CHAPTER SEVEN
THE DISCOMFORT OF breakfast did not wholly fade when the household rose from table, but each member of the party did what they could to recover their composure.
Lady Catherine established herself in the drawing room at once, where Anne, Mrs Bennet, Mrs Gardiner, and Mrs Hurst were soon obliged to sit with her.
Mr Collins hovered about her with pious devotion, while Colonel Fitzwilliam cheerfully escaped to engage Mr Hurst in a hand of cards, declaring the weather far too unfriendly for venturing out of doors.
Mary, upon hearing Georgiana speak of her violin, brightened in a way Elizabeth had seldom seen. With shy eagerness she accepted Georgiana’s invitation to the music room, and the two young ladies disappeared at once, their conversation already deep in the merits of bowing technique.
The remaining members of the party soon turned their attention to the idea of walking. The air outside was cold indeed, but the earlier tension made the prospect of fresh air very welcome.
In the front hall, servants moved efficiently at Darcy’s earlier instruction.
Several warm winter cloaks lined with quilted wool were brought forward for the visiting ladies of Longbourn.
Elizabeth blinked in surprise when a footman placed one upon her shoulders.
The weight of it settled warmly about her, far finer than anything she owned at home.
Jane, Kitty, and Lydia received similar cloaks, each fitted with care.
Caroline Bingley looked on with a smile too tight to be pleasant. She adjusted her own fur-lined pelisse with a little flourish, but the gesture did not disguise her displeasure.
Darcy, standing near the door, spoke quietly. “The wind on the higher paths can be sharp. I hope these will keep you comfortable.”
Elizabeth felt gratitude rise within her, but the hall was too full, the moment too public, for her to express it easily. She inclined her head, hoping he would understand the sentiment she could not speak.
A footman opened the great door, and a cold breath swept into the hall.
The main walkway beyond had been cleared; the gardeners had swept away the snow and scattered dark cinders to keep the ground from becoming treacherous.
The crisp line of the prepared path stood out against the pale landscape, promising safer footing than the unbroken drifts beyond.
“Pemberley appears well prepared for the season,” Captain Ashford observed with a genial smile as he approached Elizabeth. “May I have the honour?” He offered his arm without presumption.
Elizabeth accepted.
Jane and Mr Bingley stood ready as well, their gentle smiles and easy manner warming Elizabeth’s heart, though she could not help wondering why he had not returned to Hertfordshire sooner, when his absence there had been so keenly felt.
Kitty and Lydia flitted excitedly behind them, eager for any opportunity to roam.
Thus the walking party settled into a comfortable group: Darcy and Caroline leading, Elizabeth with Captain Ashford just behind, Jane and Mr Bingley following in tranquil harmony, with Kitty and Lydia trailing in spirited conversation.
Elizabeth stepped into the crisp air and drew a slow breath. After the strain of the morning, the open space felt restorative.
Caroline, secured at Darcy’s side, declared the day “marvellously invigorating,” though her voice betrayed the effort of appearing agreeable.
Darcy answered her with polite composure. “Fresh air seldom comes amiss.”
Elizabeth allowed Captain Ashford to set their pace. His stride was steady, his conversation gentle.
“I hope the walk proves refreshing,” he said. “After the morning’s excitement, anyone might wish for tranquillity.”
“My family does not always choose the most convenient moment to be lively.” Elizabeth smiled ruefully.
“I confess,” he replied, “I admired your composure. Not everyone could bear such remarks as calmly as you did.”
Elizabeth coloured. “I simply had no desire to add to the confusion.”
He glanced at her with thoughtful courtesy. “Lady Catherine mentioned something of a refused proposal. I hope you will forgive the observation, but her manner made the subject more public than perhaps it ought to be.”
Elizabeth’s breath caught, though not in offence. His tone was too gentle to be intrusive.
“The matter was a private misunderstanding,” she said quietly. “Long past.”
“Then I shall not pry,” he answered at once. “Only allow me to say you bore the moment with admirable restraint.”
Elizabeth looked ahead rather than answer, moved by his kindness yet uncertain how she ought to receive it.
Their conversation turned then to more general matters.
Captain Ashford inquired after Hertfordshire, wishing to know something of her home and how long she had been acquainted with Mr Darcy.
