Page 112 of What Change Entails

That quieted her more than she expected.

“No,” Elizabeth said after a moment. “It is not.”

“She has been good for Georgiana.”

“Yes.” Elizabeth watched two children chase each other past a row of cottages. “And perhaps Georgiana has been good for Lydia.”

“I think so.”

They walked a little farther, unhurried. The lane sloped gradually toward the inn, though they were not in haste to reach it. Elizabeth became aware of the books tucked beneath her arm, the brush of her glove against his sleeve when villagers passed and forced them nearer together, the ease of walking beside him in public without wishing to escape.

She ought to have been frightened by that.

Instead, she asked, “Will you tell me a story from your childhood?”

Mr. Darcy raised his brows. “My childhood?”

“Yes. You know several of mine now, and Lydia has revealed enough family history to supply all Derbyshire with gossip for a month. It is fair.”

“I was not a very entertaining child.”

“I shall judge that.”

He considered this while they walked past a stone cottage with lavender growing beside the door.

“I once hid in the old chapel ruins for half a day because my tutor assigned me a Latin exercise I considered beneath my dignity.”

Elizabeth raised a brow. “How old were you?”

“Eight.”

“An early display of arrogance.”

“Sadly, yes.”

“Were you found?”

“Eventually. By my father. I expected punishment.” Darcy’s expression softened with the memory. “Instead, he sat beside me in the ruins and corrected the exercise there. Every incorrect answer meant I had to carry one stone back toward the wall.”

Elizabeth smiled. “Practical discipline.”

“Humiliatingly effective. I never hid from Latin again.”

“Only from assemblies.”

Amusement tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Those proved harder to escape.”

“Poor Mr. Darcy.”

“You are merciless.”

“I have been told so.”

They were nearing the inn now. Elizabeth could see Mr. Bingley near the doorway speaking to Mr. Gardiner, while Mrs. Hurst examined something in a shop window farther along the street. Miss Darcy and Lydia were nowhere visible, presumably still with Mrs. Gardiner.

Mr. Darcy slowed slightly.

“So,” Elizabeth said, unable to resist, “the great master of Pemberley was once a proud boy hiding among ruins to avoid grammar.”