Chapter Three
The following afternoon brought with it a gentle warmth, the sort that lightened the edges of the day and made even the most ordinary occupations feel agreeable.
The windows of the Gardiners’ lodgings had been opened to admit the sea air, and the faint, steady murmur of the tide carried into the drawing room, lending a sense of calm to the hour.
Elizabeth sat near the window with her needlework, though she had made little progress upon it. Her attention wandered far more than her stitches advanced, and more than once she found herself pausing altogether, her gaze drifting toward the street below.
They said they would call this afternoon.
She told herself she was merely curious to renew an acquaintance that had begun so pleasantly—but the thought rang only partially true.
Bruno lay stretched at her feet, his brindled coat gleaming where she had brushed him earlier. He lifted his head occasionally, clearly sensing her restlessness, then settled again with a contented sigh.
“Lizzy, you will spoil that poor creature entirely,” Mrs. Gardiner remarked with a smile from her place at the small writing desk.
“I should not dare,” Elizabeth replied lightly. “He spoils himself quite sufficiently.”
Before her aunt could respond, the sound of carriage wheels drew Elizabeth’s attention sharply to the window.
“They are here.”
Mrs. Gardiner rose at once, smoothing her gown. “Then let us receive them.” A quick word to a footman saw the dog taken from the room.
Elizabeth set aside her work, schooling her expression into composure even as a small, unmistakable flutter stirred within her.
You are very foolish, she told herself. It is only a call.
Still, when the servant entered to announce Mr. and Miss Darcy, she felt that same quickening of anticipation she had experienced upon receiving the invitation to dinner.
Mr. Darcy entered first, his manner as collected and assured as ever, though Elizabeth fancied there was something of eagerness beneath it. Miss Darcy followed, her expression bright with pleasure at the renewal of their acquaintance.
Formal greetings were exchanged, and soon they were all seated, tea poured, and conversation begun with the easy civility that had marked their previous meetings.
Mr. Gardiner spoke first of the weather and the agreeable nature of Ramsgate’s situation.
“We have been most fortunate in our timing,” he said. “The air is mild, and the sea breeze neither too sharp nor too languid. I cannot imagine a more suitable place for a summer stay.”
“It is remarkably well-situated,” Mr. Darcy agreed. “The coast here affords both variety and comfort. One may enjoy the sea without being entirely at its mercy.”
“And without the crush of company one finds elsewhere,” Mrs. Gardiner added. “I own I prefer a place where one may walk without being observed at every turn.”
“There is a freedom in it,” Mr. Darcy said. “One may take the air for its own sake, rather than for display.”
Miss Darcy, who had been listening attentively, spoke then with fervent animation. “And the walks along the cliffs are so beautiful. I had not expected to enjoy them so much.”
“They are indeed very fine,” Mr. Gardiner replied. “Though I suspect they are best appreciated in such weather as we have now.”
“Yes, it has been beneficial to my health.” Miss Darcy blushed.
“My sister was unwell this past winter,” Mr. Darcy explained, his tone composed though not without feeling. “Our physician recommended a stay by the sea, and Ramsgate was thought particularly suitable.”
Elizabeth glanced toward Miss Darcy, noting the brightness in her expression.
“You seem much restored,” she said.
Miss Darcy smiled, a faint color rising to her cheeks. “I believe I am. The sea air has done me a great deal of good.”
“I am very glad the advice given has proved sound,” Mrs. Gardiner said kindly.
“As am I,” he replied. “The improvement has been most encouraging.”
Elizabeth felt her regard for him deepen. He speaks of her with such care.
“I can well believe it,” she said. “There is something in the air here that seems to restore both spirits and strength.”
Miss Darcy looked at her with evident gratitude. “Yes—exactly so.”
“And we are the fortunate beneficiaries of it,” Mr. Gardiner added with a smile. “For we find Miss Darcy very agreeable company indeed.”
Miss Darcy laughed, and Elizabeth found herself drawn, almost without conscious effort, into the conversation, her earlier restraint slipping away as the familiar ease returned.
Mr. Darcy, seated opposite, watched the exchange with evident satisfaction.
“It is a relief,” he said, “to see my sister so well.”
“And a pleasure to witness it,” Mrs. Gardiner replied warmly.
The conversation progressed in this manner for some time—light, easy, and entirely free from effort.
Elizabeth found herself speaking without hesitation, her remarks met with ready engagement.
Mr. Darcy's attention was notably steady and unassuming, suggesting a high regard for both the substance and the presentation of the discourse.
