13. Chapter Thirteen #3
As the party drifted toward the terrace, Elizabeth drifted back across the lawn while the servants removed the targets, pausing to examine the arrows before they were gathered away. Darcy followed after a moment. “You defended me,” she said.
“I spoke truth.”
“That is a very solemn answer to a simple observation.”
He pulled one arrow from the ground and examined the bent tip. “I was attempting restraint.”
“Were you?”
“With limited success.”
Elizabeth accepted two arrows from him and brushed grass from one shaft. “I thought it a successful defense.”
“I am glad.”
She let her attention settle upon the others. Miss Bingley had attached herself to Bingley now, perhaps for lack of better ground, while Georgiana and Lydia walked ahead with Mrs. Gardiner.
Elizabeth’s voice lowered. “You need not quarrel with Miss Bingley on my account.”
“I have no wish to quarrel with anyone.”
“No?”
“Not today.”
The corner of her mouth twitched. “Archery has softened you.”
“Defeat humbles a man.”
“You bore it well.”
“I lost to a superior opponent.”
Her blush returned, softer this time, and she examined the arrow in her hand as though its feathers required inspection.
Darcy wanted to kiss her. He fixed his attention on the path ahead before the thought that crossed his mind could become visible on his face. By the time they reached the awning, the others had settled once more around the tea table.
Tea was taken under the awning near the terrace.
Conversation recovered its brightness gradually, helped by Bingley’s insistence upon misreporting the scores and Lydia’s outrage at being denied spiritual points.
Georgiana sat beside Lydia with an ease that would have astonished Darcy a fortnight ago.
Elizabeth sat near Mrs. Gardiner but angled slightly toward him.
He did not think it accidental, though hope may have made him too willing to believe it.
Miss Bingley watched them both. She said little during tea, which troubled Darcy more than conversation might have done. Her glances moved from Lydia and Georgiana to Elizabeth, then to Bingley whenever Jane Bennet’s name approached the conversation. Miss Bingley missed very little.
Darcy handed Elizabeth a plate of cakes.
She accepted one, then chose a second and placed it deliberately upon his saucer.
“For consolation,” she said.
“After my defeat?”
“Naturally.”
“I am touched by your compassion.”
“You should be.”
The exchange was small. Foolish, perhaps. Still, they had sought it out across the space between chairs, and Miss Bingley’s eyes narrowed before she faced the garden.
Darcy ate the cake.
Lydia saw and grinned into her lemonade.
By the time the sun had lowered beyond the trees and servants had stored the gathered equipment, Darcy understood with uncomfortable clarity that privacy would soon become impossible if Miss Bingley had any say in it.
Elizabeth understood as well. He saw it in the way her attention shifted between him and Miss Bingley, amusement and vexation mingled.
By the time the party finally rose to return indoors, Darcy suspected neither he nor Elizabeth wished the afternoon to end.
He fell into step beside her. “You are pleased with yourself,” he said.
“I am trying to be modest.”
“Again unsuccessfully.”
She smiled. “Then I shall apply myself diligently.”
“To archery or modesty?”
“That depends upon which accomplishment offers the greater advantage.” He winked and Elizabeth rewarded him with a bright smile and turned toward the house.
Ahead of them, Lydia shouted, “Lizzy! Miss Darcy says we may shoot again tomorrow, provided the gardeners do not revolt.”
Barnes approached. “I revolt already, miss.”
Lydia showed no remorse whatsoever. “Then you had best remove yourself to a safer distance tomorrow.”
Darcy watched Lydia arguing cheerfully with Barnes over the proper treatment of innocent gardeners and destructive young ladies. Georgiana stood beside her attempting seriousness and failing.
Somewhere along the way Miss Lydia Bennet had become simply Lydia in his own mind. The familiarity of it caught him slightly off guard now that he noticed it.
Elizabeth pressed her lips together against renewed amusement and continued toward her sister.
Darcy followed, no longer pretending he had any interest in keeping away from her.
Miss Bingley stood at the terrace steps, waiting.
He saw the moment she understood he meant to walk beside Elizabeth.
She moved first, descending onto the gravel path, her parasol angled in a way that left little room to pass.
Before she could intercept them, Horace lumbered out from beneath Aunt Gardiner’s chair and stretched himself across the narrow path with a sigh of enormous satisfaction.
Miss Bingley stopped short. Stepping over the dog would have been undignified; retreating would have been worse.
Lydia whistled innocently from the lawn. Horace’s tail struck the grass twice, but he did not move.
Darcy offered Elizabeth his arm, and her hand came to rest upon his sleeve.
Together, they passed Horace and mounted the terrace steps while Miss Bingley remained stranded on the path.
From the lawn, Bingley declared the dog deserved at least twenty points for tactical excellence.