Chapter 17
LEAD BALLOONS
“H ere, look—Bingley, if you stand on this corner, and Aldridge puts his foot there, then I move Ada’s chair—” Miss Ada let out a squawk when her brother hefted her chair, with her in it, two feet to the right. “There we are! That ought to do it.”
Mr Templeton’s purpose was to pin down one of several blankets, all of which had been flapping about wildly in the wind, knocking over drinks and spilling the contents of plates since they arrived.
The day had dawned overcast and a little chilly, but the arrival of several cartloads of workmen at Pemberley had been encouragement enough for Mr Darcy’s guests to persevere with their planned excursion.
Elizabeth had learnt much of her own feelings by the magnitude of her relief upon receiving Miss Darcy’s note to that effect.
She was further thankful to discover that the silvered skies had in no way diminished the view, either.
Mr Darcy had been correct when he conjectured that she would like this spot. She was quite enraptured.
“Am I to remain here for the rest of the afternoon, do you think, Miss Ada?” Mr Bingley enquired, standing gamely to attention, and winking at the young lady.
“You are if I am,” Mr Aldridge replied from the opposing corner of the blanket.
“I think you might serve the function of paperweight just as well sitting down, Bingley,” Mr Darcy suggested with mild amusement.
“Better, I daresay,” added Mr Hurst. “For your foot is not nearly as large a weight as your—” His sentence ended with a soft ‘oof’ as his wife elbowed him in the ribs.
To Elizabeth’s right, Mr Gardiner gave a single, high-pitched bark of amusement.
She smiled with him, though her thoughts were chiefly of Jane.
She found it hard to suppose what her sister would make of such a scene.
The camaraderie and good will would, undoubtedly, appeal to her, for Jane was never happier than when all those around her were content as well.
Elizabeth was less certain what her eldest sister would think about Mr Bingley’s behaviour.
Though never as rigidly self-possessed as Mr Darcy, Mr Bingley had still never conducted himself with so little formality as he was presently displaying.
In Hertfordshire, his attention had been so firmly fixed on Jane, it had been difficult for him to appear interested in anyone else.
Here in Derbyshire, he was markedly more liberal with his attentions—particularly towards the ladies.
It was, perhaps, a natural consequence of a sociable disposition amongst familiar company, and Elizabeth attempted not to conflate it with the cessation of his enquiries about Longbourn.
There were only so many questions one could ask of a static situation, after all, and as no letters had come from home since her arrival in Lambton, she had no new intelligence to impart.
She could not blame her family, for she had hardly been diligent with her own correspondence, but she wished she had something more to offer Mr Bingley than repeated assurances of Jane’s well-being.
A hue and cry went up when another gust of wind threatened to lift Lady Garroway’s skirts, and Lord Garroway, in his gallant leap to help preserve her dignity, overturned several full glasses and an empty chair.
Mr and Mrs Cox both managed to roll out of the path of destruction, leaving Mr Connelly—an addition to the party, and apparently one of Mr Darcy’s nearest landowning neighbours—to soak up the brunt of the spilt wine.
“Gads, sorry about that, Connelly,” his lordship said, laughing in a thoroughly uncontrite fashion. “I do hope your breeches are not ruined.”
“Better my breeches than your wife’s honour,” Mr Connelly replied amiably. “Rum idea to have a picnic in a gale anyway. What were you thinking, Darcy?”
Mr Darcy flicked his gaze to Mr Connelly and smiled very slightly. “That it would have been much less like a picnic indoors.”
It was a simple exchange from which both gentlemen swiftly moved on, yet Elizabeth felt a small thrill to observe it, for she was coming to greatly enjoy Mr Darcy’s understated humour.
“I understand you and Mr Darcy met in Hertfordshire last year?” This was from Miss Reid who had seated herself on the blanket having dismissed the notion of sitting in a chair at a picnic as being ‘like going to a ball and refusing to dance’. Elizabeth had taken an instant liking to her.
“Yes, at our local assembly.”
“An assembly?”
“You are surprised?”
“I have never heard of Mr Darcy attending a public ball. We have enough trouble trying to persuade him to come to our private ones.”
“I do not think he would have attended this one if his friends had not insisted.” Elizabeth indicated the Bingleys with a glance. “He was certainly not inclined to dance with anyone outside of his own party.”