He does not merely hear—he considers carefully what is being said. The thought pleased her more than she expected.
After some time, Mr. Gardiner rose, excusing himself on account of a small matter of business that required his attention. “I shall not be long,” he assured them.
Mrs. Gardiner nodded. “Do not hurry yourself.”
With his departure, the group shifted naturally. Mrs. Gardiner turned her attention more fully to Miss Darcy, engaging her in conversation upon music and education, while Elizabeth found herself seated opposite Mr. Darcy, the two of them momentarily removed from the others.
There was a brief pause—comfortable but marked by a certain awareness.
“It is very good of you to call, Mr. Darcy,” Elizabeth said at last.
“The obligation is mine, Miss Bennet. I had hoped we might renew the acquaintance begun so…unexpectedly.”
She smiled. “You refer, I suppose, to Bruno’s introduction.”
“I do,” he replied gravely. “It is not every day one is so thoroughly overpowered upon first meeting.”
“You bore it with remarkable composure.” She cringed inwardly, residual embarrassment coloring her cheeks.
“I had no choice,” he quipped, the words eased by a small smile.
Elizabeth laughed. “You might have scolded me.”
“I might have,” he said. “But I found myself disinclined to do so.”
That was kind of him—more kind than most gentlemen would have been.
“I am glad of it,” she said. “I should not have enjoyed beginning our acquaintance under censure.”
“Nor I.”
Their eyes met briefly, and Elizabeth felt again that curious sense of being seen—of being regarded with more attention than mere politeness required.
She looked away first.
“You have found Ramsgate agreeable, I hope?”
“Very much so,” Mr. Darcy replied. “It has answered all my expectations—and exceeded some.”
She glanced at him with a hint of mischief. “I wonder which expectations those might be.”
He did not hesitate.
“The improvement in my sister’s health,” he said. “And the formation of agreeable connections.”
Elizabeth felt a warmth rise to her cheeks.
He speaks very directly.
“I am pleased we may be counted among them,” she said, striving for lightness.
“As am I.”
There was a steadiness in his tone that made her glance at him again.
He is not a man who speaks lightly. The thought lingered.
Their conversation shifted gradually, as such conversations often do, from generalities to particulars.
They spoke of books—of those that delighted and those that disappointed.
Mr. Darcy’s opinions were thoughtful and well-considered, though not rigid, and Elizabeth found herself both agreeing and disagreeing with equal enjoyment.
“You are very severe upon that author, Miss Bennet,” he observed.
She shook her head in disagreement. “I believe I am only just.”
“Even when justice deprives you of a happy ending?” Mr. Darcy looked skeptical, his brow rising as he appraised her.
“Especially then,” she said. “A happy ending must be deserved.”
“And how is it to be earned?” He leaned back in his chair, his expression thoughtful.
“Through sense, perhaps. Or perseverance. Or a proper regard for others.”
“And not through suffering alone?”
Elizabeth shook her head. “Suffering may teach—but it does not guarantee improvement.”
Mr. Darcy regarded her with interest. “Your statement suggests that you have considered this matter carefully.”
“I have read enough to form an opinion,” she said lightly.
“And lived enough?”
She hesitated, then smiled. “I hope so.”
He asks such questions as though the answers matter.
Their conversation deepened almost without her noticing. What had begun as polite exchange became something more thoughtful—more engaged. There was a pleasure in it, a sense of meeting another mind that did not require pretense.
Elizabeth found herself speaking more freely than she had intended, and without any sense of impropriety. Mr. Darcy listened attentively, his responses restrained but sincere, and she could not deny the satisfaction she felt in being understood.
I like him very well. The understanding came suddenly, but with certainty. At that moment, the door burst open.
Bruno charged into the room with all the enthusiasm of a creature who had been unjustly excluded and now meant to remedy the situation at once.
His brindled coat gleamed in the light, his paws thudding against the floor as he made directly for Mr. Darcy.
“Bruno!” Elizabeth exclaimed.
Too late.
The great dog launched himself forward, placing his enormous paws upon Mr. Darcy and proceeding to bestow a series of enthusiastic, thoroughly indiscriminate kisses upon his face.
Mr. Darcy’s teacup wobbled precariously in his hand.
Elizabeth sprang to her feet.
“Bruno! Down at once!”
Mr. Darcy hastily set the cup aside before it could meet an untimely end, while Elizabeth reached for the dog’s collar, pulling him back with as much authority as she could muster.
“Bruno, you wretched creature, what are you about?”