Page 47 of What Change Entails

“Mr. Darcy,” she began, then stopped as Lydia cried out.

“Horace! No, sir, that is my ribbon!”

The dog had seized one loose end of Lydia’s bonnet ribbon and was backing away with absurd dignity. Miss Darcy followed him, half laughing, half pleading, while Lydia protested that she had already survived one assault at Pemberley and would not endure another.

Mr. Gardiner went to assist. Mrs. Gardiner shook her head with amusement. Mr. Darcy called the dog sharply enough that Horace released the ribbon, then sat with an expression of injured innocence.

The interruption saved Elizabeth from whatever clumsy thing she might have said… Or deprived her of the courage to say it.

When the laughter subsided, Mr. Darcy offered to show them more of the grounds before they went inside, but only after he was certain Miss Darcy’s ankle could bear the activity. Mr. Gardiner accepted readily, and the party continued at a leisurely pace along the stream.

The walking arrangements reformed almost without intention. Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner fell behind to admire the prospect across the water. Lydia and Miss Darcy hurried ahead with Horace between them, engaged in some animated exchange involving horses, officers, and whether dogs could be trained to dislike Miss Bingley. Elizabeth caught fragments and pretended not to hear the latter.

Mr. Darcy walked beside her.

There was room enough on the path for distance. He kept it.

His civility disconcerted her far more than arrogance had managed.

“You must think me very altered in my opinions,” she said after several minutes.

His step faltered, barely. “I have no right to judge the alteration of your opinions.”

“No right?” Elizabeth raised her brows. “That is a severe answer.”

“I did not intend severity.”

“No. I suppose you did not.”

A branch overhung the path. Darcy reached up and held it aside so she might pass without brushing her bonnet. The movement was ordinary enough. Elizabeth thanked him, then became vexed by the heat rising in her face.

They walked on.

“I have wished,” she began, and the words came poorly, “that I had expressed myself with more moderation when we last spoke in Kent.”

Darcy did not answer quickly. The stream filled the pause, running over stones below them.

“At Hunsford,” he said at last, “you answered what I gave you.”

Elizabeth studied the path beneath her feet. “I was unjust in some particulars.”

“You were correct in more.”

That stopped her.

He continued watching the water ahead, perhaps granting her the mercy of not meeting her eyes while he spoke. “I cannot pretend to remember that evening with satisfaction. If I have improved in any respect since, the credit is not mine alone.”

“Please do not say that.”

Then he faced her.

Elizabeth gripped the edge of her shawl. “I did not speak from charity. I was angry. I wished to wound you.”

“You succeeded.” He said it plainly, without resentment, which somehow made it harder to answer.

She flinched. “I am sorry.”

Horace barked ahead, startling a flock of small birds from the bank. Lydia called after him. Miss Darcy’s voice followed, breathless with amusement.