Page 74 of What Change Entails

“You had no fish,” Elizabeth called.

“I had possibility!”

Horace raced toward the open lawn with the line trailing behind him. Lydia clung to the rod and ran after him, skirts gathered in one hand, bonnet sliding more precariously by the second. Georgiana released the leash by necessity and followed, laughing too hard to offer command.

Bingley doubled over.

Mr. Gardiner shouted advice that no one obeyed.

Darcy ran.

He overtook Lydia first and seized the rod before she could be dragged across a patch of wet grass.

“Release it.”

“Never!”

“It is attached to the dog.”

“Then stop the dog!”

“I am attempting to stop you.”

Horace made a triumphant turn around a low shrub, tangling the fishing line in three separate branches. The rod jerked violently. Lydia lost her footing.

Darcy caught her elbow.

For one hopeful second, disaster was averted.

Then the bank crumbled beneath her slipper.

Lydia sat down hard in the mud.

Silence seized the party for half a breath.

Lydia stared at her ruined skirt.

Horace, freed from the worst of the line, trotted back with the bait still in his mouth and wagged his tail.

Georgiana covered her face with both hands.

Elizabeth made a strangled sound.

Darcy’s attention shifted from Lydia to Horace, then to the fishing rod still in his hand.

It was too much.

Laughter escaped him before he could make it respectable.

Not a polite laugh. Not the brief, controlled amusement he permitted in drawing rooms. A full laugh, helpless and undignified, the sort he had not allowed himself among guests in years.

Lydia raised her head from the mud in outrage. “Mr. Darcy!”

That made matters worse.

Bingley had nearly doubled over against a tree, one hand pressed to his ribs. Georgiana’s entire countenance shone with delight. Mr. Gardiner rested upon his fishing rod and regarded the scene with helpless disbelief while Mrs. Gardiner attempted, unsuccessfully, to conceal her amusement behind a handkerchief.

And Elizabeth—