Page 19 of Strange Happenings at Longbourn (Darcy and Elizabeth Variations #11)

Elizabeth again turned her gaze towards the pond, where the morning light gently added color and layer as the sun climbed higher in the sky.

A ways out, a swan glided across a lake, silent and still, its feathers white against the murkiness of the water.

She wondered distantly if such creatures knew the weight of being watched—and whether they welcomed it, or simply endured.

She smiled faintly, then looked back at him. “Perhaps,” she said, “you and the swans have more in common than I first thought.”

He lifted one brow. “In elegance, or stubborn silence?”

She laughed. “In fierce devotion, Mr. Darcy. And the quiet dignity of it.”

He said nothing, but she saw the way his mouth curved, the smallest nod that followed.

As the elegant birds glided smoothly across the water, Elizabeth realized she was not in the least troubled by the thought of staying longer at Netherfield.

Not if it meant more moments like this—where the world narrowed to a single conversation and a man who, against all expectations, was beginning to show her his heart.

She turned back towards the pond, her cheeks warming.

She did not know what to make of Mr. Darcy's sudden openness, nor her own response to it.

But she was glad he had come. This morning felt like a gift—brief, unexpected, and strangely precious.

And though she could not say what the day would bring, she knew already it had begun with promise.

After her peaceful walk by the pond, Elizabeth returned indoors with her spirits lifted and her cheeks pleasantly flushed by the brisk morning air.

The warmth of the house wrapped around her as she shed her cloak, handing it off to a footman with a quiet word of thanks.

The sun was now higher, casting stronger light through the tall windows and revealing the soft gleam of the polished floors and the elegant floral carpets beneath her feet.

She made her way to the chamber she shared with Jane and found the maid assigned to her standing ready near the small hearth. The girl was perhaps seventeen, with light brown hair tucked neatly under a starched cap and an open, earnest face.

“Good morning, Miss Elizabeth,” she said, bobbing a quick curtsy. “My name is Nora. Mrs. Nicholls assigned me to you and Miss Bennet while you’re staying with us.”

“Good morning, Nora. I am pleased to make your acquaintance.” Elizabeth offered her a warm smile. “I should like to change before breakfast, if you please.”

“Of course, miss. Mrs. Nicholls sent up hot water not ten minutes ago.”

With quiet efficiency, Nora helped Elizabeth out of her walking gown and into a fresh morning dress of soft sage green sprigged muslin.

The bodice was high and modest, trimmed with delicate white work embroidery, and a fine ribbon of ivory silk encircled her waist and tied neatly at the back.

Her hair, wind-tossed from the garden, was re-brushed and pinned into a neat knot at her crown, with a few soft curls left to frame her face.

Elizabeth added a brooch—a simple garnet—and surveyed herself in the mirror with satisfaction.

“Thank you, Nora,” she said. “That will do very nicely.”

With a nod of thanks, she crossed the room to the adjoining door and tapped lightly before entering.

Jane sat before the mirror, her cheeks already pink with a natural glow, and her soft golden curls cascading down her back as Nora stepped forward and began pinning them with care.

“You look lovely, Jane,” Elizabeth said warmly.

Jane smiled and turned, smoothing her gown—a gown of palest blue silk with ivory lace trimming the sleeves and hem. It was elegant without being ostentatious, and it enhanced her gentle beauty to perfection.

“Do I?” Jane asked, her tone light, but her eyes searching Elizabeth’s face.

“You do,” Elizabeth said, unable to keep the teasing edge from her voice. “But your expression gives you away far more than your gown. There is a certain anticipation in your manner. Whatever could you be thinking?”

Jane laughed and looked down, adjusting her gloves. “I am thinking only of breakfast,” she said primly.

“Oh, of course. And the company at breakfast is entirely incidental.”

“You are very provoking,” Jane said, still smiling.

Elizabeth took her arm as they descended the stairs. “Perhaps. But I am also correct.”

They arrived at the breakfast room, where the Bingley sisters were already seated, along with Mr. Bingley and Mr. Darcy. Dishes of eggs, toast, ham, and preserves sat steaming on silver trays, the room filled with the warm scent of tea and butter.

As Jane and Elizabeth entered, Miss Bingley turned, her eyes narrowing slightly. “Good morning, Miss Bennet… Miss Eliza. I was beginning to think you had adopted Town hours while in the country.”

Elizabeth opened her mouth to reply, but Mr. Darcy interrupted coolly.

“On the contrary, Miss Bingley. I have it on good authority that Miss Elizabeth has been awake for several hours. She took a walk to the pond before most of us had stirred.”

Miss Bingley’s mouth thinned, clearly displeased to have her jab so effectively countered.

Elizabeth, hoping to diffuse the tension, added, “The Whooper swans have returned. They were quite majestic this morning, gliding across the pond.”

“Oh, those dreadful birds,” Miss Bingley said with a shudder. “They honk all hours and chase after anyone who gets too near. Vicious creatures.”

