Chapter Thirteen
By the time they returned to Mrs Makepeace’s house after an impromptu picnic luncheon in an obliging farmer’s barn, Elizabeth had given up any hope that her gown might recover its dignity.
The hem bore a determined record of the field, her glove had not survived the encounter at all, and there was a mark upon her sleeve which she was sure was now a permanent feature.
Mr Darcy had fared somewhat better, though not entirely well; there was mud at his boots and a darkened line at his cuff.
Mr Bingley, by contrast, was in the highest spirits.
"I think," he said, as he handed Jane down from the carriage with great care, "that we may consider the day a success. There was, at first, some confusion, but I believe we brought matters to a very satisfactory conclusion."
Jane smiled at him with warm attention. "You were certainly very active, though I am not entirely persuaded the sheep understood your intentions."
"Understanding is not required at the outset," Bingley returned cheerfully. "Direction is the essential thing. Once direction is established, the rest generally follows."
"They followed you into the next field," Elizabeth said.
"Only briefly," he replied, undeterred. "A temporary deviation, Mizz Elizabeth. The difficulty lay in the line of the enclosure. I remarked upon it at once. It was asking to be challenged."
Darcy, who had said nothing until now, observed, "You chased them through a broken gate."
"Yes," said Bingley, "but it all ended well, Darcy. And now the farmer knows where the weaknesses are in his defences!"
Mrs Makepeace opened the door before they reached it and took in the entire party with one composed, assessing look.
"Well," she said, "I see that you have had quite the adventure in the countryside."
"It was only a small mishap," Elizabeth said.
"I have never found that mud knows when to stop," Mrs Makepeace replied.
"It begins in one place and, given the least encouragement, makes itself at home everywhere else.
Mr Makepeace, God rest him, deposited his muddy boots in my parlour only once.
I made my thoughts on that situation quite clear and it was never repeated. "
She stepped aside. "You had better come in. Some of you require tea, and some of you require soap."
Mrs Bennet came forward at once, her attention settling on Elizabeth.
"You must go and change, Lizzy," she said. "The damp will set in if you stand about, and I will not have you made ill for the sake of a walk that has already done quite enough."
Jane rose immediately to follow.
"Miss Darcy," Mrs Bennet added, turning, "you shall come into the parlour with me. I want to hear whether you observed how that creature looked at Mr Bingley before it ran directly away from him. I have never seen such clear disapproval in anything with four legs."
Georgiana gave a small, surprised laugh and allowed herself to be led inside.
Darcy stepped back to let Elizabeth pass. For a moment, it seemed he might speak, but he did not. The restraint was entirely proper, though Elizabeth found it unaccountably vexing.
???
Upstairs, the door closed quietly behind the sisters.
Jane occupied herself for a few moments with her gloves, as though allowing Elizabeth the choice of speaking first. When she did not, Jane crossed the room and sat beside her.
"Lizzy," she said gently, "you look as though you have something on your mind."
"That is because I do," Elizabeth said, with a small, tired breath.
Jane waited.
Elizabeth pulled at the edge of her sleeve. "Mr Darcy kissed me."
Jane’s hand stilled. "He… oh my… that is most… When?"
"In the hall. Yesterday evening."
Elizabeth hesitated. "And also today at the farm."
Jane let out a small gasp as considered this with wide eyes. "At the farm?"
"Behind a building," Elizabeth said. "While Mr Bingley was directing agricultural improvements."
Jane’s mouth curved faintly. "I see. And were these kisses unwelcome? Do you have tender feelings towards him?"
"I do not," Elizabeth replied rather too quickly. "Or at least, I do not know what to make of it."
"And he has spoken to you?" Jane asked.
"Yes." Elizabeth drew a breath. "We have had some very confusing conversations."
Jane looked at her fully now. "And your feelings for him?"
"Oh Jane, I am so confused."
Jane took her hand. "Do you care for him?"
Elizabeth stared at her hands. "I think I might. Which is extremely inconvenient."
Jane’s expression softened. "It may be difficult, but it is not, I think, the very worst place to begin."
Elizabeth let out a quiet, frustrated laugh. "He speaks of honour and obligation. And oh, I am not the kind of woman he imagined, Jane. Not at all. I must put an end to it."
"That sounds like a man who is not entirely settled in his own mind," Jane said.
"That is precisely it," Elizabeth replied. "He is certain and uncertain at once, and I do not know which part of him I am meant to answer."
Jane smiled a little. "Perhaps you need not decide immediately."
"I do not trust myself to decide at all," Elizabeth said. "Not while everything feels altered."
Jane squeezed her hand. "Then you must give yourself time until it feels less so."
Below, Mrs Makepeace’s voice carried faintly upward.
"If Mr Bingley wishes to explain drainage over tea, he may do so in no more than three sentences. I have found that most subjects benefit from limits."
Elizabeth laughed despite herself. "I would give a great deal for my chief concern to be drainage."
Jane laughed softly. "Come, dearest. You may yet survive the afternoon."