15. Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Fifteen
Pemberley hosted a picnic for the tenants every summer, traditionally just before harvest began in earnest. Once the cutting started, the estate settled into weeks of exhausting labor and long hours ruled entirely by weather.
August therefore offered the last easy interval before autumn’s demands overtook everyone.
Mrs. Reynolds oversaw the preparations with military precision each year, while the stewards arranged the work, so no household or farm was neglected.
Stable boys rotated through the afternoon tending horses, dairymaids traded duties in shifts, and even the field hands came and went in turns so that every family connected to the estate might spend at least part of the day in the meadow.
Darcy had attended since boyhood. His father before him had treated the gathering not as display, but gratitude.
There would also be a much larger harvest celebration later in the autumn.
The picnic began in disorder because Lydia Bennet discovered the baskets before anyone else.
Darcy came downstairs prepared for a reasonably organized departure and instead found Miss Lydia kneeling upon the entrance hall floor beside three uncovered hampers while Horace investigated a cold pigeon pie with criminal concentration.
“Do not let him eat that,” Mrs. Reynolds warned from the doorway.
“He has excellent judgment in pastry,” Lydia replied without looking up. “I trust him completely.”
“You should not,” Georgiana informed her.
She descended the stairs beside Darcy carrying her bonnet ribbons in one hand and laughing already.
That alone improved the morning for him.
Georgiana had once entered crowded rooms with visible caution, particularly when Miss Bingley lingered nearby.
Now she crossed the hall eagerly, pausing halfway down the staircase because Lydia had apparently begun balancing oranges atop Horace’s head.
Miss Bingley entered at that moment.
The sight of her expression nearly compensated for the indignity inflicted upon the oranges.
“Must the dog attend?” she asked.
“He lives here,” Lydia answered. “It would be cruel to exclude him from his own picnic.”
“I was referring less to exclusion than sanitation.”
Horace sneezed one orange directly into Bingley’s boots.
Bingley grinned and leaned against the wall.
Darcy forced his attention elsewhere before he disgraced himself similarly.
Miss Bingley moved toward him, plainly expecting intervention. “Mr. Darcy.”
“I confess,” he replied, “I do not know the proper punishment for assault by citrus.”
Elizabeth’s laugh came from behind him.
He answered the sound before prudence could interfere.
She stood near the open doors speaking with Mrs. Gardiner, her bonnet hanging from one wrist while sunlight caught in the loose curls stirred by the breeze. She had chosen a walking dress of pale green that morning. He had no business noticing such things with the precision he now did.
Unfortunately, he noticed everything.
Her gloves. The slight crease appearing beside her mouth when she fought amusement. The manner in which she tilted her head while listening.
Miss Bingley followed his glance.
That ruined the moment instantly.
“Well,” Lydia declared, springing to her feet. “If Miss Bingley objects to Horace, she may ride separately.”
“Lydia,” Elizabeth protested.
“What? I merely offer solutions.”
Miss Bingley ignored her and addressed Darcy instead. “Surely the tenants do not expect the whole party.”
“They expect hospitality,” Darcy answered. “And they shall have it.”
Something in his tone ended further argument for the moment.
Servants carried the baskets outside soon afterward while the party gathered near the carriages. The day promised uncommon beauty. Sunlight spread across the lawns in broad gold bands, and beyond the terraces the Derbyshire hills rolled deep green beneath a cloudless sky.
Darcy assisted Mrs. Gardiner into the first carriage while Bingley attempted unsuccessfully to persuade Horace not to follow the horses.
“You are encouraging him,” Darcy observed.
“I encourage everyone,” Bingley replied. “It is my chief talent.”
“That and choosing disastrous sisters,” Lydia muttered under her breath to Georgiana.
Georgiana choked visibly.
Miss Bingley narrowed her eyes. “Did you say something?”
“I said your shawl is lovely,” Lydia answered smoothly.
Darcy did not believe her for one instant.
The tenant picnic took place in a meadow beyond the eastern orchards, where the ground leveled near the river.
Darcy had attended dutifully since inheriting Pemberley.
He had shaken hands, listened to petitions, settled disputes between neighboring tenants regarding sheep, weather, fences, and occasionally poultry.
Never before had he approached the meadow wondering whether Elizabeth Bennet would like it.
That realization alone should have warned him he had become absurd.
Children spotted the carriages first.