“I find them noble,” Mr. Bingley offered, reaching for the toast. “They are devoted companions. There is something admirable in that, do you not think?”

“They remind me of kings on the water,” Darcy said quietly, glancing towards Elizabeth. “Regal in bearing. Watchful. Loyal. ”

Mrs. Hurst leaned back in her chair and turned to her sister. “Well, Caroline, what do you propose we do today to amuse ourselves? Shall we have music, cards, or perhaps something livelier?”

Miss Bingley, who had still not entirely recovered her composure, lifted her chin. “I thought we might enjoy a few hands of cards, perhaps a musical display in the afternoon. And later, if the weather holds, a walk. Of course, that is assuming the gentlemen have no other plans. Shooting, perhaps?”

Mr. Bingley shook his head and smiled at Jane. “Not today. I find I would rather remain at Netherfield. Perhaps after a light repast, we might all walk to the folly at the edge of the estate? The view is excellent, and the day promises to be fair.”

This suggestion was met with general enthusiasm, even from Miss Bingley, who could hardly object in front of her guests. The thought of Mr. Darcy walking with Elizabeth again, however, seemed to rattle her slightly.

“Yes,” she said slowly, “that would be…pleasant. Shall we say in an hour’s time?”

“Perfect,” Bingley replied cheerfully. “We shall go in good company and return in even better spirits.”

Elizabeth sipped her tea, hiding a smile behind the rim of her cup.

The day was already unfolding in an agreeable direction—and she found herself quite eager to see what more it might bring.

She glanced across the table, her gaze meeting Mr. Darcy’s for the briefest moment.

He looked away swiftly, but not before she noticed the slight curve at the edge of his mouth.

Was it amusement? Approval? She could not say.

What she did know, however, was that something had shifted between them—quietly, imperceptibly, yet undeniably.

He no longer watched her with his unfathomable expression, but with something far more intimate and difficult to name.

“Do you suppose the folly will be dry enough to sit?” Jane asked softly, turning to Bingley with genuine curiosity.

“I am certain of it,” he replied eagerly. “Hicks, the head gardener, sent men up yesterday to sweep the leaves and debris. It should be most comfortable, provided we bring a few wraps.”

Elizabeth arched a brow. “Well, now you are spoiling us. A clean folly, an autumn walk, and charming company—whatever shall we do for an encore?”

Bingley laughed. “Do not worry, Miss Elizabeth, I am full of ideas. We shall not lack for entertainment.”

Miss Bingley gave a small sniff and delicately sliced a peach on her plate. “One does hope the weather holds. Though if the wind picks up, we may all regret going so far afield. A lady’s complexion is delicate, after all.”

“I do not find the wind troubling,” Elizabeth said lightly. “It wakes the senses. Clears the mind.”

“Indeed,” Darcy murmured, not looking at her this time, but his agreement rang clear.

Miss Bingley’s eyes darted between them, and she pursed her lips.

“Shall we bring our sketchbooks?” Mrs. Hurst asked, her tone more genial. “The view from the folly might inspire.”

“Oh yes,” said Jane. “And perhaps we might compose a few pages of verse.”

“Or a volume of Cowper,” Elizabeth added, “for those less inclined to pen their own poetry.”

“A practical suggestion,” Darcy said. “Cowper’s eye for the natural world is unparalleled. I have often thought his verses better companions than many people.”

Elizabeth smiled at that, unable to suppress the small thrill of discovering a shared admiration.

With the hour drawing near, the table began to empty.

Footmen moved quietly about the room, clearing dishes and resetting the tea service.

Miss Bingley rose and crossed to the sideboard, inspecting the silver as though it personally offended her.

Her displeasure at the gentlemen’s decision to remain at Netherfield rather than dine with the officers had clearly not dissipated.

“I suppose I must change,” she said to her sister with a sigh. “One cannot go traipsing across damp fields in satin.” With that, she glided from the breakfast room.

“I quite like my walking attire,” Elizabeth said teasingly as she followed Jane from the room. “The boots alone are sturdy and give me a sense of independence.”

“And a sense of mischief, I think,” Jane replied under her breath, smiling.

Elizabeth laughed, her steps light on the stairs.

As they returned to their rooms to ready themselves for the outing, a warmth settled in her chest. It was not just the prospect of a walk or fresh air.

It was the strange comfort of feeling known.

Not wholly, not yet, but in glimpses. And somehow, of all the company assembled at Netherfield, it was Mr. Darcy who seemed to be seeing her most clearly.

And she, in turn, found herself wishing to see more of him. Mr. Darcy had proven himself better in character than she imagined after their first meeting, and she could not be more grateful.

As she reached the landing, Elizabeth paused by the window and looked out towards the distant rise where the folly stood.

The trees swayed gently in the breeze, their bare branches etched against the pale sky.

A quiet excitement stirred within her—today promised more than just fresh air and polite conversation.