11. Chapter Eleven
Chapter Eleven
The morning began in confusion. Darcy descended the stairs expecting order and found instead that Lydia Bennet had somehow persuaded Horace to carry off one of Bingley’s gloves while Miss Bingley attempted to restore dignity to the breakfast table through increasingly brittle conversation.
“Your dog has criminal tendencies,” Bingley informed the room cheerfully as Horace trotted beneath the table with the glove hanging from his mouth.
“He prefers your scent to anyone else’s,” Miss Lydia replied. She reached beneath the tablecloth and scratched the dog behind the ears. “You ought to feel honored.”
Miss Bingley set down her teacup with unnecessary precision. “I confess I have never understood the modern enthusiasm for enormous animals indoors.”
Horace, hearing her tone if not her words, rested his heavy head directly upon Miss Lydia’s lap and stared at Miss Bingley with mournful reproach.
Mrs. Gardiner hid a smile behind her napkin.
Darcy’s attention found Elizabeth instinctively. She sat beside her aunt near the open window, morning light catching the loose curls near her temple. The expression she wore was dangerously familiar now. Amusement restrained for propriety’s sake. He had become alarmingly adept at recognizing it.
Miss Bingley followed his line of sight.
That she tracked his movements so closely was bothersome. What he saw across the table spoiled the rest of Darcy’s coffee.
There, Georgiana had already withdrawn into herself.
Mrs. Annesley was still with her daughter, and Darcy regretted her absence more than he cared to admit.
Georgiana loved her companion sincerely, and Mrs. Annesley possessed the rare ability to soothe without smothering.
Without her, Miss Bingley’s presence seemed to infect every room with tension.
“Miss Darcy,” Miss Bingley began, leaning slightly across the table, “you must accompany me through the shops after luncheon. I understand Lambton possesses a tolerable milliner, though naturally nothing approaching London standards.”
Georgiana sought Darcy’s face before answering.
Before his sister could speak, Miss Lydia cut in.
“But we are to walk near the stream after breakfast,” she announced. “Miss Darcy promised to show me where Horace fell into the water last spring.”
“I did no such thing,” Georgiana replied, startled into laughter.
Miss Lydia raised a challenging eyebrow. “You implied it strongly.”
“I merely said he enjoys swimming.”
“That is practically an invitation,” Miss Lydia insisted.
Miss Bingley’s mouth hardened. “Miss Lydia, I hardly think wandering through muddy banks preferable to proper society.”
“Oh, I do,” Miss Lydia replied. “Mud does not criticize one’s posture.”
Bingley choked on his coffee.
Darcy hid his face to conceal a traitorous flicker of amusement.
Miss Bingley pressed forward with visible effort. “Refinement is not criticism. It is improvement.”
Miss Lydia tilted her head. “That sounds tiresome.”
Mrs. Gardiner intervened smoothly before the conversation could deteriorate further. “I believe Mr. Darcy mentioned showing my husband the eastern tenant cottages this morning.”
“Yes.” Darcy seized the opening gratefully. “Several repairs were completed last month. Mr. Gardiner expressed interest in the drainage work.”
Mr. Gardiner brightened. “Particularly the stone retaining wall. Your steward described it admirably.”
Miss Bingley visibly lost interest the instant estate management entered the discussion.
Darcy almost pitied her. Almost.
The party separated shortly thereafter.
Mrs. Gardiner elected to remain behind with Mrs. Hurst, whose enthusiasm for outdoor exertion ended sharply beyond ornamental gardens.
Bingley joined Mr. Gardiner, eager to inspect anything Darcy inspected.
It was agreed they would take two open carriages on their journey, which warmed Miss Bingley to the idea.
Determined not to be left behind, Miss Bingley attached herself to Darcy before he reached the front steps.
“You walk too quickly, Mr. Darcy.”
He moderated his pace automatically though irritation pricked beneath the habit. “Forgive me.”
Behind them, Miss Lydia linked arms with Georgiana as they neared the carriages.
“We shall rescue Horace from despair,” Lydia declared. “He has not yet rolled in anything objectionable this morning.”
“Give him time,” Georgiana answered.
Darcy looked over his shoulder. His sister appeared lighter outdoors. Color touched her cheeks. She was speaking without prompting, without hesitation, without first measuring whether Miss Bingley might approve.
Bingley and Mr. Gardiner joined Georgiana, Lydia, and Elizabeth in the first carriage. Darcy beckoned for Harding to take a place in the second, ensuring he would not be left alone with Miss Bingley.
