Page 41 of Mr. Darcy Comes to Town

“Well?”

“Well, what, Mama?”

“What are you doing with that basket?” she demanded, pointing to the offending container.

“Did you need it, Mama?” Lizzy took it off her arm. “You can have it if you need it. I can get another one.”

Her mother huffed angrily. “You are being deliberately obtuse,” she accused. “Now, tell me exactly what you planned to use that basket for?”

Lizzy’s frown deepened. “Why, I thought it the perfect size to hold Jeffry. When I find his owner, I will need a basket so I can take Jeffry to him, or to her.”

Her mother’s eyes narrowed, and she stalked up to her daughter. “I know you, Lizzy Bennet. You mean to bring Jeffry to the party this afternoon—in that basket.”

“I assure you, Mama, I had no such idea.” Lizzy’s mother snatched the basket from her. Lizzy frowned at the violence of the action. Even so, she kept her voice calm, saying, “It is an excellent idea, however. His owner may be at the party.”

“If his owner is at the party, she can bloody-well come to Longbourn to pick him up!”

“Mama,” Lizzy gasped. She took an instinctive step backward to put more space between them.

Flustered at her own reaction, Lizzy’s mother scowled and bustled away, muttering beneath her breath, saying, “You will drive me to drink.”

Lizzy shook her head in wonderment, continuing her path toward the orangery. She stopped, shrugged, and turned her steps back toward the kitchens where she could choose another basket.

*

Darcy offered his arm to Georgiana as soon as they exited the house and trod upon the pale flagstone path that led to the rear gardens, and beyond. The sun shone weakly through high clouds, making the colors muted. Birds flitted about, singing and chirping to one another.

“Shall we head for the shrubbery?” he asked.

“Yes, please. The day is wonderfully warm, is it not?” Georgiana put both hands on her brother’s arm as though to draw strength from him.

“What is it, my dear?” Darcy asked, covering her hands with his, while directing their footsteps to the path that proceeded between tall cedar hedges. “What has you so anxious?”

She shrugged and sighed. “Oh, I suppose it is the strange surroundings.”

“You have been in many unfamiliar houses,” he pointed out. “And you are well-acquainted with the Bingleys. I do not understand.”

Squeezing his arm again, she spoke in a small voice Darcy could scarcely make out.

“I am a little afraid of Miss Bingley.” A shudder washed through her. “There, I have admitted it. I am a frightened child who has no business being out of the schoolroom.”

“I do not agree,” Darcy said trenchantly. “Miss Bingley is a strong-minded, supercilious woman. She acts kind, but does not feel true kindness for anyone.”

Georgiana recoiled a little. “Do you really believe such a thing of her?”

Darcy pressed his lips together and did not reply.

“Perhaps, Brother, she is merely anxious about her future and that makes her…well…sort of a bully.” She looked at the ground. “Oh, dear. I should not have said that.”

“You may say anything to me, as you know. I think you may be right, however.” Darcy scrubbed his cheek with his palm. “If only she could rid herself of the idea that I will eventually offer for her.”

“Then, she might find a husband and make a home for herself,” Georgiana remarked. They walked in silence for a time, before she blurted out, “I wish I was not so anxious all the time. I never used to be so.”

Darcy wished he had Wickham’s neck within his grasp so he could choke the life out of him. How dared he ruin poor Georgiana’s confidence?

A familiar large hairy dog approached them at a trot. He slowed down and sat at the side of the path, not twenty feet away.

“Hallo, Harry,” Darcy said, stopping them to look at the dog. “You are some distance from home. I did not expect you to be a roamer.”