Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
The walk to the grotto was relatively short, but Elizabeth was acutely aware of Mr Darcy beside her the entire way.
He had not offered his arm, and she rather thought he understood that she would not have taken it just then.
She was too anxious to walk steadily forward, her attention constantly shifting towards the bushes and darker edges of the path as she searched for any sign of Davy.
In the ten minutes since they had left the celebration, they had seen nothing to indicate that the boy had come this way.
Elizabeth had half hoped that, once it grew darker, he might have become frightened and simply stopped where he was.
Instead, it appeared he had been determined to reach the grotto.
When they finally arrived, they found him curled up inside, sound asleep.
There were dried tears upon his cheeks, and Elizabeth immediately knelt beside him and drew him gently into her lap.
Davy stirred but did not wake, merely settling against her as though he had never caused half the neighbourhood to search for him.
Relief washed over her.
“Here,” Mr Darcy said after a moment, setting the lantern beside her. “Allow me to carry him. It will be easier for me, particularly in the darkness.”
Elizabeth agreed readily enough. Davy was not especially heavy, but like most sleeping children, he seemed to weigh considerably more than he had any right to.
Mr Darcy bent over her and carefully took the boy from her arms. Their hands brushed during the transfer, and for one brief moment his shoulder pressed against hers. It was enough to send her heart racing for reasons that had very little to do with the excitement of finding Davy.
Once the child was secure in Mr Darcy’s arms, Elizabeth rose and turned to retrieve the lantern.
At that precise moment, a sudden gust swept through the trees. The lantern toppled before she could catch it, and its flame sputtered out.
Elizabeth stopped.
“Well,” she said after a moment of staring at the extinguished lantern, “that is unfortunate.”
Beside her, Mr Darcy shifted Davy more securely in his arms. “I confess I had reached much the same conclusion.”
Despite herself, Elizabeth laughed.
“I think, Mr Darcy, that we have found ourselves stranded once more,” she said after her laughter had subsided.
Curiously, Elizabeth felt no unease at finding herself so nearly alone with Mr Darcy in the darkness.
Young Davy was with them, certainly, but a sleeping three-year-old could hardly be considered an adequate chaperon.
Still, it was not Mr Darcy’s company that troubled her.
She simply had no desire to give anyone cause for gossip should their absence be noticed—or prolonged.
“I believe I know the way well enough that we ought at least to attempt to return to the party,” she said after studying their surroundings for a moment. “There is some light coming from that direction, and it should help us keep to the path.”
Mr Darcy agreed, and with Davy secure in his arms, gestured for Elizabeth to lead the way.
She did so, moving cautiously over the uneven ground. The last thing she wished was to lose her footing—or, worse still, discover that her confidence in knowing the way had been misplaced.
The walk, which they had accomplished relatively quickly by the light of the lantern, proved far slower on the return.
Elizabeth stumbled once or twice over the uneven path, and each time Mr Darcy reached out with his free hand to steady her.
That he managed to do so while carrying Davy was a testament to both his strength and his sure footing.
Each brief touch sent a small thrill through her, and Elizabeth became increasingly aware that she was in very real danger of losing her heart to the gentleman.
Altogether too soon, the lights of the celebration came into view. The dancing had evidently been abandoned while the search continued, and lanterns could be seen moving in several directions beyond the barn.
Georgiana must have noticed them almost as soon as they emerged from the darkness, for a cry went up nearby. Within moments, Mrs Turner was hurrying towards them, and Mr Darcy scarcely had time to greet her before she was reaching for her son.
“Oh, he is well, is he not?” she cried.
“He is,” Mr Darcy assured her. “We found him sound asleep in the grotto. Other than a few dried tears on his face, he seemed perfectly well. I suspect the walk there exhausted him, which is why he has scarcely stirred since we found him.”
“He was so excited about coming to Netherfield this evening that he refused to sleep at all today,” Mrs Turner said, gathering Davy close. “And he was awake far too early this morning. I think it would be best if I took him home.”
“There are wagons available for the evening,” Elizabeth told her. “Please ask one of the drivers to take you. It is far too dark for you to walk all that way with him.”
