7. An Unsuspected Attachment
seven
An Unsuspected Attachment
Elizabeth had never before considered that a familiar place might become dear merely because of the company one kept there.
Hyde Park remained Hyde Park. The broad walks were no greener than they had been a fortnight before, the Serpentine no more inclined to sparkle than on any other pleasant afternoon.
Gentlemen rode by with practiced ease, ladies displayed the newest fashions from Bond Street, children escaped the vigilance of nurses whenever opportunity presented itself, and every bench appeared occupied by those determined to observe the rest of London without seeming to do so.
Nothing in the park had altered.
She had.
Or perhaps it was only that she had become accustomed to expecting Mr. Darcy at her side.
The realization was sufficiently unsettling that she occupied herself by adjusting the ribbon of her bonnet, though it required no adjustment whatsoever.
Mrs. Gardiner and Georgiana had paused some distance behind to admire a flowering shrub which Mr. Gardiner insisted had been imported from the Continent at outrageous expense. Whether his account was accurate or merely intended to amuse his wife, Elizabeth could not determine.
The result was that she and Mr. Darcy had wandered ahead seemingly without noticing.
“It has been an agreeable season,” she remarked.
Darcy glanced toward the line of elms before answering.
“It has.”
“I suspect every gentleman says so before fleeing London for the country.”
“I rarely say so.”
“No?”
“No season has ever given me much reason.”
She regarded him curiously.
“You surprise me.”
“I have never enjoyed a season in town more than this one.”
The simplicity of the admission robbed it of all affectation.
Elizabeth found herself examining the ducks upon the water rather more intently than their habits deserved.
“I am glad of it,” she answered after a brief silence. “Though I flatter myself London cannot claim all the credit.”
“It cannot.”
She risked meeting his eyes.
“I believe Gracechurch Street deserves rather more.”
“I was thinking precisely the same.”
The answer arrived so readily that she could not mistake his meaning, though she immediately attempted to persuade herself she ought to.
Fortunately, Mr. Darcy continued before she was obliged to reply.
“Your journey approaches very quickly.”
“It does.”
“Do you look forward to Ireland?”
“I believe I do.”
“You sound uncertain.”
Elizabeth smiled.
“I expect I shall miss England while wishing to see Ireland.”
“A sensible contradiction.”
“My aunt assures me it is possible to experience both.”
“I have never visited Ireland.”
“Then we shall both have discoveries before us this summer.”
He slowed his pace a little as they approached the water.
“I hope you find everything you anticipate.”
“I suspect I shall find many things I do not anticipate.”
“That has generally proved the more rewarding.”
She laughed.
“Mr. Darcy, you have become remarkably optimistic.”
“I attribute the improvement to excellent company.”
“How fortunate for your friends.”
“They are the fortunate ones.”
The compliment, though gently spoken, produced an embarrassing warmth in her cheeks.
She was rescued from answering by a gentleman on horseback whose spirited mount insisted upon displaying its opinion of restraint. Darcy instinctively guided Elizabeth a little farther from the path until horse and rider had safely passed.
It was afterward that either appeared conscious of the small movement.
Elizabeth looked toward the Serpentine.
“My uncle tells me we shall leave London within three days.”
“So soon?”
“I fear so.”
“And after Ireland?”
“We shall return directly to Hertfordshire in September. Aunt wishes to spend several weeks at Longbourn before the weather grows cold.”
“Hertfordshire.”
He repeated the county absently.
“I shall not remain in town myself.”
“You are bound for Ramsgate.”
“My sister has anticipated it since Christmas.”
Elizabeth smiled.
“I believe Miss Darcy counts the days.”
“She has done so aloud.”
“And after Ramsgate?”
Darcy folded his hands behind his back.
“Bingley returns from the North shortly after our departure. Once we have come back from the coast, I promised to assist him in finding an estate to lease.”
“Then your autumn will be occupied.”
“I expect so.”
“What sort of estate does Mr. Bingley desire?”
“One sufficiently pleasant to persuade him he need search no farther.”
“That sounds delightfully indefinite.”
“It is exactly the difficulty.”
“You may spend months examining properties.”
“I hope not.”
“Because your friend is impatient?”
“Because I have another journey I should like to undertake.”
She looked up.
“Indeed?”
“If circumstances permit.”
His expression had altered very little, yet she found herself paying unusual attention to the answer before it had even been spoken.
