Chapter 10 #2
“I enjoy myself at assemblies.” The protest emerged even as he knew it patently false.
“You most certainly do not. I watched you at the Meryton Assembly, Mr Darcy, and you spent the entire time looking as though you would rather be anywhere else on earth. Preferably somewhere without music, conversation, or other human beings.”
“That is not entirely inaccurate,” he admitted.
“At least you are honest about your misanthropy. That is refreshing.”
“I am not a misanthrope.”
“No?” Elizabeth tilted her head. “What would you call a man who actively avoids society and looks upon social gatherings as a form of punishment?”
“Sensible?”
“I must confess,” Elizabeth said, her amusement softening into something warmer, “I find your honest grumpiness far more appealing than the sort of empty charm some men deploy like weapons. At least when you are unpleasant, it is genuine.”
“I am not certain whether to be flattered or insulted by that assessment,” he commented.
“Be flattered. Genuine unpleasantness is a rare gift.”
“I shall endeavour to cultivate it more assiduously.”
“Please do. The world has quite enough false charm. We could use more principled cantankerousness.”
They fell into comfortable silence. Darcy thought with painful clarity what marriage to Elizabeth would be.
This easy wit, this comfortable sparring, these moments of perfect understanding.
Malcolm MacKinnon would have all of this, would wake each morning to her cleverness and her laughter, whilst Darcy would—
The sound of boots in the entrance hall shattered the moment like glass.
Malcolm MacKinnon's voice carried clearly from the corridor. “Miss Bennet, is Elizabeth in the morning room? I have some additional arrangements to discuss with her.”
“Please go right ahead, Mr MacKinnon,” came Jane’s reply. “She is supervising Moira’s lesson.”
Elizabeth's expression shifted instantly. The easy warmth drained away as her shoulders drew back and a carefully arranged smile fixed itself in place.
When Malcolm entered, bringing cold air and confidence with him, Elizabeth rose gracefully. “Mr MacKinnon, I was not expecting you this morning.”
“I hope I do not intrude.” Malcolm stopped upon seeing Darcy. Darcy rose as well, bowing with careful correctness whilst every muscle tensed. “Mr Darcy. I had not realised you made a habit of escorting your sister to these lessons.”
“Miss Darcy appreciates the company on the journey,” he replied coldly. “The roads remain treacherous.”
“Indeed, they do.” Malcolm's attention had already shifted back to Elizabeth.
Darcy watched him cross the room with a smile. He noticed Elizabeth’s shoulders curve slightly inward as her betrothed approached.
“Da!” Moira abandoned her primer without ceremony and flew across the room, her usual reserve entirely forgotten. Malcolm caught her easily, lifting her with obvious affection.
“There's my lass.” His Scottish accent grew more pronounced with pleasure. “Are you being diligent with your studies, or must I scold you for neglecting Miss Darcy's excellent instruction?”
“I have been very diligent,” Moira insisted, wriggling to be set down. “Miss Darcy says my accent is improving remarkably.”
“High praise indeed.” Malcolm set her down gently, his hand resting on her shoulder as he turned to Elizabeth with a smile that held easy familiarity. “Elizabeth, forgive the intrusion. I thought we might discuss the journey north, but I see you have company.”
Elizabeth's shoulders had drawn back slightly. That careful social smile remained fixed in place, so different from the genuine amusement of moments before. “Mr MacKinnon, you are always welcome. You know Miss Darcy, of course.”
“Of course, of course.” Malcolm crossed to the chairs by the fire, settling himself with the ease of a man entirely comfortable in his surroundings.
“The roads grow more treacherous daily. I fear we must hold to our arrangements, else the passes north will close against us before we can travel at all.”
He reached across to cover Elizabeth's hand with his own, the gesture casual and proprietorial. Darcy watched her fingers still beneath the touch. She did not pull away, but neither did she turn her hand to clasp his, a detail Malcolm seemed not to notice.
“I am certain we shall manage,” Elizabeth said quietly. “There is time yet.”
“Not so much as you might think.” Malcolm's attention shifted to include Darcy in the conversation with polite courtesy.
“The journey to Strathaird requires careful planning, particularly in winter. We must cross through Edinburgh, which adds days to the travel, and then the ferry to Skye is subject to weather delays.”
“You have made the journey many times, I collect,” Darcy observed, keeping his tone merely conversational despite the questions burning in his mind.
“Indeed. I know every inn along the route, every treacherous turn in the road.”
“And you have always lived on Skye? Your family estates are there?”
Something akin to annoyance flickered in Malcolm's expression. It was so brief Darcy might have imagined it. “Well, I find myself constantly on the move. Business matters, you see. But, the MacKinnons have held Strathaird for generations. My father before me, and his father before him.”
“A considerable legacy.” Darcy leant forwards slightly. “I confess, I know little of the Isle of Skye beyond what one reads in travel accounts. The Clearances must have affected the area significantly.”
“They did.” Malcolm's voice had cooled perceptibly. “Many families were displaced, though we managed to protect most of our tenants.”
“Most fortunate. I have heard the factor's role in such matters was often difficult.” Darcy watched Malcolm's face carefully. “The decisions required of estate management during such upheaval must have weighed heavily on your father.”
“My father died before the worst of it.” Malcolm's accent thickened. “I was barely of age when I inherited. Perhaps too raw, for such responsibilities.”
“How young?” The question emerged more sharply than Darcy intended. He saw Elizabeth glance at him with surprise.
Malcolm's eyes narrowed slightly. “Young enough that the details are somewhat hazy, Mr Darcy. Is there a particular reason for this interest in my family history?”
“Merely curiosity.” Darcy pressed on despite the warning in Malcolm's tone. “Estate management fascinates me, particularly in regions so different from Derbyshire. Your mother, was she from Skye as well, or did your father marry into the property?”
“My mother was English. Yorkshire.” Malcolm's jaw had tightened. “She died when I was a boy.”
“I am sorry for your loss. And your wife, Moira's mother, she was Scottish, I presume?”
“She was.” Malcolm stood abruptly, his courtesy fraying into visible irritation. “Forgive me, Mr Darcy, but I am not accustomed to such interrogation regarding my family circumstances. Is there some concern you wish to voice directly?”
Elizabeth's eyes had widened. She looked between them with growing alarm. “Mr MacKinnon, I am certain Mr Darcy meant no offence—”