Page 12

T he day was uncommonly mild for winter in London.

Elizabeth adjusted her bonnet and regarded the elegant carriages rolling past with mild interest. Two days had elapsed since the disastrous dinner at the Abernathys', and she had begun to hope, rather na?vely, that Mr. Darcy might have been called away on urgent business to the Continent, or perhaps even the West Indies.

Alas, here he stood beside her, tall and imposing and infuriatingly handsome in his impeccable dark coat, his expression as inscrutable as ever.

He introduced her to his cousin Colonel Fitzwilliam, who then said he would assist Arabella from the carriage.

"Miss Bennet," Mr. Darcy said, gesturing towards the path with formal precision, "shall we?"

Elizabeth nodded. He did not hold out his arm, for which she was grateful. "Thank you, Mr. Darcy."

“Colonel Fitzwilliam,” she heard Arabella say warmly, “it has been quite some time.”

“Far too long, Miss Abernathy,” he replied warmly. “I have often recalled our conversations with pleasure.”

Arabella’s response was muted as they turned along one of Hyde Park’s winding paths.

"Your cousin seems most agreeable," Elizabeth observed as they strolled down the path, watching a bevy of swans glide across the Serpentine. Would that she could glide away with them.

Mr. Darcy glanced back briefly. "Fitzwilliam has always possessed a talent for making himself liked."

"A most useful skill," Elizabeth replied, unable to resist adding, "though unfortunately not a universal one."

A faint crease appeared between Mr. Darcy's brows. "Indeed."

They walked in silence for a time, the only sound the murmur of conversation occurring behind them.

Elizabeth found herself acutely aware of the substantial height difference between them; she had to tilt her head to observe his profile, which she did with the critical eye of a naturalist studying a particularly perplexing specimen.

"You are unusually quiet, Miss Bennet," Mr. Darcy said at last.

"I was admiring the scenery," she replied. "Though I confess, London's parks, while elegant, cannot compare to the beauty of Hertfordshire."

"You prefer the country, then?"

"I do. The air is cleaner, the walks more varied, and one is less likely to be pulled under the wheels of a racing phaeton."

A hint of a smile touched his lips. "A persuasive argument."

Elizabeth was momentarily taken aback by this subtle sign of appreciation for her little jest. Perhaps the fish incident had knocked some semblance of personality into him.

"And you, sir?" she asked. "Do you prefer town or country?"

"My estate in Derbyshire is where I am most content," he replied, with a warmth she had not heard in his voice before. "London has its advantages, of course, but there is a particular quality to the light in Derbyshire that cannot be found elsewhere."

Elizabeth found herself unexpectedly touched by this glimpse of genuine feeling. "You speak as a poet might, Mr. Darcy."

He looked almost embarrassed. "Hardly that. I merely appreciate what I am fortunate enough to experience."

Colonel Fitzwilliam must have made another jest, for Arabella laughed again, the happy sound carrying on the cold breeze. Elizabeth glanced over to see them lingering by a flowering shrub, the colonel plucking a sprig of early blooms and presenting it to Arabella with a gallant bow.

"Is your cousin a flirt?" Elizabeth observed. She would not wish Arabella to be hurt.

Mr. Darcy followed her gaze. "Not in any ungentlemanly way, but Fitzwilliam is a second son. He has had to cultivate charm as a matter of necessity."

"While you, as master of . . .”

“Pemberley.”

“While you have been spared such labours?" The words escaped before Elizabeth could temper them.

To her surprise, Mr. Darcy did not look offended. "I am aware that I do not always . . . that is to say, my manner can be . . ."

"Yes?" Elizabeth prompted, genuinely interested to hear how he would characterise himself.

"Reserved," he said finally. "I was taught from an early age that dignity and restraint were the true qualities of a gentleman."

"There is reserve, Mr. Darcy, and then there is frost," Elizabeth replied. "I believe you may occasionally confuse the two."

He looked down at her. "You are remarkably direct."

Though the words were rather blunt, he did not sound offended, and so she pressed on. "A family failing, I am afraid. My father values honesty above politeness, which has had rather mixed results among his daughters."

They reached a bend in the path where it curved closer to the water.

A gathering of fashionable people had stopped to admire the swans, and Mr. Darcy guided her around them with a light touch to her elbow.

The moment of contact, brief though it was, sent an unexpected flutter through Elizabeth's stomach.