They came running across the grass in a loose shouting cluster before the wheels stopped. Bingley waved back enthusiastically through the carriage window. Lydia waved harder. Georgiana was startled, then pleased.
Miss Bingley leaned farther into the corner seat.
When Darcy stepped down, old Mr. Wilcox approached almost immediately, hat already in hand.
“Fine weather for it this year, sir.”
“Far finer than last August,” Darcy agreed.
“Aye. Lost half the cakes to rain then.”
“That tragedy has not been forgotten.”
A chuckle escaped Mr. Wilcox.
Beyond him tables had already been arranged beneath striped cloths while servants unpacked baskets onto long boards balanced over barrels.
Children chased one another between blankets spread beneath the trees.
Several tenant wives had brought flowers in jars and pitchers despite Lydia insisting loudly to Georgiana that flowers at outdoor gatherings were unnecessary because “the outdoors already possesses them.”
Elizabeth descended from the carriage just then.
Darcy forgot the remainder of Mr. Wilcox’s sentence.
She paused a moment upon the grass, one hand resting lightly against the carriage door while her attention swept across the meadow. Delight moved openly across her face before restraint reclaimed it.
Too late. Darcy had seen. And because he had seen, satisfaction spread through him with humiliating force.
“She likes it,” Bingley said beside him.
Darcy answered too quickly. “Naturally.”
Bingley acted amused.
Darcy ignored him.
The gathering dissolved into movement. Mrs. Gardiner joined several tenant women examining preserves upon one of the tables.
Mr. Gardiner disappeared toward the river with two farmers arguing over fishing rights.
Lydia attached herself to a cluster of village children within minutes and somehow acquired a flower crown despite claiming crowns were “the occupation of fainting heroines.”
Georgiana followed more slowly.
Darcy watched his sister hesitate near the edge of the crowd.
Then Elizabeth appeared beside her.
He could not hear what passed between them. Elizabeth merely spoke a few words while adjusting her gloves, and Georgiana’s uncertainty vanished almost instantly. Together they crossed toward the tables where several tenant girls stood arranging cups.
No ceremony or awkwardness. No visible effort.
Elizabeth moved through Pemberley’s people as though she belonged among them already.
That thought struck him so hard he had to turn away.
“Mr. Darcy!”
A little girl collided directly into his legs.
He steadied her automatically before she toppled backward into the grass. “Miss Annie,” he said gravely. “You advance upon people with alarming speed.”
“You promised races.”
“Did I?”
“Yes.” She folded her arms. “Last year.”
Darcy peered helplessly at Bingley.
Bingley offered no assistance whatsoever. “You ought not disappoint children. It ruins their moral development.”
“Then you race her.”
“I absolutely shall.”
Within ten minutes Darcy found himself standing beside Bingley at the edge of the field while half a dozen children shouted instructions simultaneously.
Lydia took this entire affair far too seriously.
“You are cheating already,” she accused Darcy before the race even began.
“I have not moved.”
“You possess longer legs. It is suspicious.”
“That is not how cheating functions.”
“It ought to be.”
Georgiana stood beside Elizabeth.
Darcy came toward them instinctively.
Elizabeth caught him looking. The expression in her eyes changed very slightly before she glanced away again, enough to unsettle him completely.
The race itself became a catastrophe because Horace decided participation was essential. He barreled across the field after the children, knocking Bingley sideways while Lydia shrieked instructions no human or animal could possibly follow.
Darcy crossed the finish line second because Annie Wilcox bit his coat halfway through.
“That was strategic,” she informed him proudly.
“I have been defeated by an eight-year-old brigand.”
“You have been defeated by two,” Lydia corrected. “I assisted morally.”
Miss Bingley remained near the blankets throughout these proceedings, visibly appalled by all physical exertion involving dust.
Mrs. Hurst remained beside her with equal reluctance, though at least Mrs. Hurst accepted cake from the tenants when offered. Miss Bingley declined everything except lemonade and appeared increasingly stranded while the rest of the party dispersed naturally through the meadow.
Darcy noticed it because Miss Bingley wished him to notice it.
Each time he crossed near the rugs her posture adjusted slightly. Each time Elizabeth approached elsewhere, Miss Bingley interrupted within moments.
At length, she succeeded in cornering him beside the cider barrels while Mrs. Reynolds discussed table arrangements nearby.?
“I confess,” Miss Bingley said, lowering her voice, “I cannot comprehend why you encourage such informality.”