Page 33 of What Change Entails

Georgiana pressed her lips together, but a laugh escaped anyway.

The sound was not loud. It held some surprise, almost like laughter had come upon her before she granted it permission.

Darcy felt the tension in his chest ease.

“I do not know whether I am equal to a long ride,” she admitted.

“We need not go recklessly. We will take the road in stages and stop when required. I shall send a note ahead for fresh horses where needed.”

“And you truly do not mind?”

“I should have offered it sooner.”

She looked away again, but this time not from distress. “I should like it very much.”

“Then it is settled.”

They resumed walking, slower now. Georgiana’s steps beside his had lost some of their restraint.

Near the garden gate, she touched one rose with the tip of her gloved finger. “Fitzwilliam?”

“Yes?”

“Are you angry with Miss Bingley?”

Darcy’s attention shifted to the inn windows. A curtain stirred, then fell back into place. He did not need to guess who stood behind it. “I am displeased with myself,” he said after a moment.

Georgiana frowned. “With yourself?”

“I allowed another person to impose upon you because her conduct inconvenienced me less than objecting to it. That is not a flattering admission.”

“You could not know everything.”

“No.” He opened the gate and held it for her. “But I might have asked.”

Georgiana passed through, then waited for him beyond the wall. “You are asking now.”

The words were offered as comfort. Darcy accepted them as forgiveness he had not earned.

Upon reentering the sitting room, Miss Bingley had arranged herself at the small pianoforte in the inn’s parlor, though she was not playing. Bingley stood at the window. Hurst had finally decided to sleep without pretending otherwise. Mrs. Hurst leafed past another unread page.

Miss Bingley looked up with bright animation. “There you are. We had begun to fear the garden had claimed you. Dear Georgiana, you seem quite recovered. Walking was just the thing.”

Georgiana met Darcy’s eyes, then took the chair beside the small writing table instead of the one Miss Bingley had clearly saved beside herself.

Darcy noticed.

So did Miss Bingley.

“Bingley,” he said, addressing his friend, “there has been a change of plan.”

Miss Bingley’s fingers stilled over the keys. “Oh?”

“Georgiana will ride ahead with me this afternoon.”

The brightness in her face faltered. “Ride?”

“Yes.”