Elizabeth laughed to cover the embarrassment of her inattention. “What a wonderful name.”
“Oh, he was not christened so. He earned the name by stealing one of Cook’s Christmas puddings.”
“Ah. A name won by merit.”
Miss Pelham giggled. “Or appetite. My father says one must not reward vice, but the name had taken hold before justice could be done.”
“And is Pudding fond of everyone?”
“Not like this. With Miss Darcy he is quite overcome. Last Tuesday he laid his head upon her shoe during tea and heaved a heartbroken sigh.”
“And Miss Darcy?”
“She looked steadily at the teapot and pretended nothing was happening.”
Elizabeth chuckled. “I confess, I can imagine it very well.”
Miss Pelham leaned in. “But when she left, there was a biscuit missing from her plate that I had not seen her eat, and Pudding was discovered beneath the settee, entirely restored.”
“A very satisfactory conclusion,” Elizabeth said.
Miss Bingley dropped her handkerchief a second time, and Mr. Darcy bent to retrieve it. Of course he did. He was a gentleman. When a lady dropped a handkerchief, a gentleman retrieved it. Elizabeth knew perfectly well there was nothing in it and was therefore irritated that she had noticed it at all.
Miss Pelham was still speaking. “Georgiana pretends not to like him, but she always brings him a crust.”
“Mr. Darcy?” Elizabeth asked, before she could stop herself.
Miss Pelham blinked, then laughed. “Pudding.”
Elizabeth laughed along. “Very wise of Miss Darcy. Gentlemen are less easily tempted into better behaviour with crusts. They must at least be offered cake.”
At that moment Miss Bingley accepted her handkerchief back with a smile of exquisite gratitude, as though Mr. Darcy had not merely rescued it from the grass but preserved her from ruin. Elizabeth returned her attention to Miss Pelham and applied herself to the strawberries.
Miss Bingley was still standing next to Mr. Darcy—a little closer now.
Miss Pelham, unaware that Elizabeth’s attention was divided between the marquee and the lemonade table, continued cheerfully. Elizabeth caught “Mrs. Reynolds,” “orchard,” and “apricots,” and supplied what answers she could while observing that Mr. Darcy did not appear to be encouraging Miss Bingley. He was polite. He was attentive enough to satisfy civility and no more. He held his hands behind his back. His gaze had gone to his sister and then the river, but not once, Elizabeth was sure, had they sought out Miss Bingley.
Then Miss Bingley took his arm.
It was done lightly, naturally, ostensibly to draw his attention towards some prospect across the lawn. Nothing could be objected to. Nothing untoward had occurred.
Elizabeth’s fork stopped above her plate.
Miss Pelham, still speaking, did not notice. “And so Elinor said the gardener might have the rest of Derbyshire, but not the strawberry bed.”
“That seems fair,” said Elizabeth.
Miss Bingley was smiling up at Mr. Darcy. Mr. Darcy regarded her, grave and civil, and Elizabeth discovered, to her great annoyance, that she was no longer amused. She had beenwilling to admire the campaign when it was only strategy. She liked it less now that it had reached its object.
The feeling was unmistakeable. But it was also absurd.
Elizabeth Bennet, who had immediately and harshly rejected Mr. Darcy’s proposal of marriage, was jealous of Miss Bingley, who had her hand on his arm.
She took a strawberry but found it sour. She grimaced.
Across the rugs, Mr. Darcy gently disengaged his arm to hand a plate to little Miss Atherton, who had appeared silently and expectantly beside him. Miss Bingley’s smile faltered for no more than half a second.
The next strawberry was excellent.