Page 77 of What Change Entails

“Yes,” he said, surprising himself by not denying it. “I believe I am.”

Mrs. Reynolds took one towel back from him because, apparently, even good spirits did not qualify a master to distribute linens correctly. “Then perhaps you should remain out of the laundry arrangements.”

“Very wise.”

He left her smiling and went toward his study, intending to address estate letters before luncheon.

He did not read the first letter.

Outside the window, Elizabeth crossed the lawn with Mrs. Gardiner. Lydia must have been handed over to maids, for Elizabeth’s gown remained clean, though she carried one muddy glove pinched between two fingers. Georgiana trailed behind with Horace, who was wholly unrepentant. Elizabeth spoke over her shoulder, and Georgiana chuckled again.

She was herself, and perhaps that was the difficulty. Hertfordshire had given him glimpses of her in society, sharpened by wit and guarded by prejudice. Kent had shown him anger, intelligence, and a courage that had left him bleeding in places pride had long protected.

Here he saw all of that joined to kindness. Play. Mischief. Care for her family, even when exasperated by them. Fondness for her aunt and uncle. Patience with Georgiana. Laughter offered without calculation.

He loved her more now than he had when he proposed.

The admission did not arrive as revelation. It had been present every morning when he found himself listening for her step, every evening when he arranged his place in a room with too much concern for where she sat. It waited in the library when he selected books she might enjoy and then chastised himself for presumption. It was there in the foolish satisfaction of seeing her at his breakfast table.

Darcy set down the unopened letter.

This was no passing renewal of attachment. It had deepened while he had been trying to behave well enough that she might one day remember him without contempt.

A knock came at the study door.

“Come,” he said, too quickly.

Bingley entered with his usual absence of ceremony. “There you are. Caroline is in a taking.”

“That is not unusual.”

“No, but this one has direction.” Bingley dropped into the chair opposite the desk. “She says Miss Lydia requires guidance, Miss Elizabeth is encouraging impropriety by laughing at it, and Georgiana ought not to be placed under such influence.”

Darcy’s hand closed around the arm of his chair.

Bingley’s face sobered. “I thought you should know.”

“Did she say this before Georgiana?”

“No. Before Louisa. Louisa told me because she is tired of hearing it.”

Darcy rose and went to the window.

Across the lawn, Elizabeth and Mrs. Gardiner had disappeared from view. Georgiana stood near the rose garden now, speaking with Lydia, who had evidently changed gowns and recovered enough to gesture dramatically. Horace sat between them, tail sweeping the gravel.

“Miss Bingley is mistaken,” Darcy said.

“Yes, I rather thought so.” Bingley tapped one finger against his knee. “Miss Lydia is lively, to be sure. But Georgiana looks happier than I have seen her in some time.”

“She is happier.”

“And Miss Elizabeth?” Bingley regarded him with unusual steadiness. “I am not blind, Darcy.”

“No,” Darcy said after a moment. “I suppose you are not.”

“Caroline sees it too.” There was a word of caution in Bingley’s tone.

That, Darcy already knew. Miss Bingley had presumed upon a connection for too long, and Darcy had left it unchecked out of respect for his friendship with Bingley. A mistake, he now realized.