Page 162 of What Change Entails

“Elizabeth.”

She ought not enjoy provoking him. She did.

The lane opened into a small clearing near the stream. Darcy drew the gig to a halt and helped her down. This time, when her hand rested in his, neither pretended indifference. He kept hold of her after her feet touched the ground.

They walked a short distance to where the water crossed over flat stones and disappeared beneath ferns. It was not a grand view. Not imposing. Merely lovely in a small, secret way.

“I came here often as a boy,” Darcy said. “When I wished to avoid lessons.”

“You avoided more lessons than Latin?”

“Rarely.”

No, she could not imagine Darcy shirking his duties. “But not never.”

“No.”

“This is excellent news. I had begun to fear you were born responsible.”

He laughed. “I disappointed many tutors before reforming.”

“How many?”

“Two.”

“That is hardly rebellion.”

“I was six.”

She scoffed. “Indeed? You are a hardened offender.”

He smiled down at the stream. “My father pretended severity. My mother sent biscuits afterward.”

Elizabeth tried to picture him small and solemn and secretly biscuit-fed. The image delighted her more than it should.

“You must tell me more stories of your childhood,” she said.

“I warn you, there are fewer scandals than Lydia would prefer,” he cautioned her.

“I shall accept mild disobedience.”

“Then I may furnish you with a tolerable collection.”

They stood beneath the trees while the water moved over stone, and conversation slipped into easier shapes. He told her of falling from a pony and insisting the pony apologize. She told him of Lydia cutting her own fringe as a child and blaming Kitty. He spoke of Georgiana as a baby, solemnly clutching his finger with impossible strength. Elizabeth described Jane attempting to teach all her sisters embroidery and giving up when Lydia tangled herself in thread.

The morning passed without permission.

Eventually Darcy consulted his watch and made a reluctant sound. “We ought to return.”

“Ought is a dreary word.” Goodness, she sounded like Lydia.

“It is.”

Elizabeth sighed. “But useful.”

“Regrettably.”

They returned to the gig slowly. Before assisting her up, he stopped and took her hand between both of his.