Page 184 of What Change Entails

Chapter Twenty

Tea had been a remarkably pleasant affair until the messenger arrived.

The drawing room windows stood open to admit what little breeze the August afternoon offered. Beyond them, sunlight lay across the south lawn in broad bands of gold, while somewhere nearer the stables a horse whinnied and received an answering call from another. Pemberley possessed a particular sort of summer peace. It was never silent. Too many people lived and worked upon the estate for silence. The sounds blended into something orderly and reassuring.

Darcy had never appreciated that quality more than he did now.

Mrs. Gardiner occupied her customary chair near the tea table. Georgiana poured with increasing confidence beneath Mrs. Reynolds’s approving eye.

Mr. Gardiner had received a less alarming letter from Gracechurch Street two days earlier concerning an injured clerk and irregularities in one warehouse account. He had written instructions and believed the matter contained. Now, he had become engaged in a discussion with Bingley regarding fishing, though neither appeared certain whether they spoke of fishing or the merits of various local inns. Mrs. Hurst worked upon a piece of embroidery.

Lydia had somehow persuaded Horace to crawl beneath the pianoforte.

The dog occupied nearly the entire space.

“You shall ruin the instrument,” Georgiana informed him.

Horace thumped his tail.

“He is improving the instrument,” Lydia replied. “It now possesses character.”

“I do not believe pianofortes require character.”

“They do if they are to survive long acquaintance with musicians.”

Elizabeth lowered her teacup.

“That is an extraordinarily rude observation from someone who plays no instrument at all.”

Lydia accepted the criticism without shame.

“I preserve my talents for more practical pursuits.”

“Such as?” Mrs. Gardiner asked.

“Disturbing people.”

Bingley laughed outright.

Even Darcy’s mouth threatened rebellion.

Miss Bingley did not join them.

She sat near one of the windows, elegant and faultlessly arranged, her attention divided between her embroidery and the conversation she plainly found beneath her notice.

The omission might once have troubled Darcy.

Now it merely existed.

His attention rested elsewhere.

Elizabeth sat beside him.

Not so close as propriety forbade. Mrs. Gardiner occupied the space between them. Throughout the afternoon he had become increasingly aware of every small detail concerning her.

Her hand curving around a teacup. The faint movement of her lashes when she tried to hide her emotions. The color in her cheeks whenever their eyes met unexpectedly.

He had spent years believing self-command one of his greatest strengths.