She pushed the feeling away. It would not do to be attracted to the man.

Mr. Darcy glanced over his shoulder at his cousin before he turned back to her. He cleared his throat with a quiet “Ahem.” He turned to her and opened his mouth to speak, but when her eyes caught his, he paused. Blinked. Shook his head.

"I have noticed that the fresh air has brought a most becoming colour to your cheeks, Miss Bennet," he said suddenly. “You look particularly well today.”

Only today? Elizabeth raised an eyebrow. “How very gracious of you to say so.”

He pressed on, unaware—or unbothered. “When we were introduced last week, I thought you looked somewhat fatigued. Many ladies do, of course, given how taxing the season can be. But you seem to have found your footing now.”

She stared at him, momentarily at a loss.

“How fortunate for me that my face is no longer a cause for concern.” If she had appeared tired, it would have been because she was not yet accustomed to town hours.

The masquerade had not begun until nearly eleven o’clock.

Most nights she would already have been abed at that time. "How perceptive of you to notice."

Mr. Darcy nodded, apparently encouraged by her response. "I have always been observant. It is a trait that has served me well in business matters."

"And do you generally catalogue the deficiencies in ladies' appearances with such precision, Mr. Darcy?" Elizabeth asked, her voice dangerously sweet.

Something in her tone must have alerted him at last, for his expression shifted from satisfied to uncertain. "Deficiencies? No, I meant to offer a compliment. You look well now."

"As opposed to before, when I looked tolerably unwell," Elizabeth clarified. The man was unbelievable. "How fortunate that a single walk has rendered me less offensive to your eye."

Mr. Darcy frowned. "You misunderstand me. I meant that I have been noticing your appearance with particular attention . . ." He stopped, seeming to realise that he was not improving his case.

"Have you indeed?" Elizabeth's eyebrows rose. "How flattering to know I have been under such close scrutiny. Pray, what other flaws have you catalogued during your observations?"

"Flaws? No, not flaws," he said quickly. "I only meant to say that I find your natural, healthy appearance more appealing than the artificial pallor many ladies cultivate. It speaks to your character. Honest, unaffected by passing fashions—"

"Unfashionable?" Elizabeth interrupted helpfully.

"No!" Mr. Darcy's voice rose slightly, drawing glances from passing strollers. He lowered it immediately. "That is not what I intended to convey at all."

"What did you intend to convey, sir?"

Mr. Darcy removed his hat and ran a hand through his hair, a gesture that left several dark strands falling across his forehead. It made him look younger, less severe. Almost human. Too bad that was an illusion.

Realizing what he had done, he immediately replaced the hat on his head. "I intended," he said with careful emphasis, "to express admiration for your vitality. Your healthful aspect. The way you . . ." He trailed off, visibly struggling.

Elizabeth waited, one eyebrow raised.

"The way you seem so alive," he finished, his voice oddly quiet.

The unexpected sincerity in his tone caught Elizabeth off guard. For a moment, they simply looked at each other, the sounds of the park fading into the background.

"I see," she said at last, unsure why her own voice had grown softer. She did not see, not really. But neither did she think this last an insult.

The moment was shattered by Colonel Fitzwilliam and Arabella turning back to join to them at last, both looking thoroughly pleased with the world.

"Miss Bennet!" the colonel exclaimed. "I hope my cousin has been entertaining you adequately. He has many fine qualities, but I fear conversation with a lovely lady is not chief among them."

"On the contrary," Elizabeth replied, recovering her composure and attempting a tease. "Mr. Darcy has been most informative about the state of my complexion."

The colonel cocked his head to one side. The look he sent his cousin indicated that he sensed danger. "Has he?"

"Oh yes," Elizabeth continued, unable to resist the opportunity. "Apparently, I was most sickly looking when we first met but have since improved through the curative powers of walking."

Colonel Fitzwilliam's eyes widened momentarily before crinkling with suppressed laughter. "Darcy," he said, clapping his cousin on the shoulder, "you are a fortunate man to have found a lady who appreciates your particular sort of gallantry."

The humour was strained, but Elizabeth allowed it to pass.

Arabella, also sensing the tension, hurried to intervene. “Colonel Fitzwilliam has been telling me the most amusing stories about his time at Whitehall."

"Yes, let us hear them," Elizabeth agreed, turning away from Mr. Darcy with relief.