15. Chapter Fifteen #2
Darcy kept his stare upon the field where Lydia was attempting archery with a child-sized bow and missing the target by several alarming feet. She was more skilled with a regular bow.
“They are my tenants.”
“That does not require intimacy.”
“No,” he agreed. “It requires respect.”
Miss Bingley paused.
She had expected a different answer.
Before she could continue, Elizabeth passed nearby carrying a basket of apples beside Georgiana. A small boy tugged at her sleeve asking some question Darcy could not hear. Elizabeth bent to answer him.
The child grinned.
Darcy watched her longer than he should have.
Again.
Miss Bingley saw that too.
Her expression hardened almost imperceptibly.
“Miss Elizabeth appears determined to make herself universally beloved.”
Darcy nodded slowly. “She succeeds without visible effort.”
Silence followed.
Brief.
Dangerous.
Miss Bingley recovered first. “You admire her greatly.”
“Yes.”
No escape remained after that answer. Nor did he particularly desire one.
Miss Bingley’s smile returned too quickly. “She is certainly lively.”
Darcy bowed slightly and left before the conversation worsened further.
By late afternoon the meadow had become gloriously untidy.
Blankets spread everywhere beneath the trees.
Children slept in improbable positions after exhausting themselves thoroughly.
Bingley had somehow become involved in a wrestling match with two tenant boys.
Mrs. Gardiner sat speaking with Mrs. Reynolds while Georgiana listened nearby with increasing ease.
Lydia climbed directly onto the low stone wall bordering the orchard despite repeated warnings.
Elizabeth stood beneath an elm tree distributing sliced pears to several younger children while Horace waited beneath her hand with unbearable patience.
Darcy stopped walking.
The sight caught him unprepared.
Sunlight moved through the leaves overhead in shifting gold fragments. Elizabeth responded to something one of the children said, then bent to wipe sticky pear juice from a little girl’s chin using her own handkerchief.
No elegance.
No performance.
Nothing calculated.
Pemberley loved sincerity. Its people always had.
And Elizabeth gave it without effort.
He loved her with such force in that moment it nearly frightened him.
“Mr. Darcy,” Miss Bingley said behind him.
The spell shattered. She stood alone several paces away, one gloved hand twisting around her parasol handle.
“You have scarcely spoken ten words to me all afternoon.”
Darcy chose his response carefully. “The tenants require attention today.”
“I do not refer to the tenants.”
He said nothing.
Miss Bingley’s gaze flicked toward Elizabeth beneath the tree. “Perhaps I have misunderstood your intentions.”
“That is possible.”
The answer landed harder than intended.
Miss Bingley’s face altered.
Darcy almost regretted it.
Almost.
Before further conversation became unavoidable, Lydia’s voice rang across the field.
“Mr. Darcy! Your dog has stolen sausage again!”
Horace bolted past carrying precisely that.
Darcy closed his eyes.
When he opened them, Miss Bingley appeared furious.
Elizabeth escaped to the orchard path because she could no longer bear watching Miss Bingley attempt ownership over every conversation Mr. Darcy entered.
The picnic had exhausted everyone pleasantly except Miss Bingley, who appeared sharpened by irritation with every passing hour.
Elizabeth understood why.
Nothing had gone according to her wishes.
The tenants adored Darcy openly. Georgiana had spent half the afternoon laughing with Lydia beneath the trees. Mr. Bingley vanished happily wherever Jane’s name might someday lead him. Even Mrs. Reynolds treated the Gardiners with unaffected affection.
And Darcy—
Elizabeth stopped walking abruptly.
There lay the true difficulty.
Darcy had not hidden himself from her today.
Not the master of Pemberley receiving guests.
Not the restrained gentleman observed in drawing rooms.
The real man appeared in fragments everywhere across the meadow.
Stopping to carry an elderly tenant woman’s basket without ceremony.
Listening patiently while two farmers argued over sheep fencing.
Allowing children to climb all over him during races he plainly lost on purpose.
Watching Georgiana with protective affection whenever she laughed too hard to maintain composure.
Watching Elizabeth—
No. She must stop thinking of that.
The orchard path curved toward the riverbank where the air cooled beneath the trees. Voices from the picnic drifted faintly through the leaves behind her.
Elizabeth slowed gradually.
She had nearly reached the small wooden bridge crossing the stream when Miss Bingley appeared from the opposite direction.
Of course.
Elizabeth suppressed a sigh and prepared herself for battle disguised as civility.
“Miss Elizabeth.”
“Miss Bingley.”
Miss Bingley paused near the bridge railings, arranging her expression into something almost friendly.
“I hoped we might speak privately.”
Elizabeth doubted that very much. “Certainly.”
For a few moments Miss Bingley said nothing at all. She fixed her attention upon the water instead.
An unfortunate strategy. Silence merely gave Elizabeth time to grow wary.
“At Pemberley,” Miss Bingley began at last, “my brother and I have always enjoyed the greatest intimacy with Mr. Darcy and his sister.”
Elizabeth waited.
“We know his habits extremely well.”
Still she waited.
Miss Bingley faced her once more, her smile returning with visible effort. “You must not mistake his present attentions.”
There it was.
Elizabeth folded her hands together before herself because otherwise she might do something regrettable with them.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Mr. Darcy has been unusually sociable these past weeks.” Miss Bingley said lightly. “The novelty of guests often produces temporary enthusiasm.”
Temporary.
The word entered Elizabeth’s chest like a pin.