19. Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Nineteen
Darcy had thought, with more hope than judgment, that Miss Bingley might be deterred by defeat. She was not.
The following morning proved it before the coffee had been poured.
She entered the breakfast room in pale blue muslin, her hair arranged with greater care than a woman recovering from an ailment had any right to manage, and apologized for the previous day’s indisposition with such graceful fatigue that Bingley was moved to concern, Mrs. Hurst to sympathy, and Lydia Bennet to a degree of interest bordering upon professional study.
Darcy rose with the rest of the gentlemen. “I trust you are recovered.”
“Nearly,” Miss Bingley replied, allowing the word to carry just enough delicacy to invite further inquiry. “The head is a dreadful tyrant when it takes a fancy to rule one’s whole frame. But I could not remain above while Pemberley held company.”
She sought Elizabeth.
Darcy noticed. Georgiana did as well, lifting her cup before setting it down again without drinking. Miss Lydia, seated beside his sister, leaned closer and whispered something that made Georgiana’s mouth tremble with suppressed amusement.
Miss Bingley saw that also.
It was a peculiar thing, Darcy thought as the party took their seats.
Once, he might have found Miss Bingley’s conversation polished, her manners superior to most, her eagerness toward Georgiana harmless if occasionally tiring.
Now every small movement carried another meaning.
She had spent years arranging herself near influence and calling it friendship.
She had mistaken access for right. Worse, he had allowed it.
He had not liked that reflection.
It had remained with him through half the night, as unwelcome as a creditor and rather more persistent.
Elizabeth sat across from him, speaking to Mrs. Gardiner about the previous day’s drive.
Her color rose faintly when Lydia asked too pointed a question about hidden views and private lanes, but she answered with tolerable calm.
Tolerable to anyone who did not know her.
Darcy knew her better now. Enough to see the mischief she restrained.
Enough to know when she dared not meet his eye.
He ought not to have taken such pleasure in it.
He did.
Miss Bingley addressed him before breakfast could settle into comfort. “Mr. Darcy, I had thought perhaps we might have music this morning. Georgiana has neglected her practice shamefully since the arrival of so many diversions.”
Across the table Georgiana stiffened. Her spoon rested beside her plate. She did not touch it.
Darcy laid down his knife. “My sister has played when she wished to play.”
“Of course. I meant that young ladies benefit from constancy. Talents suffer when discipline is relaxed.”
Miss Lydia opened her mouth.
Georgiana nudged her beneath the table, perhaps with force.
Darcy answered before Miss Lydia could be required to commit violence upon propriety. “Georgiana’s accomplishments are in no danger.”
Miss Bingley’s lips pressed together.
Bingley reached for toast, totally unaware he had nearly witnessed an engagement between his sister and a young girl armed with marmalade.
Mrs. Gardiner intervened with a question regarding the path toward the high ridge, and the table shifted.
The day was too fine to remain indoors, she said.
Her husband wished to sketch a view from the western hill before the weather changed.
Bingley, always happy to endorse movement, offered to accompany them.
Mrs. Hurst wished to drive, Mr. Hurst wished to eat something cold outdoors without walking up a hill to obtain it, and Miss Bingley, after consulting Darcy’s face, announced that a gentle excursion might be restorative.
As the others spoke, Darcy’s thoughts drifted. Harding had mentioned another difficulty before dinner, a disagreement over old boundary stones at Kelton that might yet require Darcy’s personal attention. Darcy had hoped the matter would wait. Nothing in the steward’s first report suggested urgency.
Drat. Darcy had intended to ask Elizabeth to walk with him along the river path later that afternoon. In his distraction, he had missed his opportunity. He watched that plan disappear beneath the machinery of company.
Then Lydia leaned around Georgiana and spoke with dangerous innocence. “Miss Darcy and I promised Horace a visit to the upper meadow. He has been melancholy since being denied cake.”
“Dogs are not melancholy,” Elizabeth said.
“Horace is. He is a creature of feeling.”
Georgiana lowered her napkin. “He did refuse his breakfast.”
“He ate mine,” Bingley said.
“That was consolation,” Lydia declared.
Darcy met his sister’s look across the table. Georgiana’s eyes flicked toward Elizabeth, then back to him.
Ah.
He nearly smiled and stopped himself in time.
Miss Bingley, however, was not so easily routed. “Then perhaps we ought all to go toward the upper meadow. I have always found that walk elegant.”
Lydia blinked. “Elegant?”
“Yes.”
“With sheep?”
“Rural scenes may possess elegance when properly viewed.”
