Page 73 of What Change Entails

“That was not a cast,” Darcy said.

“It was a warning to the fish.”

Elizabeth made a strangled sound. Darcy looked before he could prevent himself. She had one hand pressed to her mouth, eyes bright, shoulders shaking with the effort to contain herself. Mrs. Gardiner was amused and sympathetic. Mr. Gardiner had waded a little downstream and was engaged in a quieter, more competent attempt at fishing, though even he cast a glance back toward the commotion.

Miss Bingley’s voice traveled from beneath the tree. “I cannot imagine that fish are commonly caught by frightening every creature within half a mile.”

Lydia directed her attention toward Miss Bingley. “Then they lack courage.”

Georgiana made a small sound and bent to adjust Horace’s collar.

Darcy coughed into his hand.

Miss Bingley’s fan opened.

“Perhaps,” Darcy said, reclaiming the hook from the bush, “we should begin again.”

Lydia accepted the rod with narrowed eyes. “You are enjoying this.”

“I assure you, I am suffering.”

“You suffer too politely.”

“Practice.”

Elizabeth chuckled again, and this time he let himself look at her longer.

It was a single moment.

Still too long, perhaps.

Miss Bingley saw. He knew it without turning.

Bingley came toward them, his own fishing rod slung over one shoulder and his expression bright with the delight of a man who had never seen disaster approaching without offering it encouragement. “Darcy, you must let Miss Lydia attempt it unaided. No one ever learned anything by being corrected before they begin.”

“That explains your fishing,” Darcy replied.

Bingley grinned. “Precisely. I learned through heroic failure.”

Lydia brightened. “That is my preferred method.”

Darcy surrendered the field. “Very well. Heroic failure.”

“Do not say it in that tone,” Lydia warned, planting her feet near the water’s edge. “You shall all be astonished.”

“I am already alarmed,” Elizabeth said.

Lydia ignored her and drew back the rod.

For one magnificent instant, Darcy believed the cast might succeed.

Then Horace lunged.

No one knew what tempted him. The movement of the line, perhaps. The flash of the float skimming across the water. Or simply a profound desire to ruin sport. Lydia had scarcely cast before Horace sprang forward, seized the trailing line in his teeth, and bolted across the bank.

“Horace!” Georgiana cried.

Lydia screamed, “He has stolen my fish!”