Page 15 of Mr. Darcy's Folly
“I have ventured out on the drier days,” Elizabeth replied with a smile. “The grounds are lovely.”
“I make it a point to tour the entire park each spring when I visit,” the colonel said. “Though I confess I have yet to do so this year.”
The door to the drawing room opened, admitting a draft of cooler air along with Mr. Darcy and Miss de Bourgh. Elizabeth noticed how they separated naturally, without awkwardness or lingering touches. More telling was how Lady Catherine’s stream of praise suddenly ceased, as though their physical presence made such matchmaking unnecessary—or perhaps impossible.
“Anne, you must not tire yourself,” Lady Catherine said instead, her previous topic forgotten. “Come and sit by the fire.”
“In a moment,” Miss de Bourgh told her mother. “Miss Bennet, we have selected two books for you. I was unsure whether you might already have read Scott’sThe Lady of the Lake.” She glanced at Mr. Darcy. “Darcy was sure that you had. So I also brought this book, which I have only just finished.”
Elizabeth glanced at the title page:The British Novelistsby Mrs. Barbauld. “Oh,” she exclaimed and looked up at Miss de Bourgh. “I have wished to read this. My father is not a novel reader and so has no intention to purchase it. Thank you.”
“Was Darcy correct about Scott’s poem?” Miss de Bourgh inquired.
“He was. Though I would enjoy reading it again. This is most kind, Miss de Bourgh, I thank you.”
“You are welcome,” Miss de Bourgh said as Colonel Fitzwilliam stood and offered her his chair.
Elizabeth stared at the books in her lap. How had Mr. Darcy known she had read Scott’s poem? She had brought it with her to Netherfield last autumn, but she had hardly the time to read it. Perhaps she had taken it to the drawing room one night, but to remember that small detail so many months later?
Her eyes moved to Mr. Darcy. He was watchingher, not Miss de Bourgh, as the latter took her seat. Elizabeth quickly looked away, but not before noting that his gaze held none of the tender solicitude he had shown his cousin. This was something altogether different, and it made her cheeks heat in a way that had nothing to do with the fire.
The morning dawned damp and grey, though the rain had stopped. Elizabeth had been restless since rising, casting longing glances out the window, and Charlotte’s quiet observation only added to her unease.
“I am sure a brisk walk will do me good,” Elizabeth declared, though she knew the damp ground was hardly inviting. “If you do not mind, Charlotte, I shall return upstairs to change.”
“But it is cold and muddy, Lizzy,” Maria exclaimed.
Mr. Collins began to protest, but Charlotte simply gave her a knowing look. “Do not stray from the paths. While it does not look like rain today, the fields will still be wet after the storm.”
Elizabeth smiled and agreed. With her cloak drawn tightly around her, she set out toward the lane that led to Rosings, but rather than take the direct path, she turned toward the lesser-used trail she enjoyed, the one that wound its way through the park’s more secluded areas.
She needed time to think.
The conversation of the previous day had not left her mind. Mr. Darcy had watched her—truly been concerned for her, she thought. And though Elizabeth had quickly looked away, her mind had not allowed her to forget his gaze. It was a look that made her shiver in a way that had nothing to do with the cold.
What could he possibly mean by it?
The wet ground occasionally squelched beneath her boots as she moved along the path, the damp air curling tendrils of hair about her face. She ought not to be out so soon after the rain, but she had spent too much time listening to Mr. Collins recount Lady Catherine’s and Miss de Bourgh’s many virtues this morning to remain indoors any longer.
She did rather enjoy Miss de Bourgh’s company. She suspected that the woman’s mind was first-rate even if her body was frail. It was a shame her mother would likely not consent to allowing a continuing friendship between them.
Lost in thought, she turned a corner and nearly collided with a figure coming from the opposite direction.
“Miss Bennet!”
It was Colonel Fitzwilliam, his greatcoat dampened from the mist, his expression shifting from surprise to amusement. “Forgive me, I did not expect to find company in this weather.”
Elizabeth steadied herself, laughing lightly. “Nor did I. I thought to steal a moment of solitude, but it seems I must surrender that plan.”
The colonel chuckled. “I shall hope that means my presence is not unwelcome.”
“Not at all.”
He fell into step beside her, their pace unhurried. “I confess I had the same thought as you. It can be tiresome, being cooped up at Rosings for so many hours together.”
She arched a brow but remained silent. Lady Catherine was his family, and she would leave any comments upon the woman’s behaviour to him.Hermother’s behaviour was often just as improper, and she did not need anyone else to tell her so.
He sighed with exaggerated suffering. “My dear Miss Bennet, I fear you underestimate the trials of my position. I am not the king on this particular chessboard, and I must move carefully lest I be sacrificed for the sake of the greater game. It is exhausting.”
