He had nearly reached the door when Elizabeth glanced at her aunt.
Aunt Gardiner’s brows lifted a fraction. Elizabeth answered the look with a small smile, rose, and said, “Mr. Darcy, if you are returning to the party, might my aunt and I accompany you?”
He turned back, surprised enough for it to show. “You wish to go out again?”
Elizabeth laughed. “I was only a little damp, sir, and have since been rescued by Mrs. Reynolds who provided a fire, dry stockings, and tea. It would be a shame to waste such fine weather by remaining indoors.”
“A great shame,” said her aunt, coming to stand beside her. “We have so little time left in this part of England, and Derbyshire is best enjoyed out of doors, not through a window.”
Mr. Darcy glanced from one to the other, the surprise changing into something warmer. “Then I should be very happy to escort you both.” They made their way to the entrance where he opened the door for them himself, and they passed from the hush of the house into the full brightness of the day.
The change struck Elizabeth almost comically. Indoors, there had been Mrs. Reynolds’s benevolent tyranny. Out ofdoors, the sun was still high and the air still fresh. The river flashed here and there through the trees. Voices carried from the lawn. Somewhere beyond the shrubbery, people were laughing.
“It is very fine weather,” said Aunt Gardiner with satisfaction.
They walked on, though not quickly. Mr. Darcy’s pace accommodated her aunt’s without any appearance of doing so. Her aunt was not a great walker, and he had shortened his stride to hers without a word.
Elizabeth had noticed such things perhaps too often. None of it was remarkable, but then, that was precisely the trouble. Great but singular performances were impressive, but ordinary, consistent kindnesses were more difficult to dismiss.
“You know every turn of this place, I suppose,” said Aunt Gardiner, looking towards the trees.
“Most of them.”
“And which is your favourite?”
Mr. Darcy was silent for a moment, considering it with a seriousness that amused Elizabeth.
“I fear that depends upon the season and the hour.”
“The hour?” Elizabeth asked, amused. “Does the answer to my aunt’s question require so exact a science?”
Mr. Darcy turned to her, his consideration not quite proof against her smile. “Pemberley is not at its best from every point at every moment. However, it is at its best every moment from somewhere.”
“I see. There is a proper time for every prospect.”
Aunt Gardiner laughed. “Then I am very glad I asked. I had expected one answer and find I am to receive an almanac.”
“A short one, I hope,” said Elizabeth. “Though perhaps Mr. Darcy’s list of favourite prospects is not short.”
“No,” he agreed with a chuckle. “I cannot honestly claim that it is. On an early summer morning, the path above the stream. In the evening, the rise beyond those birches. The house is best seen from there when the light hits the windows and turns it almost gold.”
Elizabeth thought that would be a fine view indeed.
“And at this hour?” asked Aunt Gardiner.
“At this hour,” he said, looking towards the slope beyond the lawn, “there is a walk above the meadow. The grass stands high there in summer, and the skylarks rise from it towards evening. Georgiana is fond of the butterflies there. My mother preferred the sparrows.”
“The sparrows?” Elizabeth asked.
Mr. Darcy’s expression softened, though his eyes remained on the trees. “She said they were the least vain of birds, and therefore the best company.”
“That,” said Elizabeth, quite charmed by this notion, “sounds like a woman I would have liked to know.”
Mr. Darcy might have answered, but they had drawn near enough to the party for Colonel Fitzwilliam to see them. He broke off from a conversation with two gentlemen and came forward at once. His hat was in his hand, and he replaced it on his head as he walked towards them, his countenance bright with exaggerated relief.
“Darcy! You return at last. I have been governing in your absence, and the strain has very nearly ruined me.”
“You appear undamaged,” said Mr. Darcy.