“Do the sheep know?”
Bingley coughed. Elizabeth faced Mrs. Gardiner. Georgiana became suddenly fascinated by her teacup.
Darcy decided assistance was required. “Miss Lydia, if Horace is to be exercised, the lower paddock may suit him better. It is fenced, and my sister knows the way.”
Lydia’s eyes flashed approval. “Excellent. Come, Miss Darcy. We shall save him from despair.”
“After breakfast,” Elizabeth said.
“Lizzy, you are forever checking noble impulses.”
“Because yours so often involve mud.”
“Practical objections are the enemy of greatness.”
The first skirmish of the day ended with Horace assigned to Lydia and Georgiana, Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner planning the ridge path with Bingley, and Miss Bingley obliged either to accompany the main party or remain behind.
She chose the former, though her expression promised she considered the arrangement a personal injury.
Darcy arranged his own place beside Elizabeth before anyone else could contrive otherwise.
They departed midmorning. The day had ripened into that clear summer brightness which made Pemberley appear less built than grown from the land.
Sunlight moved over the lawns in shifting sheets.
The stream flashed below the house, and the slopes beyond rolled toward the hills in green folds.
A faint breeze kept the heat from becoming oppressive and carried the scent of crushed grass as the party crossed the terrace.
Elizabeth walked beside him with her bonnet ribbons stirring against her cheek.
He had kissed her the day before. He had kissed her and held her and heard from her own lips that her feelings were altered.
The fact remained astonishing enough that part of him distrusted it whenever she was not near enough to prove it again.
Now she was near.
Too near for peace.
Not near enough for satisfaction.
“Mr. Darcy,” she said, “you are very silent.”
“I am attending.”
“To the scenery?”
“To the company.”
She inclined her head slightly. “That is a dangerous answer when spoken by a gentleman walking beside a lady.”
“I live dangerously now.”
Elizabeth’s eyes danced. “You? I am astonished. Shall you next neglect correspondence or take a second cup of coffee?”
“I may go so far as to ignore a letter until after luncheon.”
“Scandal.”
“I rely upon your discretion.”
She laughed softly, then caught herself when Miss Bingley’s voice carried from behind them.
“How very beautiful Pemberley appears from this side,” Miss Bingley said. “One never tires of a prospect so connected to consequence.”
Elizabeth’s shoulder trembled beside him.
Mrs. Gardiner, who had walked ahead with her husband, asked whether the path grew steeper. Darcy answered, and in doing so offered his arm to Elizabeth before the rise. She accepted without hesitation.
Miss Bingley did not miss it.
Indeed, no one did. Certainly not Elizabeth’s aunt. Darcy respected Mrs. Gardiner too much to imagine she missed anything.
They climbed by a gradual path through beech and ash, pausing where the lane opened toward the first view.
Bingley exclaimed with genuine pleasure.
Mr. Gardiner unfolded his sketchbook. Mrs. Gardiner admired the line of the water below.
Darcy watched Elizabeth step toward the edge, her hand still resting lightly upon his arm, and experienced the fierce, ridiculous satisfaction of showing her his home again now that she saw him within it differently.
“This was your hidden view?” she asked.
“One of several.”
“You hoard views, then.”
“Among my lesser vices.”
“I shall require a list of the greater.”
“You already know some of them.”
The amusement in her face softened into a more serious regard. “Some have improved.”
“I am working upon the remainder.”
She did not answer in words. Her fingers pressed lightly upon his sleeve and released.
For a moment the hill, the party, Miss Bingley, and every obstacle between them receded.
Then Lydia’s voice rang from below, nowhere near the path they had taken.
“Horace! Leave that sheep alone! It has done nothing to you.”
Georgiana called something after her, breathless and horrified.
Bingley burst out laughing.
Elizabeth drew back, covering her mouth with one gloved hand. “I fear my sister is educating your dog poorly.”
“My dog was morally compromised before Miss Lydia arrived.”
“You defend her.”
“I have grown accustomed to doing so.”
Miss Bingley, approaching at that unfortunate moment, gave a thin little laugh. “How charitable of you, Mr. Darcy. Miss Lydia Bennet must be grateful for such generosity. Her manners require a very benevolent interpretation.”
Elizabeth’s hand tightened on his arm.
The party had gone still enough for the birds to become audible in the trees.
“Miss Lydia,” Darcy said, keeping his tone even with effort, “has shown my sister sincere loyalty. That weighs more with me than polish without kindness.”
Miss Bingley’s fan stilled in her hand.