Page 22 of Strange Happenings at Longbourn (Darcy and Elizabeth Variations #11)
Chapter Sixteen
Elizabeth awoke the next morning with the memory of the previous day’s events lingering like the last golden rays of sunset.
The image of Mr. Darcy leaning close, his voice low with amusement, and the gentle way their eyes had met before Miss Bingley’s voice shattered the moment—it played over and over in her mind.
Her face warmed just recalling it. That they had nearly kissed was something both thrilling and startling, and though they had spoken little after their return, the memory remained sharp and bright, like a flame catching at the edges of her thoughts.
Feeling an unusual flutter of anticipation, Elizabeth rose and prepared for a walk, hoping she might encounter Mr. Darcy again.
She chose a slightly finer gown than the day before, still practical for walking, but made of a soft gray wool with delicate blue sprigs embroidered along the hem and sleeves.
She styled her hair herself, parting it neatly and securing the dark curls in a twist at the nape of her neck, with a few loose tendrils to soften the effect.
A deep blue spencer, her warmest, completed the ensemble along with sturdy walking boots and a simple bonnet.
When she reached the base of the stairs, Mrs. Nicholls met her with a warm smile and another neat bundle wrapped in cloth.
“Good morning, Miss Elizabeth. Liza tells me you enjoyed your little breakfast yesterday, so we have prepared another. There are a few honeyed scones and some dried currants today. The air is quite brisk, so do not stay out too long.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Nicholls. It was a delight yesterday, and I have no doubt today’s offering will be just as welcome.”
Elizabeth made her way out through the side entrance and into the gardens.
A thin veil of mist hovered over the lawns, and the gravel paths glittered faintly with dew.
The air was sharp and fresh, the kind that made one’s cheeks rosy and breath visible in short puffs.
The formal gardens lay quiet and neat, their geometric patterns trimmed for the colder season.
Statues and urns stood sentinel among bare hedges and clipped boxwood, and the last of the autumn roses hung their heads beneath the weight of frost.
She was halfway down a winding path lined with yews when she heard footsteps approaching from the other side. Mr. Darcy emerged from the shadows, his tall figure distinct in a dark coat and hat.
“Good morning, Miss Bennet,” he said with a bow.
“Good morning, Mr. Darcy,” she replied with a smile. Her heart fluttered again, but she managed to keep her tone light. “It seems we are creatures of similar habits.”
“Indeed. I find early mornings the best time for reflection—and occasionally, pleasant company.”
They had only just begun to walk side by side when another voice interrupted.
“Ah! There you are!” came Miss Bingley’s breathless cry. She rounded a hedge, looking flushed and flustered. “What an invigorating morning it is! I find the bracing air does wonders for the complexion, do you not agree?”
Elizabeth turned to greet her, noting with concealed amusement that Miss Bingley’s hair was slightly askew beneath her bonnet and her gloves mismatched. Her walking gown, pale silk with little protection from the elements, suggested she had dressed in haste .
“A fine morning, indeed,” Elizabeth said politely. She could not help but wonder if Miss Bingley had ever dressed without the aid of her maid.
Mr. Darcy offered the lady a brief nod, but his eyes flicked towards Elizabeth again, as if to silently acknowledge the awkwardness of the interruption.
As the three continued down the path, Elizabeth felt a mixture of speculation and trepidation.
Miss Bingley’s sudden interest in morning walks did not bode well for quiet conversation, but she could not help feeling secretly pleased—Mr. Darcy had chosen to walk with her.
That was a truth Miss Bingley would not easily ignore.
As they walked, Miss Bingley launched into an endless recitation of mutual acquaintances in Town, pausing to remark— sweetly —that Elizabeth must find it difficult not to know anyone of the first circles.
Mr. Darcy interjected, polite but firm, that Miss Elizabeth’s acquaintance was more than sufficient, and her company exceedingly agreeable.
They were spared further barbs when a small stray cat emerged from the hedge, winding itself around Elizabeth’s ankles.
Miss Bingley recoiled, declaring cats vile creatures that made her sneeze.
At her request, Elizabeth scooped up the animal, cradling it with a smile.
Mr. Darcy offered to accompany her to the stable, where perhaps another cat could keep it company.
Miss Bingley, sneezing violently, waved them away.
When out of earshot, Mr. Darcy said, “I ought not to find amusement in Miss Bingley’s situation, but I cannot help it.”