“Oh yes, poor Miss Bingley. Her brother is excessively fond of dancing, and she is forever being called upon to save his less-eager friends when they are unable to escape the obligation of a set.”
Elizabeth suppressed a smile, though not without some effort. “I did not get the impression she objected in this instance.”
Miss Reid looked fleetingly surprised before giving in to a smile. “No, you are probably right.” Lowering her voice, she added, “It is, after all, as close as she is ever likely to get.”
Miss Templeton abruptly detached herself from her own conversation, twisted around, and inserted herself into theirs with an equally low voice. “Leave Caroline alone, Fenella. There are few of us who have not set our caps at Mr Darcy at some point or other. Indeed, I am surprised you never have.”
Their familiarity evidently allowed for this level of rebuke, for Elizabeth could perceive neither vexation in her tone nor affront on Miss Reid’s face.
“Me?” the latter replied, clearly amused. “What a waste of my time it would be to pine after a man who would never have me.”
“I do not see why he would not. You have fifteen thousand pounds and that face.”
“But I am not clever. Not clever enough, anyway. Although, cleverer than your friend Miss Bingley, for she has not been so easily put off.”
“Oh, do stop,” Miss Templeton replied, though she smirked all the same. To Elizabeth, she said, “Caroline is not that bad you know. She can be a little spiky, but she is perfectly amiable once she decides she likes you.”
“I shall have to take your word for that.”
Miss Templeton and Miss Reid both delighted in this but quieted when their mirth drew curious looks from the other picnickers, the lady in question included.
More quietly, and with a knowing smile that removed any concern for it being meanly meant, Miss Templeton said, “Well, we all know why she does not like you , Miss Bennet.”
Elizabeth felt herself blush and tried, somewhat inelegantly, to change the subject. “It sounds as though you know the Darcys well, Miss Reid. You must visit Delamont Hall often.”
“Oh, I live there. Hamish’s—that is, Mr Connelly’s—mother and mine are sisters and were both widowed in the same year.
We have all lived together at Delamont since.
So yes, I have known the family for some time now.
Mr Darcy was such a good friend to Hamish when my uncle died—his death was unexpected, and my cousin was woefully unprepared.
Mr Darcy spent hours and hours showing him what to do with the estate.
Hamish thinks the world of him. We both do. ”
This was a report Elizabeth received with great satisfaction, and for more reasons than hearing yet another fine account of Mr Darcy’s character.
That was, perhaps, the thing that surprised her the least, not because the testimony of a friend was not valuable, but because she was coming to expect that people who knew him would speak well of him.
There was also some amusement to be had in seeing one of those acquaintances whose sensibilities Mr Darcy had been so averse to injuring by marrying her, now commending him to her , for all the world as though to promote the match.
Most significantly, however, Elizabeth was delighted with Miss Reid herself. She was young, good-natured, and seemed as sensible as she was lively. Just the sort of person Elizabeth imagined would make a charming neighbour, should she one day find herself living in the vicinity—
She caught herself and felt her cheeks reddening again. It still felt outrageously presumptuous to think it, even privately. When Miss Darcy suggested that they all walk to the ridge to take in the view, Elizabeth was the first to leap to her feet to escape her embarrassment.
“Who fancies a game of Lead Balloons?” Mr Connelly said when they reached the vantage point.
“Oh, I have not played that since I was a girl!” cried Mrs Gardiner.
To her husband and niece, she explained that the objective was for everyone to find the lightest object they could, and all drop them over the ridge at the same time, with one person stood on the ledge below to judge which landed last and declare the owner of it the winner.
“The first item to land is the Lead Balloon, naturally.”
“Naturally,” Mr Gardiner echoed, smiling indulgently.
The whole party spent several minutes searching the hillside for suitable projectiles.
A few lucky ones found feathers, others picked leaves, grass, and flowers; two ladies chose to sacrifice lace handkerchiefs, and Mr Pettigrew produced a piece of paper from somewhere on his person.
Elizabeth took off her bonnet and began to unthread a ribbon from the trim, turning as she did to see what Mr Darcy would use.
He was speaking to a footman who, as he listened to his master, broke into a broad grin, bobbed his head several times in apparent thanks, and took off down the escarpment.
Mr Darcy then walked directly to a gorse bush tucked away in the nook of the rocky outcropping, from which he unsnagged a wad of sheep’s wool.