Chapter 5
Chapter Five
Fitzwilliam Darcy had never been so anxious for guests to arrive. During the past hour, he had consulted both the clock and his pocket watch far more often than necessary, and still the Gardiners had not come.
That was, of course, entirely to be expected, as they were not due for another half-hour. Nevertheless, he could not resist checking his watch once more.
His father chuckled behind him. “They will come, Fitzwilliam—and no doubt at precisely the time they are expected.”
Fitzwilliam turned from the window, where he had been watching the drive.
“I know, Father.” He returned the watch to his pocket. “I merely wished to ensure the weather remained favourable for our picnic. I should hate for it to be delayed by rain.”
His father came to stand beside him and gazed out at the unbroken expanse of blue.
“A very real danger,” his father said gravely. “You had best look again in five minutes. Derbyshire weather can be unpredictable.”
Even as he spoke, however, he could not entirely suppress the smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. Fitzwilliam saw it but chose not to acknowledge it. He could only hope his father did not also notice the warmth creeping up the back of his neck.
He was spared any further teasing by Georgiana’s arrival.
“Are they here?” she asked, hurrying across the room to join them at the window.
“No, they have not yet arrived,” her father replied. With exaggerated deliberation, he withdrew his watch and consulted it. “Nor are they expected for another twenty-five minutes.”
Fitzwilliam glanced at his sister. Her bright eyes and eager expression left little doubt that she anticipated Miss Bennet’s arrival nearly as much as he did. Their father appeared equally pleased by her enthusiasm, though he wisely refrained from remarking upon it.
The three discussed their plans for the day, but none suggested sitting. Instead, they remained near the window, each positioned so that the approach of a carriage along the drive could not possibly escape notice.
Grateful that his father’s attention had shifted elsewhere, Fitzwilliam allowed himself to be drawn into the conversation.
Before long, the sound of wheels reached them, and he turned towards the window at once.
Georgiana did the same, her eagerness sparing him from being the only one to betray himself so readily.
His father, however, was watching him again, the same knowing smile playing about his lips. Fitzwilliam felt the tips of his ears grow warm.
Mercifully, his father made no comment. Instead, he led them towards the entrance hall to receive their guests. Such a welcome was perhaps a greater distinction than so brief an acquaintance warranted, but Fitzwilliam could hardly object when he was already following close upon his father’s heels.
“Good morning,” his father said as their guests entered the hall.
Mrs Gardiner returned the greeting, with her husband and niece just behind her.
Fitzwilliam’s gaze found Miss Bennet almost at once, and the warmth of her smile rendered the past hour’s impatience entirely worthwhile, though he still felt a little foolish for having awaited her arrival with such restless anticipation.
Once greetings had been exchanged, the party withdrew to the sitting room while the servants completed the final preparations for the picnic.
Georgiana immediately claimed a place beside Miss Bennet, and Fitzwilliam soon found himself joining their conversation. It had already begun to feel like an established habit, though their acquaintance could still be measured in days.
When there was a lull in the conversation between his sister and Miss Bennet, Fitzwilliam enquired, “Did you have a chance last evening to begin reading Corinne?”
Miss Bennet turned towards him with a smile on her face. “I did.”
“And?”
“I admire her exceedingly,” Miss Bennet said, “although I suspect that knowing her personally would be exhausting.”
Fitzwilliam raised his brows. “And how far have you read?”
“Three chapters.”
He laughed. “Then you have formed your opinion remarkably quickly. I suspect the later chapters may cure you of at least half of it, although I shall not tell you which half.”
“Is that so?”
“Corinne is not the only character capable of being admirable and exasperating by turns.”
Her eyes brightened in evident amusement. “Then I must read further. It would be intolerable for us to agree so soon.”
Their conversation was interrupted by the arrival of Mrs Reynolds, who announced that everything was prepared for the picnic. The servants had already departed with the hampers, linens and other necessities, and would have everything arranged before the party reached the western ridge.
Outside, two carriages awaited them. An open landau had been brought round for the elder Mr Darcy and the Gardiners, while a light sociable phaeton stood behind it.
