Page 41 of The Briar Bargain (The Rom Com Collection #3)

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 vine rustled 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 see now that 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?”

“My aunt did. She insists to this day that every proper estate ought to have tortoises in the conservatory.”

Elizabeth laughed. “How old were you when this experiment took place?”

He resumed removing the vine without breaking it. “About twelve, I suppose. ”

The image of the precisely proper Mr. Darcy being afraid of a tortoise was so at odds with his usual dignified demeanour that the image quite entranced her.

Elizabeth crossed her arms and gave him a mock-critical look.

“So, to review, you are excessively tall, have gardening experience, and possess a familiarity with belligerent reptiles. Mr. Darcy, are you attempting to impress me?”

He glanced back at her with a faint smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "Is it working?"

"That remains to be seen," she managed, proud of how steady her voice sounded despite the peculiar flutter in her chest. "I shall require additional demonstrations of your skill."

He grunted. “No tortoises here, I fear.” He cleared the uppermost pot. “Will you steady the base while I lift this pot out?”

Elizabeth was pleased to do so, and the third pot was lifted and placed on the new stack without issue.

“One more, I think?” he asked, glancing at her.

She nodded. “I thought so too.”

Elizabeth found herself studying Mr. Darcy’s face as he worked, noting the concentration he brought to even this simple task, the careful attention to detail that ensured not a single grape cluster was damaged in the process.

“Why did you not ask a gardener to do this?” she asked. “You suggested that I could have asked one.”

He chuckled. “For two reasons. First, I suspect that once you set your mind to a task, very little would dissuade you from completing it. And second, as a gentleman farmer, I should never hear the end of it if I called in a gardener to rescue me from a vine.”

He cleared the fourth pot in short order and set it on the others.

Elizabeth smiled. She could not help it. A finished task always brightened her outlook .

"There," she said with satisfaction, brushing a few stray leaves from her skirt. "And not a single grape harmed in the process."

"Indeed," Mr. Darcy agreed, though when she looked up, she found his attention was focused on her. "Though I confess I am more concerned with casualties among the gardeners than the grapes."

The gentle concern in his voice sent warmth spreading through her chest. "No casualties to report, thanks to your intervention. Though I suspect my pride may have suffered some damage."

"Your pride?" He looked genuinely puzzled by this admission.

"I am not typically a woman who requires rescuing," she explained. "And yet you have rescued me twice."

Something shifted in his expression—a softening that made him look younger and considerably less formidable than usual. "Perhaps," he said quietly, "pride is less important than safety. You can do many things very well, Miss Elizabeth. But it is not necessary to do them alone."

Elizabeth looked away, pretending to busy herself with the trailing edge of the vine, though her thoughts had turned inward.

Other than Jane, she had always managed things on her own, because if she did not, they would simply not be done.

She had never expected help, let alone invited it, and the idea of someone stepping forward without hesitation, simply because he wished to assist her, unsettled her in a pleasant way.

For the first time, she wondered what it might be like to have someone at her side.

Not out of obligation or accident, but out of choice.

"I suppose," she said lightly, breaking the spell before it could grow too intense, "that next you will offer to rescue small children from a rampaging goose."

Mr. Darcy considered this with the same gravity he applied to everything. "If it shall aid my cause, I shall watch out for angry waterfowl. "

She laughed again, properly this time. There was something liberating about this easy exchange, this playful conversation that felt so different from the careful verbal fencing of their earlier interactions.

"Your cause?" she asked, unable to resist the invitation to continue their banter.

"The cause of proving myself useful," he replied. "I find I have developed a particular interest in it."

Before Elizabeth could respond to this intriguing statement, a delighted squeak from the doorway interrupted their conversation.

"Oh!" Jane stood at the entrance to the conservatory, her cheeks pink with what might have been embarrassment or pleasure or some combination of both.

"Forgive me, I did not mean to interrupt.

Mr. Bingley mentioned you might be in here, Lizzy, and I thought perhaps you had discovered something interesting .

. ." Her voice trailed away, her eyes moving between Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy.

Elizabeth waved her over with an airy gesture, determined not to appear flustered by the interruption, though she was acutely aware that her cheeks had grown warm. "Nonsense, Jane. Mr. Darcy has saved me from a fall, that is all."

