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The skies brightened that afternoon. With the weather finally cooperating, Darcy and Bingley took Lizzy and Jane for a ride in Hyde Park. Darcy’s barouche was perhaps the most impressive vehicle Lizzy had ever ridden in.
While his coach had been designed for comfort, the barouche had extra details for show. Red leather, dark cherry wood, gleaming brass fittings. As Darcy handed Lizzy up, she felt like a princess. At the feel of his touch, tingles pulsed from her fingers to her spine.
Jane and Bingley sat together, which gave Lizzy the chance to share a seat with Darcy. He helped her arrange the rug around her for warmth. With him so close, her heart fluttered and her breathing grew shallow.
Their eyes met as she thanked him, and he gave her a smile. She thought she would melt on the spot. Had a handsomer man ever lived? Surely not.
“Are you comfortable?” He sounded as if he spoke out of true concern, rather than politeness.
“Quite,” she said. “I have never been in a more pleasant conveyance.”
Her words seemed to gratify him, for his smile deepened and a hint of colour showed in his cheeks. Of course, that might have been the weather. Still, a hope rose in her breast that she had evoked some pleasurable emotion in him.
They clopped through the street beneath a wide, blue sky. Some of the early-leafing trees were showing a hint of green, bearing the promise of spring.
“I hope you do not mind riding backwards,” Darcy asked.
“Not at all. It provides a more varied view than the hindquarters of the horses.”
“You are a good sport, Miss Elizabeth.”
She considered that a moment. “I suppose I am.”
“You endured my insufferable behaviour in Hertfordshire, and yet show no resentment.”
“And you endure my teasing. I would say we are even.”
“I confess, I hope you never stop teasing me. I enjoy the way your mind works.”
Her stomach thrilled at his words “And I admire your intelligence. I confess, now that Jane and Bingley are engaged, I hope to have the opportunity of observing more of it.”
His Adam’s apple bobbed. “I imagine we will frequently be in company together. It is a prospect I find most satisfactory.” His speech was somewhat halting, and he seemed to force himself to continue. “Georgiana is also happy with this circumstance. She is fond of you and your sister, and hopes the friendship can continue beyond the season.”
Lizzy pressed his hand. “Jane and I adore Miss Darcy.”
He clasped her hand between both of his. “I am pleased to hear it. I think...she would like to be on a first name basis with you, but may be too shy to ask.”
“Then I shall certainly do so.”
He looked at her intently. She ought to pull her hand away but felt no desire to. Nor did he seem inclined to let it go.
And so they sat, in full view of passers-by, hands intertwined as they chatted. But in truth, Lizzy lost all awareness except for Darcy.
Somehow they got onto the topic of the artwork at Darcy House. “My mother was something of a connoisseur,” he explained. “She was a talented water colourist. My father encouraged her to try oils, but she never did. She preferred the softness of watercolours. Her eye for art was first rate.”
“Did she select the Fragonards and Bouchers?”
“She did. Fragonard was her favourite artist. I think, in her own way, it was a sort of rebellion against the Terror.” His tone grew serious as he said, “She had cousins who were murdered by Robespierre.”
Lizzy’s breath stopped. “That must have been horrifying.”
“I still remember her weeping for what seemed like days. She had not been close to them, but they were family, and their deaths were senseless and brutal. Even the babes were killed—two little girls of four and six. I was about six myself at the time, so you can imagine my mother’s feelings.”
Lizzy swallowed, but the knot in her throat did not subside. “I cannot fathom it.” Her voice was barely more than a whisper.
“Nor can I. But believe me, my uncle has not forgotten, and it affects the way he votes in the House of Lords. It is a tightrope, navigating between reform and revolution. In this age, only a fool would think wealth and privilege are a birthright. They are a responsibility to be wielded with great care.”
She brushed her thumb across the leather of his gloves. “I want to know everything about your family,” she said impulsively. Her cheeks flushed at her forwardness.
