Page 95 of What Change Entails

Darcy looked over his shoulder. His sister appeared lighter outdoors. Color touched her cheeks. She was speaking without prompting, without hesitation, without first measuring whether Miss Bingley might approve.

Bingley and Mr. Gardiner joined Georgiana, Lydia, and Elizabeth in the first carriage. Darcy beckoned for Harding to take a place in the second, ensuring he would not be left alone with Miss Bingley.

He had not understood how much Georgiana was not herself around Miss Bingley until recently. The change appeared everywhere. And now that he saw it, he could not forgive himself for not noticing sooner.

Miss Bingley resumed speaking beside him. “…Miss Carson wrote last week regarding the dreadful decline of standards in Bath society—”

Darcy answered where politeness required, though his attention wandered continually toward the carriage ahead. Elizabeth sat beside Mr. Gardiner, listening while he bantered with Lydia and spoke kindly to Miss Darcy. Several times her attention drifted back toward Darcy during the discussion. Once their eyes met directly.

He lost the thread of Mr. Gardiner’s sentence.

Ridiculous.

He had faced magistrates, attorneys, stewards, and half the aristocracy of England with greater composure than he managed under one brief look from Elizabeth Bennet.

Miss Bingley noticed that too.

Of course she did.

Why did he care so much what Miss Bingley thought? After musing on it, Darcy realized that knowing the lady’s thoughts helped him act to protect those he cared about; Georgiana, Bingley… Elizabeth.

The road wound between low stone walls and green hills softened by late summer haze. Villagers greeted Darcy as they passed. He stopped more than once to exchange words regarding livestock, repairs, or families. Elizabeth observed each interaction with unnerving attentiveness.

They stopped at the tenant cottages. Everyone left the carriages—Miss Bingley with some reluctance; an elderly woman intercepted Darcy before he reached the gate.

“Mr. Darcy, sir, the new roof held through the storm beautifully.”

“I am glad of it, Mrs. Porter.” He removed his gloves. “And your grandson?”

“Walking again. Though climbing where he ought not.”

“That sounds promising.”

Mrs. Porter gave an indulgent snort. “You say that because you are not his grandmother.”

Miss Bingley withdrew, plainly at a loss in conversations involving leaking roofs and grandchildren.

Elizabeth approached.

Darcy became increasingly conscious of her presence near the garden wall while he spoke with Mrs. Porter. Her skirts stirred against the tall grass whenever the breeze shifted. Sunlight glimmered along the blue ribbon tied beneath her bonnet. Several village children had abandoned all pretense of decorum in favor of following Horace about the lawn, and Miss Lydia encouraged matters shamelessly by assisting them in throwing sticks for the dog.

“Lydia!” Georgiana protested, her voice breaking with amusement. “He shall bowl someone into the stream.”

“He attacks people out of affection,” Lydia declared. “That is practically a compliment.”

“That improves the situation very little.”

Darcy glanced back toward them in time to witness Horace thunder through a shallow run of water and drench Miss Lydia from hem to knees. She gave an outraged squeal and attempted to retaliate by splashing him with her shoe.

Darcy heard his sister before he saw her. Her laughter carried across the lawn, bright enough to unsettle every orderly thought he had possessed that morning.

Georgiana bent forward, incapable of preserving any dignity whatsoever. She pressed one hand against her mouth in a failed attempt at restraint. Her eyes shone with delight. When she caught Darcy watching her, the laughter softened but did not disappear.

“You ought to rescue your dog, Mr. Darcy,” she managed.

“My dog?” he repeated.

“He clearly belongs to you. He possesses your talent for creating havoc while appearing perfectly respectable.”