In return he spoke of his own county in modest detail, offering a few light remarks on its scenery and society, as though they were but two travellers exchanging observations on familiar ground.
His consideration reminded her unexpectedly of Colonel Fitzwilliam in Kent — his openness, his ease. She wondered whether military life cultivated such cordial manners. Officers, it seemed, could be both lively and respectful, confident without presumption.
Quite unlike Mr Darcy, she thought — then immediately corrected herself. Darcy possessed courtesy enough, though he gave it in a manner far less fluid, far less transparent. With him, the smallest glance felt significant.
Elizabeth risked another look at the front of the party. Darcy walked beside Caroline with a posture that was correct yet unmistakably constrained. Caroline, entirely oblivious, continued speaking with animated satisfaction, her voice rising above the soft crunch of cinders beneath their boots.
Captain Ashford followed Elizabeth’s gaze. “Mr Darcy is very steady in his manners.”
She hesitated. “Steady, yes.”
“But perhaps,” he said with mild humour, “not the liveliest of companions?”
Elizabeth laughed softly. “Not always.”
And yet he can be… more, she thought. More than he seems. More than he allows others to see.
Ahead of them, Darcy’s step slowed by the smallest degree.
Caroline did not notice; her attentions remained fixed entirely on him.
But Elizabeth saw the pause, brief as it was, and the way he glanced back — not directly at her, but in a manner that lingered close enough to send a warm confusion through her chest.
Her heart jolted. Why should he look so? He spoke hardly a word to me this morning.
Perhaps he was merely ensuring the party stayed together. Perhaps she read too much into every small thing.
But the glance had not felt indifferent.
The path curved toward a low rise, where the wind swept more keenly across the snow. Caroline shivered dramatically. “Mr Darcy, this cold is quite severe. I should hate for the ladies to suffer.”
Darcy disengaged himself under the pretence of adjusting his gloves. “We may turn back here. The air grows sharper.”
“Yes— quite right,” Caroline agreed, regaining her composure.
Jane and Bingley expressed no objection. Captain Ashford looked to Elizabeth for her preference, and she nodded.
They turned, retracing their steps along the cindered path. Darcy walked a little behind Caroline now, as though her nearness wearied him, though he maintained every appearance of civility.
Elizabeth felt Captain Ashford’s arm offer steady support, yet her thoughts wandered elsewhere.
Darcy’s glances — rare, fleeting, and unreadable — unsettled her far more than Captain Ashford’s warm attentiveness. She could not determine their meaning. She could scarcely determine her own.
He cannot feel anything for me, she told herself. Our acquaintance ended too strangely in Kent. And he has been distant ever since I arrived.
Yet she could not deny the heat that rose within her each time she sensed his attention.
When they returned to the warmth of the hall, the footmen relieved them of their cloaks. Elizabeth felt the heat of the fire rush pleasantly against her cold cheeks.
Captain Ashford thanked her for her company with a polite bow before moving to assist Jane and Lydia. Darcy removed his gloves slowly, as though steadying himself. When he glanced toward Elizabeth, she looked away at once, unsure whether she wished him to see her or not.
The walk had been pleasant enough — peaceful, even — but her heart had not found peace.
She was grateful for Captain Ashford’s kindness. She admired his easy conversation. She had no reason in the world to think of him with anything but comfort.
And yet…
It was Mr Darcy’s quiet glances, hesitant and fleeting, that troubled her thoughts and refused to settle.
Elizabeth followed the others inside, her mind no clearer than before, and perhaps more tangled still.
***
By The Time the household assembled for supper, Elizabeth could no longer doubt what had earlier seemed only a suspicion.
Captain Ashford’s attentions, though carefully governed by propriety, were directed decidedly toward herself.
He sought her opinion when conversation flagged, placed himself near enough to speak without raising his voice, and listened with an attention that was flattering without being obtrusive.
Nothing in his manner invited censure. Everything in it suggested intention.
Elizabeth felt both gratified and unsettled.
Caroline Bingley appeared to observe it too, and rather than resist the tendency, she encouraged it in her own way.
She directed the captain’s remarks toward Elizabeth, praised her wit with an air of indulgence, and more than once contrived to seat them within easy distance of one another.
The encouragement was offered with smiles and civility, yet Elizabeth sensed something deliberate beneath it.