“Miss Bennet...”
He stopped walking.
She halted beside him.
A carriage rolled slowly along the drive beyond the trees, while a pair of boys attempted to launch a small wooden boat from the bank under the anxious direction of their nurse.
Darcy removed one glove and held it loosely in his hand.
“When you have returned to Hertfordshire...”
He paused.
“I hope you will forgive the liberty of the question.”
“I cannot forgive or refuse until I have heard it.”
The corner of his mouth turned up.
“Very true.”
Another brief silence followed.
“When you are once more at Longbourn, may I have the honor of calling upon you?”
Elizabeth had expected many things.
That request had not numbered among them.
“Hertfordshire?” she repeated, buying herself a moment she scarcely required but very much desired.
“If your family would receive me.”
She attempted a perfectly sensible answer.
Instead she discovered an absurd interest in the ribbons of her gloves.
“I...I believe they would.”
He waited.
She realized with growing mortification that he had asked about her wishes rather than those of her family.
Elizabeth raised her eyes.
“I should be very happy to see you.”
The words emerged more softly than she had intended.
Relief transformed his countenance with such unmistakable sincerity that she nearly forgot every sensible resolution she had ever formed concerning gentlemen.
“I thank you,” he said simply.
Before either could add another word, Georgiana’s cheerful voice floated toward them.
“Brother!”
She approached with surprising animation, one gloved hand lightly gathering her skirts.
“You must come at once. There is a mother duck with eight ducklings I saw the other day, and now I can see only seven.”
Darcy blinked.
“That sounds a matter requiring immediate investigation.”
“It certainly does,” Georgiana replied. “I have counted them three times and arrive at a different number each occasion.”
Elizabeth laughed. “I believe the ducklings are moving.”
“I do hope that is all.”
Georgiana slipped her arm through Elizabeth’s with easy affection.
“You must help me. My brother always counts correctly.”
“I’m afraid that places me under considerable pressure.”
“It has always been so,” Georgiana declared with complete confidence. “Even when we were children.”
Darcy offered his sister his arm.
“Then I suppose I must preserve my reputation.”
Together they rejoined the others near the water’s edge. Georgiana scarcely paused before leading the little party a few yards farther beneath the shade of a willow.
“There,” she whispered, though there was no one near enough to disturb.
A mother duck drifted close to the bank, followed by a line of tiny ducklings whose determination far exceeded their size. One lingered behind, distracted by every ripple in the water before hurrying to regain its place.
Elizabeth smiled.
“I believe that little one has inherited an adventurous spirit.”
“He is forever losing his family,” Georgiana said with complete certainty.
“You have watched them before?”
“Twice already this week.”
Darcy folded his arms.
“I begin to suspect this family has become part of your morning routine.”
“I wished to see whether there were still eight.”
“And are there?”
Georgiana counted under her breath.
“One...two...three...”
The smallest disappeared behind its mother.
She frowned.
“Seven.”
Elizabeth pointed toward a clump of reeds.
“I believe your eighth has merely discovered better cover.”
Swiftly, the missing duckling emerged, paddling furiously after the others.
Georgiana laughed.
“I was right the first time.”
“You generally are,” Darcy replied.
Elizabeth raised an eyebrow.
“Brotherly partiality.”
“Simple observation.”
“I believe Miss Darcy had assistance.”
“I decline to diminish an honest victory.”
Mr. Gardiner joined them with Mrs. Gardiner upon his arm.
“Have we settled some important national concern?”
“The ducklings have all been accounted for,” Elizabeth answered.
“Excellent. I should hate for Parliament to be summoned over a missing duck.”
Mrs. Gardiner smiled.
“I think Parliament has survived greater crises.”
Georgiana continued watching the little family until they disappeared beneath the overhanging branches.
“I am glad they shall have water all summer.”
“You speak as though you envy them,” Elizabeth said.
“A little.”
“Because they have no governess?”
Georgiana laughed.
“No. Because they shall remain beside the water.”
“You are thinking of Ramsgate.”
“I am.”
Her expression brightened.
“I have wished for the sea every day since Christmas.”
“It is your favorite place.”
“I think so. Mrs. Younge says the air agrees with me better than London.”
“I expect she is right,” Darcy answered.
“I remember walking on the beach after supper when the tide was going out. Everything smelled of salt, and one could hear the waves even after returning indoors.”