Elizabeth laughed. “Nor can I. I only wonder at her early rising.”
“She persists, though I have told her plainly I have no interest,” he said. “I made the mistake of telling her once that I thought your eyes were fine. Now she seeks to diminish you at every turn.”
Elizabeth stopped, meeting his gaze. “And do you truly hold that opinion?”
“Yes,” he said, his voice low. “And there are many more things I admire—your wit, your spirit, your kindness, and the way you look at the world with both intelligence and warmth.”
Elizabeth knew not how to reply. His words seemed to reach straight through her layers of composure, warming her inside and out until she could feel the heat blooming in her cheeks.
“You leave me speechless, Mr. Darcy, a state that not many can claim to have inflicted upon me. You must congratulate yourself.”
Mr. Darcy’s laugh, low and rich, was precisely the reaction she had hoped for, and the sound seemed to linger between them as they continued to the stable.
The master there welcomed the stray warmly, and the little creature wasted no time in making itself comfortable in a pile of straw, curling into a contented ball.
“Not to worry, miss,” a groom assured her, “I shall see it is well-fed.”
They left the building by a quieter path, their steps unhurried, the stillness between them companionable. “I confess I am not eager to return,” Elizabeth said at last. “Miss Bingley will surely be sour.”
“Do her words cause you much pain?” he asked, his expression shadowed with concern.
She lifted one shoulder. “She is not so unlike others who have attempted to make me feel inferior. Miss Bingley sees me as competition, though you have tried to disabuse her of her misconceptions. It was plain she did not wish for Jane and me to stay. Indeed, I believe she wished to strangle her brother for extending the invitation.”
“Bingley has always had an impulsive disposition. I would wager he would decamp to London in a trice if something there caught his fancy. Fortunately, Hertfordshire is exactly where he wishes to be.”
“He will not abandon—“Elizabeth broke off, biting her lip. Alarm pricked at her, though she could not say why.
Mr. Darcy’s reply came without hesitation. “No, I believe Bingley will remain at Netherfield Park. Though it is unofficial, he courts your sister. I have never seen him so enamored, so desirous of a lady’s company.”
Elizabeth’s relief was immediate and profound, though she tried not to let it show too plainly. Jane’s heart was tender, and the thought of it being broken was intolerable.
They finally turned back towards the house, entering through the main doors and climbing the stairs to the guest wing.
There, they parted ways, each going to their own chamber to change for breakfast. The bundle from Mrs. Nicholls remained in her pocket, untouched due to Miss Bingley’s interruption.
Still shaking her head in amusement, Elizabeth called for Nora to assist her.
Elizabeth entered the breakfast room to the sound of Miss Bingley lamenting, in tones of exaggerated suffering, about the stray cat.
Mr. Darcy, seated at the far end of the table with a newspaper in hand, glanced up as Elizabeth walked in.
She caught his eye and, with the briefest lift of her brows and a quick, conspiratorial twist of her mouth, made a face that nearly undid his composure.
He let out a short, involuntary snort of amusement and quickly disguised it with a cough .
Elizabeth moved to the sideboard and began to fill her plate with eggs, ham, and a warm roll.
The comforting aromas of freshly baked bread and spiced apples filled the air, mingling with the faint scent of coffee.
She had just reached for a spoonful of fruit, the syrup glistening in the morning light, when Miss Bingley’s voice, sharp and cool, cut across the room.
“I cannot imagine,” she said, with a delicate shiver of distaste, “why anyone would wish to handle such a wild beast. It is quite beneath the dignity of a lady.”
Elizabeth set down the serving spoon with deliberate care, her expression perfectly composed. Before she could answer, Mr. Darcy lowered his newspaper and replied evenly, “The cat was perfectly adorable. Perhaps I shall gift one to Georgiana for Christmas.”
Elizabeth turned to him with a smile that held both amusement and warmth. “One of Longbourn’s mouse masters recently had kittens. You might choose from there. They are excellent hunters, though I imagine Miss Darcy would prefer one of the gentler sort.”
Miss Bingley’s lips tightened, a hint of annoyance in her eyes. “And how is dear Georgiana? She must be nearly as tall as I am now.”
“She is about Miss Elizabeth’s height,” Darcy answered without hesitation, his gaze briefly flicking towards Elizabeth.