Page 67 of The Briar Bargain
Miss Bingley's expression tightened. "One must protect one's property, and when a valuable item disappears, it is hardly unreasonable to suspect—"
"Reasonable suspicion must rest on evidence," Elizabeth interrupted, her voice calm but unwavering. "In this case, your fan may have been mislaid, is that not so? I have known Susan and her family for years. I wouldstake my own reputation on her honesty, for I have never known her to take so much as a candle stub without permission. I will not believe her guilty of such an offence."
Miss Bingley, forced to mask her pique beneath a brittle smile, inclined her head regally. "Well. I suppose that if you are willing to hazard your own reputation upon her honesty, then I must let the matter rest . . . for now."
Elizabeth felt the ominous weight of those final words but was grateful to have spared Susan from being turned out.
As Miss Bingley released Susan and swept away, Elizabeth found herself desperately longing for the sanctuary of Longbourn's familiar chambers. She needed to be where she was beyond the reach of Miss Bingley's malicious attentions.
It was this need to disappear, more than any particular plan, that led her to push open a tall, glass-paned door at the end of a hall she had not previously traversed. The door opened onto what was unmistakably a conservatory, and Elizabeth stepped inside.
What a treasure it was.
The heat wrapped around her, dispelling the lingering chill from the house. The air was filled with the heady perfume of orange and lemon blossoms. Overhead, sunlight streamed through the high glass panes, casting dappled patterns across the tiled floor and the glossy leaves of carefully tended plants.
Elizabeth let the door fall shut behind her and stood for a moment in the stillness, suspended between the familiar world she had left behind and the unexpected one she had just discovered.
The conservatory was a long rectangle at the back of the house that jutted out from the main building. There were windows on three sides, and the interior was clearly maintained with care, though it possessed the slightly overgrown quality of a space that was tended rather than strictlymanaged. Orange and lemon trees grew in large ceramic pots placed on small, wheeled platforms, their branches heavy with fruit. Herbs sprawled cheerfully from their containers, filling the air with the sharp sweetness of lavender and rosemary. In one corner, someone had cultivated a small kitchen garden, complete with trailing vines and leafy vegetables. A collection of watering vessels sat arranged on a wooden bench in the corner, copper cans gleaming dully in the filtered light.
A vine of ambitious proportions had taken enthusiastic possession of a stack of empty pots, its vigorous growth transforming what had once been an orderly arrangement into something resembling a verdant sculpture. The vine was heavy with clusters of small, green grapes, its success outgrowing the slender support of the stacked pots beneath. The wind had picked up again, though there was no rain accompanying it. It moaned against the glass overhead and made the iron frame shudder. The tower of pots was listing to one side at the top, and Elizabeth could see it was only a matter of time before the whole arrangement came tumbling down.
At Longbourn, their kitchen garden was maintained with great care under Jane and Cook’s watchful eyes, every plant relegated to its proper place. Here there was a vine that had clearly never received such instruction, and Elizabeth found herself oddly charmed by it.
She stepped closer, eyeing the topmost pot, which leaned precariously over the one beneath it. "This will not do," she murmured, bracing herself and reaching up carefully. The ceramic was cool and damp beneath her fingers, and the leaves on the vine brushed her cheek. Gently, she lifted the top pot, testing its weight before easing it free.
It was heavier than it looked, and the pile was higher than she was tall. She staggered slightly but held firm, determined to split the tottering tower into two smaller, steadier arrangements before disaster struck. The vinerustled around her as she worked, its tendrils catching at her sleeves as though protesting this reorganisation.
"There," she said with satisfaction, placing the first pot safely on the ground. She surveyed what remained and thought that moving three more pots would suffice. She lifted her arms and pushed herself onto her tiptoes once more.
The vines clung more stubbornly to the second pot than the first, its base snarled in a rebellious knot of greenery. Elizabeth shook out her arms and then tried again, giving it a determined tug.
It came loose with a suddenness that caught her unprepared, and she staggered back, the weight of the pot now above her head and slightly behind her as she struggled not to drop it or to lose her footing. Overburdened, she staggered backward across the tiled floor, arms straining, skirts swishing, the pot wobbling ominously overhead. Her feet scrambled for traction, but she was like a cat on polished marble.
Just as a fall and a broken pot seemed inevitable, a firm hand closed around the lip of the pot, steadying it, while another was placed at the small of her back, halting her fall. Elizabeth exhaled in surprise and looked up.
Into Mr. Darcy’s face.
Her heart nearly stopped beating. His face was close to hers, far too close, and his expression inexplicably calm given the near catastrophe she had just created.
"Mr. Darcy," she managed, her heart picking up and beginning to beat rather faster than normal. "That was most . . . timely of you. Why are you here?"
He saw her right and then set the pot down on the floor. He sounded flustered. "I was looking for you. Susan, the maid? She thought she had seen you enter the conservatory. Are you hurt?"
"Not at all, thanks to your quick action." She nodded at the still-swaying tower of pots. "Though I fear my attempt at imposing order has proven rather more difficult than anticipated."
He followed her gaze to the precarious arrangement, then back to her face, and something that might have been amused exasperation replaced the concern in his expression. “That stack is higher than you are tall. Why did you not simply ask for help? Or better still, ask one of the gardeners to do it for you?"
"Well, I can seenowthat I ought to have," she agreed with rueful honesty.
To her surprise, Mr. Darcy picked up the rescued pot and moved to examine the remaining tower. She shivered a little when he removed his warm hand from her back.
He placed the pot he held atop the first one she had put on the floor before turning to study the others. Without a word, he began to unwind the vine from the uppermost pot.
“You appear as though you have had some practice with vines, Mr. Darcy,” she said in a vain attempt to ease her embarrassment.
"More than you might expect," he replied as he worked. "We do not grow grapes at Pemberley, but I once assisted my cousin Anne with an experiment in my aunt’s conservatory involving vines, trellises, and an irate tortoise." He turned his head over his shoulder to look at her. “Do you know they hiss when agitated? Quite startled me.”
“You had a tortoise?”
