Page 155 of What Change Entails

Lydia beamed.

Elizabeth watched them with fond astonishment. Lydia had not become sensible. No miracle had occurred. She was still loud, impulsive, vain about ribbons, and far too inclined to speak before considering whether anyone ought to hear her. There was kindness now where carelessness had once ruled almost unchecked. Or perhaps, the kindness had always been there, buried beneath too much noise and too little guidance.

Georgiana, for her part, had bloomed under the affection.

Elizabeth could scarcely reconcile the girl before her with the trembling young lady she had expected to meet. Miss Darcy still blushed easily. She still sometimes paused before speaking. With Lydia she laughed, protested, teased, and permitted herself to be ridiculous. It was perhaps the most unexpected pleasure Derbyshire had given Elizabeth, and Derbyshire had been generous.

The breakfast party broke apart soon afterward. Mrs. Gardiner went to gather her bonnet and reticule. Mr. Gardiner requested a few minutes with Mr. Darcy before departing. The Hursts retired to prepare for their drive. Lydia and Georgiana vanished from the breakfast room with Horace following at a trot, carrying what appeared to be a napkin in his mouth.

Elizabeth stood near the window a moment, watching the lawn beyond the terrace. Sunlight lay bright over the grass. The day promised heat later, but now the morning remained fresh, fragrant with roses from the beds near the south walk.

“Miss Bennet.”

She paused.

Mr. Darcy stood a few paces away, gloves in hand, his hat beneath one arm. The sight of him so prepared for the outdoors disturbed her far more than it ought. His dark coat fit with severe excellence across his shoulders, and the plainness of his dress somehow drew attention to the strength beneath it. She lowered her eyes too late.

“Yes, Mr. Darcy?”

His hand closed once upon his gloves, then relaxed. “If you are not otherwise engaged, I wondered whether you would care to see more of the western side of the estate. There is a view beyond the second ridge that visitors seldom trouble themselves to find.”

“You make it sound neglected.”

“It is not neglected. Merely underestimated.”

“By visitors.”

“And occasionally by its owner.”

There was a note in his voice that made her look back.

He was watching her with an expression she could not easily name. Hopeful, perhaps. Wary of presuming. Determined not to demand.

Elizabeth’s heart gave a foolish little leap, which she instantly refused to acknowledge.

“A hidden view sounds far too tempting to decline.”

His face changed. Not much. Enough.

“I will have the gig brought round.”

“The gig?”

“My sister and her companion use it for nearby tenant calls. The road is too narrow in places for a larger carriage, but completely safe. If you would prefer to walk—”

“No,” Elizabeth said, rather too quickly.

He raised his brows at her, and she felt color rise.

“No,” she repeated, more steadily. “The gig will do very well.”

Within a quarter hour, they stood near the stable yard while a groom brought out a neat little gig with high wheels and a dappled gray mare already harnessed. Mr. Darcy inspected the traces himself, not out of distrust, Elizabeth thought, but habit. His hand moved along the leather with practiced certainty. He spoke to the groom by name and adjusted one buckle before accepting the reins.

Elizabeth watched despite every effort not to.

It was becoming a serious defect in her character.

He then offered his hand to assist her.