luxuriously against his chest, purring loudlyenough to be heard over the plodding horse between us, and I derived an unreasonable satisfaction from the fact that my cat was more comfortable with Fitzwilliam Darcy than Fitzwilliam Darcy was with me.
“I did not classify you,” he said.
“You classified me at the assembly, Mr. Darcy. You assessed me, pronounced my wit common, and identified a practical use for it. If that is not classification, then the naturalists have been going about their work very differently than I imagined.”
“I was not at my best that evening.”
“On the contrary, I suspect you were at your most natural. People are always most honest when they believe they are not being overheard.”
His jaw tightened, and I felt the particular thrill of landing a hit that was both fair and slightly cruel, which was not an admirable sensation but was an honest one.
