Chapter 8 #2
"Oh brother, may we stay a while?" Georgiana asked eagerly. "I should very much like to help Moira with her French."
It was, of course, another way for Georgiana to assist him in the quest she'd set them both on. Three weeks, even a month might be enough to find out once and for all what sort of man this MacKinnon was.
"I thank you for your generosity, Sir William," he heard himself say. "We should be honoured to accept."
Georgiana's face lit. Moira grinned, her earlier distress forgotten. MacKinnon inclined his head, questions in his eyes that Darcy could not answer.
***
A few days later, after settling at Lucas Lodge, Darcy walked with Georgiana to Longbourn for her first lesson.
Sir William had put a carriage at their disposal, but Georgiana had wanted to walk the short distance, even though winter was steadily advancing.
Despite the cold, Darcy had to confess the countryside had never been more beautiful. Fog clung to the hedgerows, muffling sound, and frost glittered upon the grass.
He had spent the previous evening turning matters over in his mind.
Eventually, he reached a resolution. As tempted as he was to approach Elizabeth again, he knew it was now time to step back.
He would accompany Georgiana to the lessons and attempt to find out what he could about MacKinnon – while hoping his solicitor and Grant would uncover more.
If they found him honourable, he'd take Georgiana and Mrs Annesley back to town or Pemberley at his earliest convenience.
These resolutions lasted until he entered the morning room to see Elizabeth sitting there with Moira and Mrs Hill. Her fine dark eyes crinkled up in a smile as she greeted them.
As Moira accompanied Georgiana to the small table that had been placed near the window, Mrs Hill took a seat near the door with her basket of mending. Choosing a book from the shelf, Elizabeth sat on a sofa by the hearth.
After a moment's hesitation Mr Darcy seated himself nearby. They were not close enough to invite censure, yet close enough to converse without raising their voices.
"She has not fidgeted once this half-hour," Elizabeth said at length, keeping her voice low so as not to disturb the girls. "It is most gratifying to see."
Darcy inclined his head. "She appears to have a natural aptitude for French. My sister seems less anxious in instructing her than I had feared."
"I had observed as much," Elizabeth replied. Her expression softened as Georgiana corrected Moira with quiet patience. "Miss Darcy possesses a delicacy of manner that suits a child who has known so much change."
Darcy glanced at her. "She would not feel so at ease if you were not here."
Elizabeth looked surprised. "I have done nothing of consequence."
"You have done precisely what was needed," he said, his tone grave rather than complimentary. "Georgiana trusts you, though she does not know you well."
She smoothed the fold of her glove, seeking a safer thread of conversation.
"I hope we do not detain you overlong, sir," she said. "Watching two pupils recite French verbs cannot be an enlivening occupation."
He shook his head. "I assure you, Miss Elizabeth, I am very well here."
Moira's laughter interrupted the moment, with Georgiana joining in.
"It is good to hear her laugh," Elizabeth murmured, pleased.
Darcy's expression altered almost imperceptibly. "It is." A beat passed. "She has not laughed so since before Ramsgate."
Elizabeth said nothing at first; the significance of the admission was not lost on her.
"I am glad she feels safe enough to do so again," she said quietly.
The lesson continued. Yet beneath the tranquillity of the room something had shifted, almost imperceptibly.
It was almost like an understanding half formed, set aside for the moment, but not forgotten by either of them.
It was astonishing how swiftly ease returned between them, though so much stood altered since his disastrous proposal.
Elizabeth spoke after a moment. "It is good to see Moira happy. Mr MacKinnon mentioned she struggled greatly after her mother's death."
Darcy turned his gaze from Georgiana to Elizabeth. He wished he could claim indifference to the subject, but her mention of MacKinnon stirred something unsettled within him.
"Mr MacKinnon appears a devoted parent," he replied.
"Yes."
A faint uneasiness moved through him. He could not bear the thought that she felt obliged toward the man, nor that her generous nature might lead her into an attachment founded on gratitude rather than inclination.