He had not understood how much Georgiana was not herself around Miss Bingley until recently. The change appeared everywhere. And now that he saw it, he could not forgive himself for not noticing sooner.
Miss Bingley resumed speaking beside him. “…Miss Carson wrote last week regarding the dreadful decline of standards in Bath society—”
Darcy answered where politeness required, though his attention wandered continually toward the carriage ahead.
Elizabeth sat beside Mr. Gardiner, listening while he bantered with Lydia and spoke kindly to Miss Darcy.
Several times her attention drifted back toward Darcy during the discussion. Once their eyes met directly.
He lost the thread of Mr. Gardiner’s sentence.
Ridiculous.
He had faced magistrates, attorneys, stewards, and half the aristocracy of England with greater composure than he managed under one brief look from Elizabeth Bennet.
Miss Bingley noticed that too.
Of course she did.
Why did he care so much what Miss Bingley thought? After musing on it, Darcy realized that knowing the lady’s thoughts helped him act to protect those he cared about; Georgiana, Bingley… Elizabeth.
The road wound between low stone walls and green hills softened by late summer haze. Villagers greeted Darcy as they passed. He stopped more than once to exchange words regarding livestock, repairs, or families. Elizabeth observed each interaction with unnerving attentiveness.
They stopped at the tenant cottages. Everyone left the carriages—Miss Bingley with some reluctance; an elderly woman intercepted Darcy before he reached the gate.
“Mr. Darcy, sir, the new roof held through the storm beautifully.”
“I am glad of it, Mrs. Porter.” He removed his gloves. “And your grandson?”
“Walking again. Though climbing where he ought not.”
“That sounds promising.”
Mrs. Porter gave an indulgent snort. “You say that because you are not his grandmother.”
Miss Bingley withdrew, plainly at a loss in conversations involving leaking roofs and grandchildren.
Elizabeth approached.
Darcy became increasingly conscious of her presence near the garden wall while he spoke with Mrs. Porter.
Her skirts stirred against the tall grass whenever the breeze shifted.
Sunlight glimmered along the blue ribbon tied beneath her bonnet.
Several village children had abandoned all pretense of decorum in favor of following Horace about the lawn, and Miss Lydia encouraged matters shamelessly by assisting them in throwing sticks for the dog.
“Lydia!” Georgiana protested, her voice breaking with amusement. “He shall bowl someone into the stream.”
“He attacks people out of affection,” Lydia declared. “That is practically a compliment.”
“That improves the situation very little.”
Darcy glanced back toward them in time to witness Horace thunder through a shallow run of water and drench Miss Lydia from hem to knees. She gave an outraged squeal and attempted to retaliate by splashing him with her shoe.
Darcy heard his sister before he saw her. Her laughter carried across the lawn, bright enough to unsettle every orderly thought he had possessed that morning.
Georgiana bent forward, incapable of preserving any dignity whatsoever. She pressed one hand against her mouth in a failed attempt at restraint. Her eyes shone with delight. When she caught Darcy watching her, the laughter softened but did not disappear.
“You ought to rescue your dog, Mr. Darcy,” she managed.
“My dog?” he repeated.
“He clearly belongs to you. He possesses your talent for creating havoc while appearing perfectly respectable.”
Mr. Gardiner barked a laugh.
Darcy should have answered sensibly. Instead, he heard himself say, “You vastly overestimate my respectability.”
A blush rose instantly beneath Elizabeth’s skin.
Darcy forced his attention elsewhere before he embarrassed himself completely.
Miss Bingley appeared beside him before he could speak again.
“Mr. Darcy, you must come observe the view from the ridge. It is remarkably fine.”
Irritation threatened to overtake him. “I am engaged here presently.”
Miss Bingley simpered, batting her eyelashes. “Surely the drainage inspection may survive ten minutes without you.”
Before he could formulate a response, catastrophe erupted somewhere near the cottages.
A crash. A yelp. Then Miss Lydia’s unmistakable voice shouting, “Catch him!”
Everyone looked up.
Horace came barreling toward them carrying what appeared to be Miss Bingley’s shawl.
The tenant children ran after him breathlessly while Georgiana attempted dignity under impossible circumstances.
Miss Lydia, Darcy observed, acted far too innocent.
Miss Bingley gave a horrified gasp. “My shawl! But how did he get it?”
“How extraordinary,” Miss Lydia said ironically. “He has never stolen clothing before.”
Bingley looked as though he struggled to contain his mirth.
The resulting confusion lasted several minutes. By the time Horace was captured and Miss Bingley’s shawl recovered from a hedge, the party had scattered naturally into smaller groups.