Chapter 13
Life at Lambton
Sunday mornings in Lambton had acquired a quiet regularity.
The walk to church no longer required the careful timing or guarded composure of the Bennets’ first weeks in the village.
They set out together now with ease, pausing when necessary for Mrs Bennet, whose strength varied from day to day but whose determination to attend remained firm.
The church itself was cool and orderly, its stone still holding the night’s chill even as the sun climbed higher.
Elizabeth took her place beside Jane with a sense of familiarity she had not expected to feel so soon.
The sounds of the service moved on in their accustomed order.
She found herself observing the congregation instead.
There were new faces among the pews, and a few absences. Lambton did not remain fixed for long. Visitors came and went; relations arrived for weeks or months; others returned to places they had never quite left.
It was in the moment of settling, as the last of the congregation found their seats, that Elizabeth became aware of Mr Darcy.
He sat several rows ahead, his posture unchanged from her earlier recollection of him, composed and attentive, his presence unmistakable. He did not turn. There was no sense of arrival, no acknowledgement beyond the simple fact of his being there.
Elizabeth noted it, and discovered, to her own mild surprise, that she did not so much as draw a sharper breath.
His sister, seated beside him, turned and lifted a hand in greeting toward Elizabeth’s younger sisters, who returned the gesture at once. Cassandra Harding, seated nearby, leaned toward them with a smile.
Elizabeth allowed herself a faint smile as she turned her attention back to the service. She was aware of Mr Darcy only in the general sense that one is aware of a familiar object returned to its place. He belonged to Lambton in a way she did not, yet she felt no displacement in it.
She had walked down to the stream several times since his departure, but not this morning.
When the congregation dispersed into the churchyard, the mildness of the day encouraged lingering. Small knots of conversation formed and reformed with ease. Elizabeth exchanged greetings, returning nods and brief civilities that required no explanation.
It was then that Mrs Harding approached them, her manner as open and unhurried as ever.
“My dear Mrs Bennet,” she said warmly, “I hope you are well this morning. The weather has been kind to us at last.”
“It has indeed,” Mrs Bennet replied, pleased by the attention. “I find the air agrees with me best when it is neither too damp nor too sharp.”
Jane and Elizabeth greeted her in turn, and it was at that moment that Mrs Harding inclined her head toward the gentleman beside her.
“You must allow me to introduce my nephew,” she said. “Mr Ashton.”
Mr Ashton bowed, his expression easy and attentive.
“Mrs Bennet, Miss Bennet, and Miss Elizabeth Bennet,” he said, addressing their mother first, then Jane and Elizabeth, “I am happy to make your acquaintance. My aunt has spoken often of you.”
Elizabeth returned the greeting with calm civility. Mr Ashton was of middle height and open countenance, his manner marked by an unstudied politeness that put one at ease at once. There was nothing in him that sought attention, and perhaps for that reason he held it.
“I hope you find Lambton agreeable,” he continued. “I have been away longer than I intended, and I am glad to be back.”
“We have found it most kind,” Jane replied.
Mr Darcy stood some distance away, engaged in conversation with several gentlemen. He did not look toward them, nor did Elizabeth expect him to do so. His sister, meanwhile, spoke easily with Kitty, Lydia, and Cassandra Harding, their heads bent together in animated exchange.
The introduction concluded with little ceremony.
Mr Ashton spoke briefly of his return, of the pleasure of being settled again, and then, after a few more civil remarks, excused himself to attend to another acquaintance.
Mrs Harding lingered only long enough to exchange a final word with Mrs Bennet before moving on.
As they turned toward the path home, Mrs Bennet spoke at once.
“A pleasant and agreeable young man,” she said. “And so attentive, I thought.”
Elizabeth made no comment. Jane smiled, but did not encourage the subject.
The village path lay open before them, familiar now beneath their feet. Elizabeth walked on with an even step, conscious of no particular expectation, only of the quiet sense that Lambton was no longer arranged around absence.
People had returned. Others had arrived.
Life, she reflected, had resumed its movement.
They had gone no great distance when the sound of wheels approached from behind.
Elizabeth heard it first and stepped a little closer to the edge of the lane, prepared to make way. The carriage slowed rather than passing them at once, and she turned in mild surprise as it drew level.
Mr Darcy sat within, one hand resting upon the door, his expression attentive. The driver had already reined in the horses.
