Page 175 of What Change Entails

Bingley burst out laughing.

Elizabeth drew back, covering her mouth with one gloved hand. “I fear my sister is educating your dog poorly.”

“My dog was morally compromised before Miss Lydia arrived.”

“You defend her.”

“I have grown accustomed to doing so.”

Miss Bingley, approaching at that unfortunate moment, gave a thin little laugh. “How charitable of you, Mr. Darcy. Miss Lydia Bennet must be grateful for such generosity. Her manners require a very benevolent interpretation.”

Elizabeth’s hand tightened on his arm.

The party had gone still enough for the birds to become audible in the trees.

“Miss Lydia,” Darcy said, keeping his tone even with effort, “has shown my sister sincere loyalty. That weighs more with me than polish without kindness.”

Miss Bingley’s fan stilled in her hand.

Bingley shifted uncomfortably. Mrs. Hurst glanced toward the path. Mr. Gardiner closed his sketchbook halfway, as if prepared to intervene should good manners fail.

Elizabeth did not speak. Still, her hand remained on his sleeve, steadying him by the mere fact of its presence.

Miss Bingley’s color rose. “I meant no offense.”

“Then we shall consider the matter ended.”

It was not ended. Not truly. Darcy knew that as they resumed walking. Miss Bingley had been checked in front of the very people she wished to impress. She would not forgive it, though she would disguise resentment beneath injured elegance for as long as she found disguise useful.

They reached the highest point near noon. Mr. Gardiner sketched, Mrs. Gardiner sat beneath a tree, and Bingley attempted to identify distant farms with such confident inaccuracy that Darcy had to correct him three times. Elizabeth joined in with questions about the tenants, the land, and the spring flooding near the lower fields. Darcy answered readily. It pleased him beyond reason to speak of such things to her. Estate matters had once been duty, necessary and unadorned. In Elizabeth’s presence, even fences and drainage acquired unexpected life.

Miss Bingley attempted to redirect the subject toward London. “Surely, Mr. Darcy, you cannot prefer such rustic concerns to the society awaiting you in Town. One must not bury oneself among farmers and tradesmen.”

Mr. Gardiner’s pencil paused.

Darcy felt the words like grit beneath his teeth.

Elizabeth’s posture altered.

Mrs. Gardiner lowered her sewing.

Darcy faced Miss Bingley fully. “My tenants are not rustic concerns. They are people whose labor supports this estate and whose welfare rests, in part, with me. As for trade, I have found intelligence and integrity among men engaged in business as readily as among those who boast older names and poorer conduct.”

Mr. Gardiner resumed sketching after a single beat. “You are generous, Darcy.”

“No. Merely accurate.”

Elizabeth looked down toward the valley, but the corner of her mouth betrayed her.

Miss Bingley fell silent.

Darcy did not regret a word.

By the time they reached the house, Lydia and Georgiana had reappeared near the lower paddock with Horace, two grass stains, and one account of sheep persecution so confused that no one could determine whether Horace had chased the sheep, the sheep had chased Horace, or Lydia had endangered both parties by attempting arbitration.

Georgiana was flushed with exertion and more animated than Darcy had seen her during any season since Ramsgate. She walked between Lydia and Horace, speaking with her hands as she described the event to Elizabeth. Lydia interrupted frequently to defend herself. Elizabeth scolded and laughed in nearly equal measure.

Darcy walked several paces behind them with Bingley.