Page 82 of What Change Entails

Elizabeth’s mouth twisted with amusement.

Darcy remained below until their candlelight disappeared.

From somewhere deep in the house, Horace barked once, then fell silent.

Chapter Ten

Rain arrived before breakfast and settled over Pemberley with determination.

Darcy woke first to wind striking the windows. He had slept later than usual. By the time he descended, the sky beyond the eastern hall had become the color of wet slate, and water streamed steadily down the glass in silver ribbons. Somewhere abovestairs a shutter banged once before a servant hurried to secure it.

Mrs. Reynolds had already ordered fires lit throughout the principal rooms.

The house smelled faintly of damp wool, beeswax, and coffee.

Darcy paused near the breakfast room doorway and listened before entering.

Lydia’s voice carried clearly.

“I maintain storms improve houses. Everyone becomes trapped together and reveals their true character.”

“That is a deeply alarming theory,” Elizabeth replied.

“It is accurate nevertheless.”

Darcy stepped inside.

Georgiana sat beside Lydia at the table, both girls bent over a plate of toast while Horace occupied disgraceful territory beneath their chairs. Mrs. Gardiner poured coffee. Mr. Gardiner examined the rain beyond the windows with the thoughtful interest of a man prevented from fishing. Bingley appeared delighted by the weather for no defensible reason.

Miss Bingley was the only one who appeared to be negatively affected.

“An entire day indoors,” she murmured after Darcy greeted the party. “How unfortunate.”

Lydia brightened instantly. “Do you dislike indoor amusements, Miss Bingley?”

“I prefer variety.”

“That is fortunate. I myself provide a great deal of it.”

Georgiana nearly choked on tea.

Darcy sat beside Mr. Gardiner before Miss Bingley could arrange otherwise.

Elizabeth raised her head then. Something in him eased at the sight of her. That had become alarming in its familiarity.

Breakfast lingered longer than usual because no one could escape outdoors. Rain drummed steadily against the windows. Wind bent the trees below the south terrace until branches swept the gravel paths. Twice servants entered carrying additional coal for the fires.

Conversation drifted easily despite Miss Bingley’s attempts to refine it into smaller channels.

She tried first with Georgiana.

“My dear,” Miss Bingley said, arranging marmalade upon her toast with needless precision, “perhaps later you might favor us with Italian pieces in the music room. Rain always improves refined music.”

Lydia buttered another piece of toast. “Rain improves naps and hot chocolate. I am uncertain it improves Italy.”

Miss Bingley continued without acknowledging her brother, who was struggling to suppress open laughter. “Mr. Darcy particularly admires your Italian masters.”

Darcy set down his coffee cup. “I admire whatever Georgiana enjoys playing.”