“Mrs Bennet,” he said, inclining his head, “I hope you will forgive the liberty, but if you would allow it, I should be glad to offer you the carriage as far as the cottage.”
Mrs Bennet stopped at once, one hand lifting to her chest in reflex.
“How kind of you, Mr Darcy,” she said, recovering herself with a pleased smile. “The walk is not long, but I confess I find it more tiring than I once did.”
“I am glad to be of use,” he replied simply, already opening the door.
Elizabeth assisted her mother into the carriage, conscious of the ease with which the arrangement was accepted, as though such acts required no remark. Only Mary followed, seating herself opposite Mrs Bennet, while Elizabeth remained standing by the door.
Mr Darcy hesitated a moment.
“If you would join us, Miss Elizabeth?”
She shook her head. “Thank you, sir, but the walk will do me good.”
He inclined his head in acknowledgment and gave a brief instruction to the driver.
As the carriage moved off at a measured pace, Lydia craned her neck to watch the horses, her earlier patience entirely forgotten.
“They are very handsome,” she called after them. “Are they new, Mr Darcy?”
He turned slightly in his seat. “They are not. They have been with me several years.”
“They look spirited,” Lydia went on, keeping pace for a few steps. “Do they like to be set off? Are they quick once they are away?”
“They can,” he said, a trace of amusement touching his voice, “when required.”
Lydia grinned, evidently satisfied, and fell back beside Kitty, still watching the carriage with unabated interest until it turned out of sight.
Elizabeth resumed her walk, the rhythm of her steps settling again. The moment had passed. Yet she found herself thinking of it all the same.
Not of the offer itself, but of its manner.
Mr Darcy’s courtesy had been neither marked nor performative. He had not lingered, nor sought acknowledgment beyond acceptance. The act had been as practical as it was kind.
Jane glanced toward Elizabeth as they walked, her expression thoughtful.
“He is considerate,” she said quietly.
Elizabeth nodded. “He is.”
Ahead of them, the lane curved gently toward the cottage, the hedges beginning to show their first true green. The morning had warmed, the air no longer sharp but clean, and Elizabeth walked on with an ease she had not felt earlier in the season.
Lambton, she reflected, was filling itself again.
And so, it seemed, were the spaces between people.
Matthew Ashton called three days later.
The morning was mild but unsettled, the sort of day that could not decide itself, and Elizabeth was seated at the small writing table when the maid appeared to announce him. Mrs Bennet, who had been dozing lightly with a shawl drawn close about her shoulders, was alert at once.
“Mr Ashton?” she repeated. “How obliging.”
He was shown into the sitting room with little ceremony, his manner as easy as it had been in the churchyard. He enquired after Mrs Bennet’s health with genuine concern and spoke a few polite words of the weather before turning, as if by natural progression, to the purpose of his visit.
“My mother wished me to call,” he said. “She regrets that she cannot wait upon you herself. Her health has been uncertain of late, and she is not equal to visits beyond the shortest distance.”
Mrs Bennet protested immediately that she quite understood, that nothing was more trying than delicate health, and that she herself had been much affected by recent changes.
Mr Ashton listened with respectful attention, then continued.
“She would be pleased if you and Miss Bennet and Miss Elizabeth Bennet might do her the kindness of calling upon her instead. If it would suit you, I should be glad to send the carriage.”
Jane answered first, as Elizabeth had expected. “That is kind of you. We should be happy to make her acquaintance.”
Elizabeth inclined her head in agreement. “Pray convey our good wishes to Mrs Ashton.”
Mr Ashton smiled, evidently relieved. “She will be gratified. We are settled just beyond the village, and the drive is not long. I wondered whether Thursday afternoon might suit you.”
Mrs Bennet declared it perfectly convenient, indeed most agreeable, and expressed her hope that Mrs Ashton might soon be restored. Mr Ashton assured her that his mother would be encouraged merely by the prospect of company, and rose soon after, his errand accomplished.
When he was gone, Mrs Bennet leaned back with a sigh of satisfaction.
“How attentive he is,” she said. “So thoughtful of his poor mother, and so considerate of us. It is refreshing.”
Jane smiled but said nothing.
Elizabeth returned to her writing, though she was aware of a shift she could not yet name. The invitation had been offered with ease. The carriage, too, carried no sense of obligation. It felt neither forward nor presumptuous. Simply neighbourly.