Darcy responded with a soft smile. “And I about yours.”
She grinned at that. “I suspect you already know more than you would like.”
He spoke intently. “While I was at Netherfield, I did not spend enough time getting to know the people of the neighbourhood. You have taught me to pay better attention.”
“I suspect Meryton is a very ordinary town.”
“You are not ordinary. You are anything but.”
“That is quite a compliment, coming from you.”
He was silent a moment before he spoke. “If so, that shows how little I have sought to make myself agreeable to strangers. It was never your responsibility, nor anyone else’s, to prove themselves worthy of my notice. I should have been more gracious.”
She pressed her free hand to her heart. For a moment, she was too overwhelmed to speak. Then, before she could say anything, they passed through the gate into Hyde Park.
As they did so, Lady Carson hailed them. She and her daughters were in their own barouche, headed out of the park.
“We are well met,” cried Eugenia, the younger daughter. “I would have hated to miss you. Mr. Darcy, I am looking forward to your uncle’s ball tonight.”
They chatted a while before traffic forced them to move on. Lizzy could not help thinking perhaps Lady Eugenia had her sights set on Darcy. It must have irked her, the daughter of a marquess, to see Darcy sitting at Lizzy’s side.
The driver made his way to the serpentine. Lizzy loved the sight of it. The lake stretched almost the entire length of the park and into Kensington Gardens. A pair of swans glided across its glassy surface.
The carriage stopped, and the four passengers alighted. Jane took Bingley’s arm, and Lizzy took Darcy’s. The water sparkled in the bright sunlight as they walked along the footpath. Birds flitted amongst the tree branches. The robins and larks raised their cheerful songs.
The foursome had not gone far when they met up with Lady Cressida walking arm-in-arm with Miss Peabody.
“Why, Priscilla,” Cressida said to her companion, “if it is not the happy couple. Miss Bennet, how good to see you. Although I should be peeved at you for taking Mr. Bingley off the market.”
“Yes,” Lizzy agreed. “The number of your potential suitors has dropped from forty-two to forty-one. And the season has not yet begun in earnest.”
“If you are not careful,” Jane said to Cressida, “you will be declared a diamond of the first water. And I know how you would hate that.”
Lady Cressida looked at them placidly. “I hope anyone who wants to pay me a compliment will be more clever than to resort to that tired cliché.”
“Shall he compare your eyes to emeralds?” Darcy suggested with a grin. “Your lips to rubies, your hair to spun gold?”
Cressida tittered. “Even worse.”
Bingley took up the mantle of finding compliments worthy of Lady Cressida. Lizzy eyed Darcy sideways. “You are lavish in your praise, sir.”
“Pretty words are easy enough to devise,” he said in low tones, “when one’s heart is not involved.”
“You are not amongst the lady’s many admirers?”
“Only in the way of friendship. I confess, my heart is engaged elsewhere.”
Heat suffused Lizzy’s body. She took a moment to recover her wits. Finally, she asked, “Is the lady aware of her good fortune?”
Darcy gave a low chuckle. “I am such a dunce at courtship, it is possible she is not. And under the circumstances, she might not consider herself fortunate.”
“In that case, she must be the dunce.” Lizzy tried to keep her tone light, but in fact, she had never been in such a state of grave apprehension. Either he was in love with her, or he was in love with someone else. Either she had won him, or he was lost to her forever.
He patted her forearm where it was linked with his. “I can offer her Pemberley, at least.”
“Surely offering yourself would be a greater inducement.”
“You have not seen Pemberley.”
She laughed at that, and the tension between them dissipated.
Seeing Miss Peabody standing alone, Lizzy walked up to her and asked, “Is the viscountess here with you?”
“Always,” she said with a mirthless smile. “She has not let me out of her sight since my brother Rolf took up his commission.”
Lizzy’s heart clenched. The sound of Rolf Peabody’s name inspired a sort of horror in her. Still, Priscilla was not responsible for her brother’s actions. The girl must be suffering some pain at the separation, and fear for his safety.
