6. Chapter Six #2
Elizabeth watched the pair and found her irritation softening despite herself.
Lydia had attached herself to Miss Darcy with astonishing speed, but the attachment was not wholly one-sided.
Georgiana Darcy, whom Elizabeth had imagined proud and fashionable under the influence of her connections, was almost shyly happy.
Her manner was subdued compared to Lydia’s, yet she did not retreat from it.
Lydia spoke; Miss Darcy listened. Miss Darcy answered; Lydia leaned closer as if every word mattered.
It was an odd pairing.
It was also, Elizabeth admitted, rather charming.
Mr. Darcy stood beside her, watching them too.
“I owe your sister an apology,” Elizabeth said before she could decide against it.
He paused. “For what?”
“For judging her before I knew her.” Elizabeth indicated Miss Darcy, who was now attempting to persuade Horace not to sit upon Lydia’s foot. “I had allowed myself to form expectations from very poor materials.”
Darcy’s gloved hand closed hard upon the rail of the bridge. “She has been much misrepresented.”
“Yes.” Elizabeth forced herself to look at him. “I know.”
His face changed, though not dramatically. A faint withdrawal, a shuttered pain.
She had not meant Wickham. Or perhaps she had. Everything between them touched upon Wickham, however they stood apart from his name.
“Mr. Darcy,” she began, then stopped as Lydia cried out.
“Horace! No, sir, that is my ribbon!”
The dog had seized one loose end of Lydia’s bonnet ribbon and was backing away with absurd dignity. Miss Darcy followed him, half laughing, half pleading, while Lydia protested that she had already survived one assault at Pemberley and would not endure another.
Mr. Gardiner went to assist. Mrs. Gardiner shook her head with amusement. Mr. Darcy called the dog sharply enough that Horace released the ribbon, then sat with an expression of injured innocence.
The interruption saved Elizabeth from whatever clumsy thing she might have said… Or deprived her of the courage to say it.
When the laughter subsided, Mr. Darcy offered to show them more of the grounds before they went inside, but only after he was certain Miss Darcy’s ankle could bear the activity. Mr. Gardiner accepted readily, and the party continued at a leisurely pace along the stream.
The walking arrangements reformed almost without intention.
Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner fell behind to admire the prospect across the water.
Lydia and Miss Darcy hurried ahead with Horace between them, engaged in some animated exchange involving horses, officers, and whether dogs could be trained to dislike Miss Bingley.
Elizabeth caught fragments and pretended not to hear the latter.
Mr. Darcy walked beside her.
There was room enough on the path for distance. He kept it.
His civility disconcerted her far more than arrogance had managed.
“You must think me very altered in my opinions,” she said after several minutes.
His step faltered, barely. “I have no right to judge the alteration of your opinions.”
“No right?” Elizabeth raised her brows. “That is a severe answer.”
“I did not intend severity.”
“No. I suppose you did not.”
A branch overhung the path. Darcy reached up and held it aside so she might pass without brushing her bonnet. The movement was ordinary enough. Elizabeth thanked him, then became vexed by the heat rising in her face.
They walked on.
“I have wished,” she began, and the words came poorly, “that I had expressed myself with more moderation when we last spoke in Kent.”
Darcy did not answer quickly. The stream filled the pause, running over stones below them.
“At Hunsford,” he said at last, “you answered what I gave you.”
Elizabeth studied the path beneath her feet. “I was unjust in some particulars.”
“You were correct in more.”
That stopped her.
He continued watching the water ahead, perhaps granting her the mercy of not meeting her eyes while he spoke. “I cannot pretend to remember that evening with satisfaction. If I have improved in any respect since, the credit is not mine alone.”
“Please do not say that.”
Then he faced her.
Elizabeth gripped the edge of her shawl. “I did not speak from charity. I was angry. I wished to wound you.”
“You succeeded.” He said it plainly, without resentment, which somehow made it harder to answer.
She flinched. “I am sorry.”
Horace barked ahead, startling a flock of small birds from the bank. Lydia called after him. Miss Darcy’s voice followed, breathless with amusement.
Darcy turned toward them, then back to Elizabeth.
“I am sorry as well,” he said. “More than I can easily say here.”
Here. With her aunt and uncle behind them, his sister ahead, the bright grounds of Pemberley stretched around them. It was both too public and far too intimate.
Elizabeth’s throat felt dry. “Your letter corrected many of my errors.”
“I wish the correction had not been necessary.”
