Page 26 of The Slipper Scandal
"Miss Bennet," Mr. Darcy said, gesturing towards the path with formal precision, "shall we?"
Elizabeth nodded. He did not hold out his arm, for which she was grateful. "Thank you, Mr. Darcy."
“Colonel Fitzwilliam,” she heard Arabella say warmly, “it has been quite some time.”
“Far too long, Miss Abernathy,” he replied warmly. “I have often recalled our conversations with pleasure.”
Arabella’s response was muted as they turned along one of Hyde Park’s winding paths.
"Your cousin seems most agreeable," Elizabeth observed as they strolled down the path, watching a bevy of swans glide across the Serpentine. Would that she could glide away with them.
Mr. Darcy glanced back briefly. "Fitzwilliam has always possessed a talent for making himself liked."
"A most useful skill," Elizabeth replied, unable to resist adding, "though unfortunately not a universal one."
A faint crease appeared between Mr. Darcy's brows. "Indeed."
They walked in silence for a time, the only sound the murmur of conversation occurring behind them. Elizabeth found herself acutely aware of the substantial height difference between them; she had to tilt her head to observe his profile, which she did with the critical eye of a naturalist studying a particularly perplexing specimen.
"You are unusually quiet, Miss Bennet," Mr. Darcy said at last.
"I was admiring the scenery," she replied. "Though I confess, London's parks, while elegant, cannot compare to the beauty of Hertfordshire."
"You prefer the country, then?"
"I do. The air is cleaner, the walks more varied, and one is less likely to be pulled under the wheels of a racing phaeton."
A hint of a smile touched his lips. "A persuasive argument."
Elizabeth was momentarily taken aback by this subtle sign of appreciation for her little jest. Perhaps the fish incident had knocked some semblance of personality into him.
"And you, sir?" she asked. "Do you prefer town or country?"
"My estate in Derbyshire is where I am most content," he replied, with a warmth she had not heard in his voicebefore. "London has its advantages, of course, but there is a particular quality to the light in Derbyshire that cannot be found elsewhere."
Elizabeth found herself unexpectedly touched by this glimpse of genuine feeling. "You speak as a poet might, Mr. Darcy."
He looked almost embarrassed. "Hardly that. I merely appreciate what I am fortunate enough to experience."
Colonel Fitzwilliam must have made another jest, for Arabella laughed again, the happy sound carrying on the cold breeze. Elizabeth glanced over to see them lingering by a flowering shrub, the colonel plucking a sprig of early blooms and presenting it to Arabella with a gallant bow.
"Is your cousin a flirt?" Elizabeth observed. She would not wish Arabella to be hurt.
Mr. Darcy followed her gaze. "Not in any ungentlemanly way, but Fitzwilliam is a second son. He has had to cultivate charm as a matter of necessity."
"While you, as master of . . .”
“Pemberley.”
“While you have been spared such labours?" The words escaped before Elizabeth could temper them.
To her surprise, Mr. Darcy did not look offended. "I am aware that I do not always . . . that is to say, my manner can be . . ."
"Yes?" Elizabeth prompted, genuinely interested to hear how he would characterise himself.
"Reserved," he said finally. "I was taught from an early age that dignity and restraint were the true qualities of a gentleman."
"There is reserve, Mr. Darcy, and then there is frost," Elizabeth replied. "I believe you may occasionally confuse the two."
