Page 21 of Strange Happenings at Longbourn (Darcy and Elizabeth Variations #11)
“She plays the pianoforte quite well, and has begun composing small pieces. She is also fond of sketching. And of walking.”
Elizabeth smiled. “A woman after my own heart.”
“She would enjoy your company very much,” he said, before he could stop himself. He meant it, of course—but the sudden awareness of how true the statement was caused something unfamiliar to stir in his chest.
A breeze rustled the dried leaves nearby, and a pair of birds chased one another above the tree line.
The folly cast a long shadow across the lawn, but the warmth of the wine and the brightness of the company countered the chill.
Conversation turned to the approaching winter, to holiday plans and family traditions, and Darcy found himself, for once, entirely content .
Not because the company was agreeable—though it was—but because of the woman beside him, whose wit and warmth continually surprised and disarmed him. The more time he spent in her presence, the more he wondered how he had ever considered her merely tolerable.
After their repast, the party settled into various activities suited to their natures.
Bingley, ever eager to prolong his time with Miss Bennet, invited her on a short stroll along the tree-lined edge of the meadow, and the two wandered off with the ease and comfort of mutual affection.
Hurst, thoroughly satisfied by the meal and fortified by the warmed wine, leaned back against one of the folly's columns and promptly drifted into a doze, his hat tipped forward to shield his eyes from the sun.
Mrs. Hurst dabbed at her forehead with a lace handkerchief and gestured towards the surrounding grove. "Caroline, a turn about the folly would suit you. The air is quite invigorating."
Miss Bingley did not immediately respond, her gaze fixed on the lingering figures of Darcy and Elizabeth. When she did rise, it was with stiff movements and an expression that made clear she felt such exertion beneath her.
Elizabeth, watching the sisters go, turned to him. "You are fortunate, sir, to possess an estate like Pemberley. I have heard nothing but admiration for it."
He nodded slightly, his tone modest. "It is a responsibility I do not take lightly. The estate provides for many. My father instilled in me the importance of stewardship, not just ownership."
"A noble sentiment," Elizabeth said, genuinely impressed. "And do you enjoy your time there?"
"Very much. There is a lake—somewhat secluded—where my cousin and I used to swim in our youth. It lies past the western woods, where the trees part and the land slopes gently down. I remember summer mornings when the mist would still cling to the surface, and we would plunge in without hesitation."
Elizabeth laughed. "I wager you still do."
A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, and he leaned a fraction closer. "I shall never admit it."
Their gazes locked. The teasing light in hers softened, and something warm and uncertain flickered behind his gaze.
The air between them changed, charged now with a fragile, breathless anticipation.
Elizabeth felt her breath catch as his head dipped ever so slightly towards hers.
Her heart pounded, the world narrowing to the closeness of their gaze, the sudden nearness of his hand beside hers on the stone bench.
And then—
"Mr. Darcy!"
Miss Bingley's voice shattered the moment like glass on stone.
She approached with rapid steps and a face flushed not from exertion but from something far sharper.
Elizabeth jerked back, her cheeks burning.
Darcy straightened, his expression a mask of polite indifference, though inwardly he cursed the interruption.
"We are thinking of returning to the house," Miss Bingley said, her voice brittle. "It grows cooler."
Before Darcy could reply, Bingley and Miss Bennet reappeared from the woods, their faces flushed with the brisk air and quiet delight.
"Oh! There you are," Bingley said cheerfully. "Darcy, you must come—we found the most curious thing among the trees. An old boundary marker perhaps, or some forgotten bit of statuary. Quite overgrown, but rather fascinating."
Miss Bingley frowned. "I am cold. I wish to return."
"The footmen can escort you," Bingley said easily. "It is not far."
Miss Bingley glanced at her sister, who rose and dusted off her skirts. "We shall return together then."
"Capital," Bingley said. "We will be just a few minutes more."
Elizabeth scrambled to her feet, brushing leaves from her skirts, and Darcy followed. As they hurried after Bingley and Miss Bennet, Elizabeth let out a small, hysterical chuckle.
"Miss Elizabeth?" Darcy asked, one brow raised.
"Forgive me," she said, her voice still tinged with laughter. "It is just—Miss Bingley’s timing is exquisite, is it not?" She looked up at him, her eyes dancing despite her blush.
Darcy gave her a cheerful smile. The warmth of the one she offered in return lingered as they vanished into the woods together.
The grove narrowed as they followed Bingley and Miss Bennet along a narrow path veiled with moss and fallen leaves.
The morning mist had lifted, but a cool hush remained under the canopy of late autumn branches.
They emerged into a small clearing dappled with light, where the object in question stood, half-hidden in vines.
It was not a boundary marker at all, Darcy saw upon closer inspection. Weathered stonework shaped like an ornate basin sat atop a crumbling pedestal. The carved faces of cherubs—some worn almost featureless—peeked from beneath the creeping ivy.
"This," he said, brushing away some leaves, "was a fountain. A small one, likely intended for a garden feature. The plumbing is gone, of course, but see here—" he pointed to a hollow in the center. "This is where the water once flowed."
Elizabeth stepped forward, crouching near the base.
Her gloved fingers traced the outline of an old flower bed.
"Look here. The ground rises in a circle.
And there are the remnants of planting rows.
Someone tended this place once. These rose bushes are feral now, but they were placed with care.
" She stood and moved to another part of the garden.
"I have never seen this clearing before," she continued, her voice filled with quiet wonder. "And I have walked these woods for years."
Bingley stood back, surveying the space with renewed curiosity. "Do you think it is worth restoring? A garden like this, hidden away—it might be charming again."
Darcy hesitated. "That depends. If you intend to remain at Netherfield long, it might merit the effort."
Bingley looked at Miss Bennet, who smiled gently at his side. He took her hand without hesitation. "I cannot imagine a better place to be than here, in this moment."
Darcy said nothing but felt a slow warmth build in his chest as he glanced at Elizabeth.
She knelt beside the ruined fountain, a lock of hair brushing her cheek, her expression alive with interest and discovery.
He could not help but wonder if, like this forgotten corner of the woods, something quietly beautiful was being unearthed between them, slowly taking root in the most unexpected soil.
A breeze stirred the fallen leaves around them, carrying the scent of damp earth and faded roses. Elizabeth stood again, brushing her skirts, and looked around with the air of someone taking in a hidden treasure.
"What do you suppose this place was used for?" she asked, her gaze still roaming. "A private retreat? A lover’s meeting spot? Or perhaps a lady’s bower for reading and quiet?"
"It may have served all those purposes," Darcy replied. "I agree with your conjecture that the remnants suggest it was once carefully tended. Someone valued it."
Elizabeth smiled, eyes sparkling. "Then let us be glad you found it again, Mr. Bingley. Perhaps it is not yet done being useful."
As they stood in companionable silence, a flock of birds burst from the nearby trees, their wings flapping against the quiet.
Darcy turned towards the sun filtering through the branches and let the peace of the moment settle deep into his bones.
Everything felt softer here—the light, the voices, the emotions unspoken yet keenly felt .
And for once, he did not fight it. Nor did he wish to do anything of the sort. In fact, Darcy was very certain he wished to pursue Elizabeth in hopes of making her his wife.