Gently, Lizzy asked, “Are you close to your brother?”
Priscilla swallowed. “He has always watched over me. Wayne is older, you see, more like a father than a brother. But Rolf has been my confidant and friend.”
Lizzy wondered how much Priscilla knew about her brother’s reasons for joining the army. It was best, of course, to say nothing about it.
Darcy, hovering nearby, stepped over. “Miss Peabody,” he said, offering that young lady his arm. “I regret that I was deprived of the pleasure of dancing with you last night. If you will, please tell me what I missed at the assembly.”
They took the walkway along the serpentine. Jane and Bingley were some distance ahead of them. Lizzy and Cressida walked behind Darcy and Miss Peabody.
Lizzy was happy to see him pay some notice to the girl. The sort of guidance she received from the viscountess did not seem to be having the desired effect. Darcy’s intelligent conversation might steer her in a better direction.
“You must tell me,” Cressida said conspiratorially. She leaned towards Lizzy. “Are you and Mr. Darcy engaged?”
Lizzy stopped short and looked at her in astonishment. “Good heavens! Why would you ask such a question?”
Cressida arched her brows. “Why would you avoid answering it?”
Lizzy covered her mouth to suppress a startled laugh. “There is no understanding between Mr. Darcy and myself,” she said calmly. “At least, not yet,” she added impulsively, then bit her lip. She should not have spoken so indiscreetly.
Cressida just laughed. Lizzy relaxed. Though she had only known the girl a few weeks, Lizzy believed she could trust her.
“Surely a proposal must be coming soon,” Cressida insisted. “Arabelle told me he held your hand at the musicale yesterday before I arrived.”
“Fortunately, only our families were witness to that indiscretion. If the Bingleys can be called family.”
“I think they must. Though I can only imagine what Caroline’s reaction must have been.”
Lizzy stopped short again. “Goodness! I was so distracted, I did not even notice Miss Bingley.”
“Of course not. You only had eyes for Mr. Darcy.”
Lizzy instinctively looked towards him, and realized she and Cressida were falling behind. They picked up their pace.
“‘Tis a pity,” Cressida said, “that Caroline has turned bitter. She used to be friends with my sister. But ever since she set her sights on Mr. Darcy, she has changed. There is a desperation about her that was not there before. It is needless, of course. She is a wealthy, beautiful, accomplished woman. She had even caught Greymore’s eye at one time. Now he wants nothing to do with her.”
They walked along in silence a moment. “I hope you know,” Lizzy said at last, “how much I like your brother.”
“Oh, pish, you must not think about that. Greymore is not a sore loser. To be honest, I believe he has yet to fall in love completely. He likes women, and likes courting them. But I promise, you have not broken his heart.”
“I am glad to hear it.” Lizzy furrowed her brow. “I think.”
Cressida tittered. “A union between you and Mr. Darcy will be to everyone’s benefit. Even Caroline’s. The sooner she gives up hoping for a man who will never love her, the better off she will be.”
***
DARCY WALKED AT MISS Peabody’s side, wondering how so much nonsense could fit inside the head of one young woman. It seemed the only books she had read were novels, and only the most lurid ones would do. She was the silliest, most ill-informed creature he had ever met.
Had she always been thus? He had known her all her life, although he supposed he had never paid much attention to the state of her education. She had been a talkative child, prattling on as girls do. At some point, should she not have outgrown that state?
Perhaps after her mother had passed away, her father had neglected her education. She had the accomplishments expected of young ladies. Beyond that, she seemed alarmingly ignorant. Darcy wondered if she had the mathematics skills to oversee the household accounts.
He forced himself to listen as she spoke in an excited tone. “My favourite book is Camilla Cartwright’s Conundrum. It is the best Mrs. Wheedlesuch has produced so far.”
“I prefer Walter Scott myself.”
