She pressed Elizabeth’s fingers once, hard enough to betray what her composure would not.
“As for Mr. Darcy, he dashed in without the least thought for himself, and do you know what my husband said when he heard of it? He said, ‘Of course he did.’ That is the whole of Mr. Darcy’s character in this county, Miss Bennet, and I believe you must be the same.” She stopped, looked down at Henry’s now dry curls and gave a small, unsteady laugh. “I have told my husband we shall be assigning a footman for Henry. He shall assist Esther in keeping watch when they are out.”
Mrs. Atherton drew breath and investigated the fire. When she spoke again, her voice had steadied, and turned, a little, towards dryness. “I have known Miss Bingley a great many years, Miss Bennet. I was at seminary with her and her sister. She informed me . . .” She paused to shake her head and take abreath. “Well, I had thought, this morning, that I knew a great deal about which of you I would sooner have beside me in a difficulty, but I find that I was entirely wrong.” She released Elizabeth’s hand. “There. Now I have embarrassed us both.”
Elizabeth said something warm and inadequate.
“Is Mr. Darcy here?” Miss Atherton asked quietly. “I would like to ask him a question.”
There was movement in the doorway and Mr. Darcy entered.
“There you are,” she told the girl with a smile. “As if he came when you called.”
Mr. Darcy was wearing a fresh coat, a blue one that had clearly never been within a mile of flying lemonade. He crossed at once to the fire to bend over the blanketed Henry, and inquire, with perfect gravity, whether he had taken any lasting harm.
“There was a fish,” Henry informed him, by way of answer.
Mr. Darcy was clearly amused. “So you have said. I believe it was a very large one.”
“It was THIS big.” The blanket fell open for Henry’s repeated demonstration. “And nobody caught it.”
“A grievous loss,” said Mr. Darcy. “We shall have to see what can be done about it another day.” He restored the blanket to its office, satisfied himself by some private inspection that the boy was whole, and only then did he straighten and turn to Elizabeth.
“Miss Bennet, I hope thatyouare well.”
“Quite well, I thank you—I was only a little wet. But you look so grave, Mr. Darcy, that I must ask whetheryouare well.”
One corner of his mouth turned up. “I am.”
“Mr. Darcy,” Elizabeth said, “Miss Atherton seems to have a question of great importance which she wishes to pose to you.”
“Of course,” he said, and approached the girl. “How may I be of service, Miss Atherton?”
The girl pursed her lips before looking up at Mr. Darcy and asking, quite directly, “Is Miss Darcy shy?” She paused, and added, with great seriousness, “Because I am shy. People do not always believe me, because I can talk if I make myself. But it is very tiring, and afterward I want to go and sit somewhere quiet and not be looked at.”
Mr. Darcy did not laugh or arrange his features into the dreadful brightness grown people so often put on for children. Instead, he drew a chair close to the child and sat in it, then seriously considered Miss Atherton’s question.
“She is,” he said. “She has been shy the whole of her life. When she was your age, she would hide behind the curtains in the music room sooner than be presented to her father’s guests, and once stayed there so long that a footman drew the curtains at dusk without ever knowing she was inside them.”
Miss Atherton’s eyes went round. “What did she do?”
“She waited until everyone had departed, then went to bed.”
Elizabeth smiled.
“It was not until the morning after that she mentioned it. She did not want anyone put to trouble on her account. That is rather a habit of hers.”
“Did she grow out of her shyness?” Miss Atherton asked, leaning forward.
“No,” said Mr. Darcy. “I do not believe one grows out of it, any more than one grows out of being tall, or fond of music. But one may learn to control it. My sister has spent today in a great deal of company and did not once run away to the house to sit quietly, though I have no doubt she wished to. And I am sure with practice, you shall be able to do the same.”
Miss Atherton absorbed this in silence, then nodded, havingplainly reached a decision of some weight. “Then Ishallpractice.”
“I am quite sure you will. You are performing admirably at this moment although you do not know me well, and I am a good deal more alarming than a curtain.”
“You are not alarming at all,” Miss Atherton said, gazing up at him.
“Thank you, Miss Atherton.” Mr. Darcy spoke a low word to her mother and rose.