Page 124 of What Change Entails

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.

Chapter Fourteen

The drawing-room at Pemberley quieted after ten o’clock. Lamps burned low, the fire still cast its amber glow across polished wood, and Lydia’s abandoned book still lay face-down upon the sofa where she had discarded it earlier after declaring anything lacking duels or ruined reputations unfit for serious reading. The room breathed differently once Miss Bingley retired complaining of a megrim severe enough to prevent company, though Elizabeth suspected it would not prevent curiosity if footsteps passed her door.

Mrs. Hurst accompanied her sister upstairs with expressions of dutiful concern that was likely practiced from long use.

Mr. Hurst drifted after them because remaining downstairs required wakefulness.

Their departure left the company smaller and unexpectedly comfortable.

Bingley lounged near the hearth with one arm thrown over the back of his chair. Mr. Gardiner occupied another beside him, spectacles low upon his nose while he examined a volume he had no intention of reading closely. Mrs. Gardiner stitched calmly beneath the lamp. Lydia had removed her slippers and curled sideways upon the sofa despite receiving two separate looks of reproof. Georgiana sat at the pianoforte with her hands folded together, uncertain whether she ought to offer music or wait for encouragement.