Page 45 of The Briar Bargain (The Rom Com Collection #3)
She watched the maid shake out a few gowns which were not too badly wrinkled, considering their journey. After making arrangements to have them pressed, Elizabeth dismissed the maid and sank into the chair by the window.
Pressing her hands to her warm cheeks, she stared out at the grounds of Netherfield, taking in the muddy patches that were drying and the debris that the grounds-men were even now clearing away.
What was it about Mr. Darcy that made a perfectly ordinary conversation affect her like lightning striking nearby?
Two days. In two days, she would return to Longbourn, to her familiar life and familiar activities.
She would resume her walks through the countryside if the weather permitted, read, sew, play the pianoforte, help the tenants, her sisters, her mother, even her father.
Mr. Darcy would return to his London life, or perhaps to his estate in Derbyshire.
She might see him when she visited Jane and Mr. Bingley, should he propose, but one day Mr. Darcy would marry.
Would she be able to be in company with him then ?
Later that afternoon, Elizabeth was reading her book in the main drawing room, where the family and their guests had gathered in the comfortable manner that had become routine during their unexpectedly extended stay.
The atmosphere was surprisingly companionable.
Mr. Hurst, of all people, was not only sober but engaged, offering quiet suggestions to Mrs. Hurst as she worked on a drawing.
Elizabeth had never seen the couple so at ease with one another, and the sight gave her a peculiar feeling.
Perhaps the enforced intimacy of their circumstances had worked some small magic on them all.
Miss Bingley occupied her usual place near the window, her embroidery hoop balanced on her knee as she worked tiny, perfect stitches in her peacock pattern.
She had been uncharacteristically quiet since the arrival of the letters, though whether that was from relief at the prospect of their guests' departure or some other cause, Elizabeth could not determine.
Mr. Bingley and Mr. Darcy had spent the remainder of the morning riding to the northern bridge and inspecting the park.
They now entered bearing newspapers—the first they had received since before the storm—though Mr. Bingley quickly abandoned them in favour of drawing Jane into conversation about the weather's effects on the estate.
Elizabeth watched her sister's face brighten as she listened to Bingley's animated descriptions of flooded fields and damaged hedgerows and felt a familiar surge of protective affection.
Jane deserved such attention, such obvious admiration.
Mr. Darcy hesitated near the grouping of chairs, a single newspaper now folded precisely in half and held between his arm and side. Elizabeth felt his glance before he approached, and she set aside her own book, a volume of essays that had been providing moderate entertainment, to turn to him.
"Miss Elizabeth," he said quietly, settling into the chair beside hers. "I trust you found your correspondence from home satisfactory? "
"Very much so, thank you. Though I confess I am curious about the repairs to the main bridge. Mr. Bingley mentioned two days. Do you think that estimate reliable?"
Mr. Darcy glanced at their host, who was still deep in conversation with Jane.
"Bingley is generally sanguine about such things, but Mr. Linton seemed confident.
The foundation stones were not displaced, which was our primary concern.
It is more a matter of clearing debris, reinforcing the supports, and replacing a small portion of the wheelway on the far side, which should be the final repair they make. "
"You seem well-informed about bridge construction, sir."
A slight flush coloured his cheeks. "I have had occasion to oversee similar repairs at Pemberley. It is, I fear, one of the less enjoyable responsibilities of estate management."
Elizabeth found herself genuinely interested. "What others might surprise someone unfamiliar with such duties?"
Mr. Darcy angled his chair slightly to better address her.
"Oh, any number of things. Disputes over property boundaries, concerns about what the sheep are eating or the quality of the wool they are producing, and an endless stream of correspondence with solicitors and land agents.
" He paused, then added, "I have read more letters about drainage and grain yields than I care to recall. "
“Do you ever have time to read things that are less . . . practical?”
“Such as Tacitus’s Agricola , do you mean?”
She smiled. “Yes, that will do.”
“Not as often as I would like, but Pemberley has a magnificent library. It would be an insult to generations of Darcys were I not to make good use of it.”
“And you would never injure the family pride,” she teased, not quite certain why she said it. A test, perhaps, or a challenge .
His gaze met hers, steady, thoughtful. “No,” he said softly. “But I find that my pride concerns me somewhat less now than it once did.”
“Truly?”
Mr. Darcy was about to answer when their conversation was interrupted by Miss Bingley, who had set aside her embroidery and approached them with a strained smile.
"What can you be discussing?" she inquired, her voice light but her eyes sharp. “My goodness, poor Mr. Darcy looks positively grim."
Elizabeth almost sighed. Mr. Darcy did not look grim, he appeared thoughtful. Did Miss Bingley not know the difference, or did she only wish to insult? If so, she would not like to know that she was insulting Mr. Darcy as much as Elizabeth herself.
"We were discussing estate management," Mr. Darcy replied evenly. "Hardly a topic to inspire levity."
"Oh, how tedious for poor Miss Eliza," Miss Bingley said with a laugh that sounded forced. "But perhaps her education was more in agriculture than the arts."
Elizabeth felt her jaw tighten at the casual dismissal of her intelligence, but before she could respond, Mr. Darcy spoke.
"On the contrary, Miss Bingley. Miss Elizabeth has demonstrated her knowledge of many and varied topics."
The quiet firmness in his voice was lovely. She understood he felt bound to defend her, but she liked it nonetheless.
"How unusual," Miss Bingley said, her smile becoming more strained. "I confess I find such subjects quite beyond my comprehension."
"Perhaps that is because you have never been required to think of them," Elizabeth said pleasantly. "Those of us who are brought up on estates must often concern ourselves with more mundane matters."
Miss Bingley's expression remained fixed in its artificial sweetness .
Mr. Darcy's lips twitched, and Elizabeth felt a moment of satisfaction. It was good to have him on her side. Would he still be, once she departed for Longbourn and their bargain was officially ended?
The rest of the afternoon passed in a similar fashion, with conversations flowing and reforming around various topics.
Elizabeth found herself drawn repeatedly into exchanges with Jane, Mr. Bingley, and Mr. Darcy, their discussions ranging from books they had read to observations about the countryside around Netherfield.
She was surprised by Mr. Darcy’s willingness to share his thoughts but was very glad to learn more of him.
As the afternoon wore on and the light began to fade, Elizabeth found herself stealing glances at the man beside her, noting the way he listened when others spoke, the careful consideration he gave to his responses, and the occasional flash of dry humour that transformed his entire countenance.
He was already a handsome man, but when he smiled . . .
Two days, she reminded herself. In two days, this unexpected interlude would be over, and she would return to her ordinary life. The thought left her with a feeling that something important was about to slip through her fingers before she had quite grasped what it was.