He forgot to guard himself.
For several long moments he simply stood and looked—at the tender curve of Elizabeth’s neck as she bent towards Anne, at the easy smile on her lips when the littlegirl laughed, at the competence with which she kept Anne safe from the water’s edge while allowing her joy.
“Brother.”
Georgiana’s voice was soft but pointed. She and Richard had come to stand beside him.
“You are staring,” she murmured.
Darcy blinked and forced his gaze away. “I am merely ensuring Anne does not fall into the water.”
Richard gave a low chuckle. “Of course you are. The Serpentine is notoriously treacherous for little girls armed with crumbs.”
Georgiana studied him for a moment longer, her expression gentle but knowing. “It would not be such a bad thing, you know—to think of your own happiness for once.”
Darcy’s jaw tightened. He kept his eyes fixed on Anne, who was now attempting to convince a particularly bold duck to accept a crumb directly from her fingers.
“My happiness is not the issue,” he said quietly.
“Is it not?” Georgiana’s voice remained soft. “You have spent years arranging everyone else’s comfort and security. Anne’s. Mine. Even Aunt Catherine’s, in your own way. Perhaps it is time you allowed yourself to want something—or someone—for yourself.”
He did not answer. The words lodged somewhere behind his breastbone, heavy and unspoken.
Beside him, Richard shifted his weight but wisely held his tongue.
At the water’s edge, Anne laughed again—a bright, uninhibited sound—and Elizabeth turned herhead slightly, the corner of her mouth curving in response. For one unguarded second their eyes met across the grass.
Then she looked away, colour rising in her cheeks.
Darcy exhaled slowly and turned to the carriage.
“Come,” he said. “We should not keep the horses standing.”
As they walked back, Georgiana slipped her arm through his and gave it a gentle squeeze. She said nothing more, but the small gesture carried understanding enough.
Darcy did not look at his sister, the image of Elizabeth kneeling beside his daughter, sunlight in her hair and patience in her hands, refusing to leave him.
A precaution, he reminded himself.
Nothing more.
Yet even as the thought formed, he knew it for the lie it was.
Upon returning to Grosvenor Street and the ladies scattered to their respective rooms, Richard declared that after all the fresh air they had acquired, decent port was required, and Darcy agreed. The alternative was to remain at his desk thinking of Elizabeth’s mouth, and that would help no one.
They walked the short distance to White’s in silence. Once settled in a quiet corner of the club with a bottle of excellent port between them, Richard stretched his legs and regarded his cousin with open amusement.
“You were very attentive of the ladies at the Serpentine,” he observed. “Even Georgiana noticed.”
Darcy’s fingers tightened around the stem of his glass. “Must we discuss it?”
Richard ignored the deflection. “Theoretically speaking,” he began, swirling the port in his glass, “what would actually happen if you were to marry beneath your station?”
The question landed with deliberate vagueness but unmistakable aim. Richard did not mention Elizabeth by name. There was no need, because they both knew precisely whom they were discussing.
Darcy set his glass down with care. “I have no intention of marrying beneath or above my station. I have no intention of marrying at all.”
“No?” Richard’s tone remained light, almost conversational. “Then let us speak purely in hypotheticals. Suppose a gentleman of your rank and fortune was drawn to a woman who, while gently born, possessed neither fortune nor exalted connections. A governess, for example. What consequences might follow?”