Page 173 of What Change Entails

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.