“Thank you, Miss Elizabeth,” Mrs Turner answered.
A few minutes later, Elizabeth watched as one of the wagons carried Mrs Turner and Davy down the lane towards their home.
“Is she one of the Longbourn tenants?” Mr Darcy asked.
“No. Her husband is a tenant here at Netherfield,” Elizabeth replied. “I believe Jane introduced him to Mr Bingley earlier this evening.”
“You seem remarkably well acquainted with the tenants of an estate that is not your own,” Mr Darcy observed.
For the first time since their acquaintance began, something in his tone made Elizabeth bristle.
“With no master or mistress on the estate, my sisters and I have done what we could for the tenants here,” she answered tightly.
“The family who previously occupied Netherfield were very kind to me, and I spent a great deal of time here when I was younger. I often accompanied the lady of the house when she called upon the tenant families, so I came to know many of them quite well.”
She glanced towards the departing wagon. “When the family left Netherfield, I saw no reason why those friendships should end simply because the house stood empty.”
Mr Darcy regarded her for a moment. “I fear you have misunderstood me, Miss Elizabeth. I did not intend to criticise your familiarity with them.”
Her irritation diminished somewhat. “No?”
“Quite the contrary,” Mr Darcy said, his expression serious.
“It is a good thing that you and your sisters have taken an interest in the tenants here. When an estate lacks an attentive master, the people upon it are often the first to feel the neglect. I have seen no evidence of that at Netherfield.”
Elizabeth blinked, taken aback. She had been so certain he meant to criticise her.
“Oh,” she said quietly.
Mr Darcy’s expression gentled, as though he regretted having unsettled her.
“Come,” he said. “I believe you could use something warm to drink. Bingley contributed some mulled wine to this evening’s festivities, and it has grown rather cool out here. I imagine many of the landholders will begin taking their leave before long.”
Elizabeth allowed him to guide her back towards the gathering. With Davy safely found, the music and festivities had resumed, and the tension that had briefly settled over the celebration was already beginning to ease.
Looking around, she saw that Mary and Georgiana were standing together nearby, while Jane remained in conversation with Mr Bingley some distance away. Her parents and Lydia were not immediately visible amongst the crowd, though Elizabeth supposed they had remained with the other landholders.
Mr Darcy glanced towards his friend. “I believe Bingley has found sufficient reason to prolong his evening.”
“I believe he has,” Elizabeth agreed.
As they approached the table where the kettle stood, a servant handed each of them a cup of mulled wine. Mr Darcy waited until Elizabeth had taken a sip before speaking again.
“There is one other matter I have not forgotten,” he said, his voice low and deep.
She looked at him questioningly.
“You promised me a dance, Miss Elizabeth,” he reminded her, the smile that revealed his dimples once again appearing. “This is not the assembly, but I believe it will serve.”
Elizabeth had danced only rarely at Harvest Home celebrations, and then most often with young men she had known since childhood.
None had ever been considered even remotely as a suitor, and she had certainly never given much thought to the placement of a gentleman’s hand or the expression in his eyes when he looked at her.
Dancing with Mr Darcy was proving to be an altogether different experience.
Perhaps it was because, even in the short time she had known him, she had already become far too aware of him.
She knew the strength of the hand that had steadied her in the darkness and could still remember the peculiar thrill his touch had sent through her.
She knew how gentle he had been with little Davy and how tenderly he regarded his sister.
She knew the pleasure of debating with him and, perhaps more importantly, that he never seemed to consider her opinions of less consequence simply because she was a woman.
Now, each time the figures of the dance brought them together, she found herself watching for that unexpected smile—and was absurdly pleased whenever she received it.
Worse still, Mr Darcy seemed to be enjoying himself every bit as much as she was.
For much of the dance, they exchanged only a few words. Elizabeth found herself feeling far too much to speak easily, but when the figures left them standing together for a few moments, she finally felt compelled to break the silence.
“Come, Mr Darcy,” she began, relying upon teasing rather than daring anything more serious, “surely it will look very odd if we pass the entire half hour without speaking. There must be something you can think to say.”
He accepted the challenge readily, and Elizabeth determinedly ignored how much she liked being the cause of his good humour.