Her shoulders slumped. “I find Scott dreadfully boring.” Colour rose in her cheeks. “Oh dear, not that I find you boring, Mr. Darcy! I suppose each of us must like different things.”
“Tell me, Miss Peabody, what else do you like? Besides novels, that is. For instance, do you paint?
“I haven’t any talent with a brush. But with a needle, I have some skill. I can embroider a very pretty screen. I knit and crochet as well.”
“Those are useful accomplishments for a young lady. As I recall, you are also a fine pianist.”
“Thank you. I enjoy singing also. The viscountess and I have been practicing some French folk songs.” She gave a little sigh. “I am hopeless with the pronunciation, though.”
“You do not speak French?”
“My mother wanted me to learn, but my father refused because of Napoleon.”
Darcy frowned at that but did not remark upon it. “Did you learn another language instead? German or Italian, perhaps?”
“I am afraid not. My governess used to say a patriotic Englishwoman should speak only English.”
Darcy cringed. Her governess said that? What other excuses did the woman come up with for failing to do her job?
What would become of this girl if she had no one to look after her? Viscountess Wayne seemed ill equipped to oversee her young sister-in-law. Especially while running a household on the brink of ruin.
If he invited Miss Peabody to Pemberley, could Elizabeth manage her? Truly, the girl needed the guidance of a sensible woman. And a secure environment, where the spectre of bankruptcy was not hanging over her.
As things now stood, the viscountess would marry her off to the first doddering fool who offered for her. A man looking for a filly to provide him with an heir. Miss Peabody of all people would find such a fate insupportable.
Darcy thought about the eligible young men in the environs of Pemberley. The rector was single. About Darcy’s age, he was kind, sensible, and pleasant looking. Not dashing like the hero of a novel to be sure. But dependable, and with an income sizeable enough to support a family comfortably.
“Miss Peabody,” Darcy asked, “would you like to visit Pemberley in the autumn? Spend a few weeks with Georgiana? I imagine Bingley and his bride will be there as well, perhaps a few others.”
“Oh, Mr. Darcy, that sounds divine!”
“Splendid. I shall arrange it with your brother.”
They made their way back to Viscountess Wayne and Lady Greymore. Darcy helped Lizzy into the barouche. Bingley and Jane sat on the bench across from them, and they made the requisite drive along Rotten Row.
Elizabeth said to him jovially, “You seem to have turned Miss Peabody’s head. She was beaming at you.”
“I invited her to spend the autumn at Pemberley with Georgiana.”
Elizabeth’s eyes widened. “Goodness! I did not realize the two of them were close.”
“They are not close, precisely, but are old friends.” Darcy could not speak of the Waynes’ financial situation without breaking a confidence. He decided to go a different direction.
“She has been lonely, I think, since her brother joined the army. And to be honest, I find her education to be somewhat lacking. I hope that spending time with Georgiana, under Mrs. Annesley’s guidance, will help with that.”
“That is most kind of you.” She did not sound entirely at ease, however.
“Miss Elizabeth, are you jealous?” he teased. “Were you hoping I would invite you to Pemberley? To spend the autumn with Georgiana under Mrs. Annesley’s care?”
Elizabeth gave him an arch look. Then, her expression softened. She said in a voice both quiet and full of emotion, “I confess, I would like to see Pemberley.”
“Then you shall. Before the autumn, I hope.”
Her intake of breath twisted his insides into an ache of apprehension and longing. He adjusted the rug covering her lap and slid his hand into hers. “I have it on good authority that the third dance this evening, and the supper dance, are waltzes. I hope you will promise them both to me.”
She squeezed his hand, and a look of subdued pleasure spread over her features. Her lips curved into a smile, and her eyes sparkled. “Might that not cause tongues to wag?”
“I do not mind a little gossip. Do you?”
“We will raise expectations,” she warned.
“Then let them be raised.”
Her eyes glistened. He did not let go of her hand for the entirety of the ride through Hyde Park nor back to Berkeley Square.