Darcy rose without hesitation and went to the door. “They have been patient long enough,” he said, opening it himself.
“Mr. Darcy,” Caroline began sharply, “surely you do not mean to let them in. The floor will be ruined, and I cannot stay in this room if they—if anything untoward should occur.”
But before her protest could continue, the door was open, and the dogs bounded inside. Apollo entered first, elegant and calm, while Pippin ran straight to Elizabeth, scattering a few drops across the carpet.
Elizabeth bent to greet her, laughing softly. When she rose, she found Darcy watching her with a warmth he did not attempt to disguise.
“They seem inseparable,” he said quietly.
“Yes,” she replied. “And quite indifferent to propriety.”
Their gazes met, a silence of shared amusement passing between them.
Caroline’s voice broke it at once. “Perhaps, as the rain has eased, we should all take a turn about the garden,” she said with false brightness.
“An excellent idea,” Bingley agreed. “It will do the dogs good, and us as well.”
Darcy nodded. “The air has cleared. Let us go.”
And with that, the party made their way toward the terrace, the tension of the room following them into the damp, shining light of the late afternoon.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Netherfield – November 1811
ELIZABETH WATCHED AS Caroline Bingley tried to insert herself into Mr. Darcy’s company the moment they stepped out into the garden. The air was cool and still, carrying the faint scent of damp earth and roses. Apollo and Pippin trotted a few paces ahead, their easy companionship a striking contrast to the stiff civility behind them. Every now and then, Pippin circled back toward Elizabeth before bounding forward again, tail high, as if to ensure both parties were keeping pace.
Caroline, however, seemed less enchanted. Each time she attempted to draw near Mr. Darcy, Apollo veered subtly into her path, tall and elegant, his presence an unspoken barrier. Once or twice she tried to pat his head, only to be met with a cool, unblinking stare that made her step quickly away. Elizabeth might have pitied her if not for the faint amusement curling in her chest.
One thing had become perfectly clear: Miss Bingley’s civility toward her and Jane was only a veil for something far sharper. Her admiration for Mr. Darcy was plain, and her dislike for any lady who caught his notice equally so. The effort to hide both under a sheen of elegance was almost admirable—but not convincing.
Jane and Mr. Bingley had drifted ahead, their quiet conversation punctuated now and then by a laugh that carriedlightly on the air. Elizabeth followed at an easy pace, content to watch the scene unfold. Caroline’s silks swished impatiently as she tried once more to command Mr. Darcy’s attention, but his gaze remained fixed on the dogs playing before him.
Mrs. Hurst, fanning herself despite the coolness of the afternoon, announced she would return indoors. “The damp air never agrees with me,” she said, already turning toward the house.
Caroline lasted only a few minutes longer. When Pippin’s delighted bark rang out, echoed by Apollo’s deeper tone, she flinched. “Good heavens, what dreadful noise! I shall be quite ill if I remain. These creatures are giving me a headache.”
Elizabeth’s smile was polite, though her eyes betrayed her amusement. “They mean no harm, Miss Bingley. Only joy.”
Caroline gave no reply beyond a tight-lipped nod and hurried back toward the house, her perfume trailing faintly behind her.
Mr. Darcy, who had walked a few steps ahead, slowed his stride and turned. “It appears we are abandoned, Miss Bennet.”
Elizabeth hesitated only a moment before joining him. It was the only reasonable thing to do, for he had quite deliberately slowed for her.
“So it would seem,” she said lightly. “I am afraid neither our company nor the dogs could compete with the lure of comfort indoors for Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst.”
“Then I count myself fortunate,” he replied in a lower tone. “I prefer the company that remains.”
Elizabeth’s composure faltered. She glanced down at Pippin, who trotted happily beside Apollo, the two weaving together along the gravel walk like threads in a single pattern.
“They seem content,” she said softly. “Different in every way, yet perfectly at ease.”
“Yes,” Darcy said, his gaze following them. “Perhaps they understand something we do not.”
“You give them too much credit, Mr. Darcy.”
“Or ourselves too little,” he answered, and there was the faintest warmth behind his words.