"I know I am overstepping my boundaries, Miss Elizabeth, and I beg your forgiveness," he said, with more deliberation than he intended, "but I should hope that you feel under no duty. At least none beyond what your own wishes dictate."
A small frown marred her countenance. Before she could speak, Moira managed a particularly troublesome phrase, causing Georgiana to applaud her success with unguarded delight.
The interruption was innocent, yet Darcy felt the moment between himself and Elizabeth fall gently apart, like a thread loosened from its knot.
***
After that first lesson, it was Elizabeth's elder sister who brought Moira to the morning room.
Darcy assured himself that there must be some innocent explanation for Elizabeth's abrupt absence.
After all, Jane had long played the part of household deputy, and Elizabeth's absence might be owing to any number of claims upon her time.
Yet the suspicion lingered, unwelcome and persistent, that she had chosen to absent herself in consequence of his clumsy remark.
He had spoken more plainly than he ought, and the recollection of her startled expression had troubled him ever since.
By the third day, his discomfort had grown too sharp to ignore.
He felt compelled to offer some form of apology, or at least to assure her he had never intended to distress her.
After making some harmless excuse at Lucas Lodge, he took up his hat and set out for Longbourn under the pretence of seeking fair weather before the afternoon turned.
He suspected he would be intruding on the Bennets, especially since he had been there earlier that day for Moira's lessons.
He only hoped Elizabeth would grant him a few minutes of her time.
"Good afternoon," Darcy said as Mrs Hill opened the door. "I wish to speak to Miss Elizabeth, please."
"Miss Elizabeth is in the garden with the others, sir," Mrs Hill replied, looking curiously at him. "Why don't I show you the—?"
"Thank you," Darcy said, rounding the house before the housekeeper could finish her sentence.
He knew he was being highly improper, but Darcy could not quite bring himself to care about etiquette right this moment.
But on rounding the curve of a boxwood hedge, he halted at once.
In the small clearing beyond stood Elizabeth. Before her, on one knee upon the damp gravel, Malcolm MacKinnon spoke with earnest intensity.
A short distance behind them stood Moira and Jane.
The child watched with grave interest. However, Jane's countenance revealed far more than she probably intended.
Darcy glimpsed a fleeting tremor of shock and what looked like dismay before she mastered herself, arranging her countenance into polite neutrality.
He ought to have withdrawn at once. Every principle of propriety demanded it. Yet he stood rooted, concealed by the hedge, unable to move. It was as if the world had narrowed to a single, irrevocable moment.
Elizabeth's demeanour was calm, almost solemn, as she gazed at the gentleman kneeling in front of her. There was no trace of joy in her face. What he saw instead was measured acceptance.
"I know you asked for more time to consider my offer, Miss Elizabeth, and I do not wish you to feel pressed," MacKinnon was saying. "But I must soon return to Scotland, and I cannot leave you and your family without certainty." He paused.
Elizabeth hesitated. "Your consideration does you great credit."
"Then we are agreed," MacKinnon replied. "January. A modest ceremony. Your mourning will be respected in all particulars. It will be near three months after your dear Papa's demise."
There was another hesitation and then Elizabeth nodded.
"Elizabeth has done me the honour of accepting my hand," MacKinnon said, rising to his feet as he addressed Jane and Moira.
Moira studied them both with grave intensity before granting a single, decisive nod. "Aye. She'll do."
Smiling, Elizabeth knelt before Moira, heedless of the damp earth, and spoke in a voice too low for Darcy to hear. Whatever she said softened the child's stern expression into a shy smile.
Darcy felt a slow, quiet fracture within him. Elizabeth Bennet would be Malcolm MacKinnon's wife. In January she would leave Hertfordshire and everything that had once been her world. She would travel north to Strathaird and a new life. She would mother a child already attached to her.
And there was nothing he could do. Not unless news reached him soon about MacKinnon. Alas, as he walked away now he could not deny that a part of him was beginning to wonder if his suspicions about the man – though shared by Bingley and Hurst – were not entirely rooted in his own jealousy.