“So do I.” She forced a short laugh and failed to make it light. “Though had it not been, I might have continued very happily despising you.”
His eyes moved over her face, serious and searching. “Were you happy in it?”
“No,” she said, surprising herself. “I was certain. That is not always the same thing.”
The corner of his mouth curved, then steadied. “No. It is not.”
They reached a turn in the path where the house came fully into view again.
From this angle the windows shone open to the afternoon, and the roses near the terrace made a deep blush against the pale stone.
Servants moved near the entrance. One carried linens; another directed two footmen bearing a satchel that must have belonged to Mr. Darcy or Miss Darcy.
The house was already preparing for more arrivals.
Perhaps for them.
Elizabeth directed her attention toward the servants crossing the grass and wished, absurdly, that the house would cease preparing itself so visibly.
Mr. Darcy must have taken her silence for admiration of the view, for he said, “The public tour includes the principal rooms, the gallery, the dining parlor, the music room, and portions of the south front. If your aunt and uncle desire it, Mrs. Reynolds will show them everything usually unseen by visitors.”
“And you?”
“I had thought…” He stopped.
Elizabeth waited, but he did not go on.
Darcy’s gaze drifted toward the house, then to the path where Miss Darcy and Lydia were still engaged with the dog. “There are other rooms that may interest you, in particular. The library, perhaps. It is not often included unless a guest has particular interest.”
Elizabeth’s breath did not catch. She was very determined that it should not.
“The library?”
“If you would care to see it.”
“I would.”
The answer came too quickly. His attention settled upon her, and something like warmth entered his eyes before they dropped.
“Then I shall show you.”
The walk back to the house took longer than Elizabeth expected, partly because Lydia insisted upon asking Miss Darcy whether all the rooms had carpets from Turkey, whether the mirrors were French, whether Miss Darcy possessed her own maid, whether the servants ever became lost, and whether Mr. Darcy had ever forbidden anyone from sliding down a banister.
Miss Darcy answered each question with increasing amusement.
“No,” she said to the last, though her eyes strayed toward her brother. “I do not believe anyone has attempted it.”
Lydia gave Darcy an assessing look. “That is because you discourage imagination.”
“Possibly,” he replied.
“Have you forbidden it?”
Darcy shrugged. “I have never found it necessary.”
“Then it is not forbidden.”
Elizabeth fixed her sister with a sharp look. “Lydia.”
“I am simply clarifying the rules.”
Mr. Gardiner, traitorously amused, looked up at the grand entrance ahead. “One should always know the rules of a house before residing in it.”
Mrs. Gardiner gave him a look. “Edward.”
“What? I merely support order.”
Darcy’s voice, when he answered, carried enough humor to draw Elizabeth’s attention once more. “For the peace of my housekeeper, Miss Lydia, I shall now formally forbid it.”
Lydia sighed. “How unfortunate. I might have become famous for it.”
Miss Darcy leaned near her and whispered, “The east staircase turns too sharply.”
Lydia stared, then burst into laughter.
Elizabeth caught the whisper because she walked close behind. Darcy also heard. His surprise was plain and unguarded.
Miss Darcy blushed, but she did not retreat.
Darcy watched his sister once more, and some of the tension left his expression.
The entrance hall received them with cool stone underfoot and summer air moving through the open doors.
Elizabeth had expected grandeur, and there was grandeur enough: height, proportion, polished wood, portraits watching from the walls, arrangements of flowers on tables placed exactly where beauty served use.
The hall did not chill her. The dog had left faint muddy marks near one side door before some servant could remove them.
A folded shawl lay over the back of a chair, surely Miss Darcy’s.
From somewhere down the corridor came the sound of brisk female instructions, then the answer of a footman.
Mrs. Reynolds greeted them in a manner that included pride but not servility. She inquired again after Miss Darcy’s ankle, scolded her with affection for riding too fast, and insisted that a cold cloth be sent to her room.
“I am quite well,” Miss Darcy protested.
Mrs. Reynolds appeared unconvinced. “You may be quite well while sitting with your foot raised, miss.”
Lydia was impressed. “Does everyone obey Mrs. Reynolds?”
Darcy removed his gloves. “Generally.”
“Do you?” She raised a challenging eyebrow.
“When wisdom requires it.”
Mrs. Reynolds smiled openly at that, then addressed Lydia. “And you, miss, must allow one of the maids to brush your gown. The grass will stain if left.”
Lydia examined her skirts as though just now remembering her fall. “Oh! Yes. I suppose I look dreadful.”