Elizabeth listened with pleasure.
“I have never visited Ramsgate.”
“You must one day.”
“I hope to.”
Georgiana’s enthusiasm carried her forward another few yards before she stopped again to watch a pair of swans gliding silently across the water.
By the time they reached Darcy House, the afternoon had begun to mellow into that pleasant hour when even London appeared less hurried.
A groom was leading two horses across the square, a pair of ladies lingered over some matter of consequence outside a neighboring residence, and somewhere farther down the street a knife grinder announced his trade with a melancholy bell.
Mrs. Gardiner’s carriage waited before the steps.
“I had begun to fear I should be obliged to come in search of you,” Mrs. Gardiner said as the footman lowered the steps. “Though I confess Hyde Park is considerably larger than I remembered.”
“We were detained by ducks,” Elizabeth replied.
Mr. Gardiner chuckled. “A perfectly respectable excuse.”
Mrs. Gardiner looked from one face to another.
“I shall accept it this once.”
Georgiana laughed and slipped her hand into Mrs. Gardiner’s.
“You must not blame Elizabeth. It was I who insisted we stop.”
“My dear, I have no intention of blaming anyone. It has been a beautiful afternoon.”
“It has indeed,” Darcy said.
His eyes rested upon Elizabeth briefly before propriety demanded they move elsewhere.
Mrs. Gardiner accepted Mr. Gardiner’s assistance into the carriage. Elizabeth remained upon the pavement for another moment while Georgiana embraced her.
“You will write?”
“I promise.”
“And you will tell me everything about Ireland?”
“Everything that is fit to be written.”
Georgiana smiled.
“Then I shall expect a very long letter.”
“I suspect my aunt will insist upon one.”
“I shall answer every one.”
Elizabeth squeezed her hands gently before releasing them.
“I shall miss you.”
The younger woman’s expression brightened and faltered in the same instant.
“I shall miss you too.”
Darcy stepped nearer.
“Miss Bennet.”
She directed her attention toward him.
“I hope your journey proves a pleasant one.”
Heart aching, she smiled. “I thank you.”
His returning smile was tender and bittersweet. “I trust Ireland will answer your expectations.”
“I hope so.”
A curious awkwardness fell between them. They had spoken together with such ease throughout the afternoon that ordinary farewell suddenly seemed a far more difficult undertaking than either had anticipated.
Mr. Gardiner cleared his throat with suspicious good timing.
“Elizabeth, my dear.”
She glanced toward the carriage.
“Yes, Uncle.”
She moved to take her leave, then paused once more.
“Mr. Darcy...”
He waited.
“I thank you for today.”
“It was my pleasure.”
There was nothing remarkable in the words themselves.
His manner made them so.
Elizabeth offered him her hand.
He accepted it with evident care, bowing over it according to every rule of good breeding. When he straightened, he did not release it immediately. A heartbeat longer than custom required, yet long enough that she became acutely conscious of the warmth of his hand through her glove.
“I wish you every happiness in Ireland,” he said.
“And I wish you every happiness at Ramsgate.”
A fleeting amusement touched his features.
“I suspect Georgiana’s enjoyment will determine my own.”
“I have very little doubt of it.”
Only then did he let her hand go.
Elizabeth climbed into the carriage beside her aunt. Mr. Gardiner followed, and the footman closed the door before mounting to his place behind.
Darcy stepped back from the carriage.
“Give my regards to your family when next you write,” he said.
“I shall.”
“And to Miss Bennet’s sisters,” Georgiana added quickly.
“I shall remember.”
The coachman gathered the reins, and the horses started forward with an easy motion.
Elizabeth could not resist one last glance through the window.
Darcy remained upon the pavement beside his sister, one hand resting upon the brim of his hat. Georgiana lifted hers in a cheerful farewell. Elizabeth responded in kind.
The carriage rolled into the traffic of London.
She continued looking back until the houses narrowed the view. Darcy became a dark figure among many others upon the street, then disappeared altogether as they rounded the corner.
Mrs. Gardiner adjusted the ribbon of her bonnet and regarded her niece with unmistakable affection.
“You have had a pleasant walk.”
Elizabeth attempted an answer that sounded perfectly ordinary.
“A very pleasant one.”
Mrs. Gardiner merely nodded and looked out her own window, leaving Elizabeth grateful that no further observations were offered.
She was not at all certain she could have answered them.