Jane looked at the two of them, the vines that were now wrapped carefully up the trellis, and the two stacks of pots behind them. Elizabeth was aware it would take no more than a moment for Jane to understand what had happened. She had a good deal of experience with such matters to help her along.

“ Lizzy ,” Jane said with a sigh and turned to the man standing beside Elizabeth. “Thank you, Mr. Darcy.”

Elizabeth detected a sort of sisterly satisfaction in Jane’s voice .

Mr. Darcy gave Jane a formal bow that was somewhat at odds with the informal nature of their recent activities. "It was my pleasure, Miss Bennet."

Elizabeth, suddenly conscious that she had been alone with Mr. Darcy for a rather lengthy period, felt it wise to suggest a retreat. "Shall we retire to dress for dinner?” Not that they had many gowns available for dinner. But it was all she could think of to extricate herself.

Once they were in the passage and Mr. Darcy had excused himself, Jane turned to Elizabeth with an expression that spoke of barely contained interest.

"You let him help you," Jane said softly, her voice full of gentle observation rather than accusation.

Elizabeth shrugged, affecting a nonchalance she did not entirely feel. "He is taller than I am."

"That has not stopped you before," Jane reminded her, though her smile suggested she was enjoying herself. "And was there a great deal of vine management required?"

"The vine was remarkably determined," Elizabeth replied. "It had wound itself around half the conservatory. Someone needed to intervene before it achieved complete botanical dominion." She paused. "How did you know I was here? Mr. Bingley was in conference and could not have seen me."

"Oh, I did not wish to embarrass Mr Darcy. Mr. Bingley is no longer in his meeting, and saw his friend wandering this way in search of you. I suppose he puzzled out that you would be found together." Jane laughed softly.

The gentle comment struck closer to home than Elizabeth entirely liked.

It was true that she had developed the habit of independence through necessity rather than choice, and that she more often preferred to manage challenges herself rather than risk being disappointed by others' efforts or availability.

She was enjoying having a friend to help her.

"You do not often allow others to help you," Jane said knowingly.

"Perhaps," Elizabeth said carefully, "I am learning that some tasks are more efficiently completed with the right sort of help."

Jane squeezed her arm affectionately. "Perhaps indeed. And perhaps Mr. Darcy is learning the same lesson."

Elizabeth glanced at her sister, noting the smug expression that suggested Jane had seen rather more than the mere management of horticultural difficulties. "What do you mean by that?"

"Only that he appeared quite content to be of service," Jane replied. "And that such contentment is not something I have previously observed in his manner."

They had reached the staircase that led to their chambers, and Elizabeth paused with her hand on the banister, considering Jane's words.

It was true that Mr. Darcy's behaviour in the conservatory had been notably different from his usual formal courtesy.

There had been an ease about him, a willingness to engage in playful conversation that spoke of someone who was genuinely comfortable in her company.

"He has been different lately," she admitted slowly. "More approachable. Less formidable."

"Has he?" Jane's tone suggested this observation came as no surprise to her, but she was gracious enough not to remind Elizabeth that she had said as much days ago. "And how do you find this change?"

Elizabeth considered the question as they climbed the stairs together.

How did she find it? The Mr. Darcy who had insulted her at the assembly seemed like a different person entirely from the man who had crouched beside her to untangle vines.

The transformation was remarkable, and she was not entirely certain when it had occurred or what had prompted it .

"I find it . . ." she paused, searching for the right words. "Unexpected. But not unwelcome."

Jane's smile was soft and knowing. "I am glad to hear it."

As they reached the landing, Elizabeth found herself reflecting on the afternoon's events with a mixture of pleasure and confusion.

The easy camaraderie she had shared with Mr. Darcy in the conservatory felt significant in ways she was not yet ready to examine too closely.

But Jane's gentle observation echoed in her mind: she had let him help her.

More than that, she had enjoyed it. And yet . . .

Her steps slowed as she approached her door, that troubling little whisper returning, as insistent as ever: what if his concern was only a fleeting kindness? If friendship was all he could offer, she, in her foolishness, had best not mistake his gentlemanly actions for affection.

Elizabeth drew in a steadying breath, her fingers tightening on the knob. She would not be the girl who imagined tender feelings where there were none. Whatever charm lay in their time together this afternoon, she must not let her hopes outrun his intentions.

Better to be wary now than heartbroken later.