Fitzwilliam had selected the latter himself, knowing that the additional seat would accommodate Georgiana and Mrs Livesay while still allowing him to drive and sit on the same bench with Miss Bennet.
His father appeared to comprehend the arrangement at once. The look he directed towards his son was far too knowing for Fitzwilliam’s comfort, but he merely offered his arm to Mrs Gardiner and escorted her towards the landau with Mr Gardiner trailing behind.
Georgiana and Mrs Livesay settled upon the rear seat of the phaeton with the help of a footman. Looking around him at the arrangements, Fitzwilliam turned to Miss Bennet and offered his hand.
“Will you permit me to drive you?”
Her eyes moved briefly from him to the carriage, and the smile that appeared suggested she understood precisely what he had contrived. She took his hand without a word and allowed him to help her into the conveyance.
Behind them, Georgiana and Mrs Livesay spoke quietly. For several moments, Fitzwilliam struggled to settle upon a topic of conversation, but Miss Bennet spared him the necessity.
“We are travelling away from Lambton, are we not?” she asked. “I do not recall seeing this prospect on our way to Pemberley.”
“You are correct. Lambton lies to the south-east, while we are travelling towards the western boundary of the estate.” He indicated the distant ridge slightly north of their course. “On a clear day such as this, one can just distinguish Mam Tor beyond those nearer hills.”
Miss Bennet followed the direction of his hand. “Which is Mam Tor?”
“The highest rise towards the west—the one with the uneven slope. Mam Tor is known for the landslips upon its eastern face. The ground there is said never to be entirely still.”
“That sounds rather ominous.” Her eyes widened slightly, though the curve of her lips told him that her alarm was at least partly feigned.
“Only if one intends to stand beneath it.” Fitzwilliam smiled, finding it considerably easier to tease her than he had found it to begin their conversation. “Still, you may be assured, Miss Bennet, that I have no intention of leading you into danger.”
She glanced at him, her eyes bright with amusement. “How fortunate for us that you have chosen a different location for our picnic.”
“Naturally,” Fitzwilliam said, smiling at her for yet another moment before turning his attention back to the path before him.
That exchange prompted further questions about the surrounding prospect, and Fitzwilliam found it increasingly easy to point out places of interest as they travelled.
Before long, they reached the site selected for the picnic.
The landau carrying his father and the Gardiners had not yet arrived, but the estate wagon stood nearby, and the servants who had accompanied it were already arranging everything.
Rugs had been spread beneath the trees, a folding table erected for the food, and chairs placed in the shade for those who might prefer them.
Fitzwilliam handed the reins to the waiting groom and descended from his side of the phaeton easily. After assisting Georgiana and Mrs Livesay from the rear seat, he walked around the back of the carriage to where Miss Bennet awaited him.
“May I?” he asked, extending his hand.
She placed her gloved fingers in his and gathered her skirts with the other. Fitzwilliam watched as she turned slightly and placed one foot upon the iron step. He steadied her descent with his hand beneath hers, his other coming to rest lightly at her waist as she stepped down.
For one suspended moment after her feet touched the ground, Fitzwilliam’s hand remained at her waist. Even through the fabric of her gown, he was conscious of her warmth beneath his palm and of how little distance lay between them.
Miss Bennet did not immediately draw away.
Her eyes lifted to his, widening slightly, and her breath seemed to catch.
The startled awareness in her expression answered something within him that he had not yet dared to examine too closely.
It was something he had felt each time he was near her, but now, touching her in this manner, it flooded through him.
He knew he ought to release her, but neither of them seemed capable of movement.
“Thank you,” she said at last, her voice scarcely above a murmur.
Fitzwilliam allowed his hand to fall, though every instinct urged him to retain the contact, and indeed, to take an intimacy that was not at all appropriate for the time of their acquaintance or their location.
“It was my pleasure.” The words felt forced between his lips.
Her gaze remained fixed upon his, and for several heartbeats the servants, the waiting phaeton and even the picnic itself seemed to recede from his notice.
The approaching rumble of wheels broke the spell. Miss Bennet glanced towards the path as the landau came into view, a delicate flush rising into her cheeks. Fitzwilliam stepped back to a more proper distance, but the warmth of her remained impressed upon his palm long after he had released her.