“My dear Lizzy,” said Mr. Gardiner, “your aunt will be wanting proof that you have not been carried off by the weather. Shall we let these gentlemen determine the safest order of march, and in the meantime, you may help me decide whether the cook will call that largest fellow three pounds?”
Elizabeth glanced once towards Darcy, the gaze holding enough gratitude, amusement, and understanding to undo him.
Then she turned to her uncle. “She will call it whatever you instruct her to call it, if only to be rid of you.”
Mr. Gardiner laughed. “There speaks family loyalty.”
Across the chamber, Richard caught Darcy’s eye. He did not smile. The look was practical, not unkind, but it said that Darcy had been looking at Miss Elizabeth too long, and it was time to return the party to the house.
Then Richard turned back to Miss Bingley and asked her, with enormous solicitude, whether she was quite warm enough.
Darcy looked past Miss Elizabeth at the wet stone of the wall, suddenly aware that every ridiculous disaster of the day had only increased his desire that she stay at Pemberley. And yet every passing minute brought them closer to Monday.
CHAPTER 10
The rain had gone east as suddenly as it had come, leaving behind a sky scoured to a hard bright blue, the wet grass shining like crystal where the sun struck it, and water still dripping from every leaf along their path. But a soaked woman admires a prospect chiefly by hurrying through it, and Elizabeth did just that, making her way down the streaming path with the rest of the walking party. She might have laughed at the soggy symmetry if she had breath to spare.
The shortest way in from the folly ran beside the water, across a sturdy bridge. Aunt Gardiner, who had pleaded fatigue when she saw just how steep the rise truly was, had walked up to the house with Miss Darcy, and Elizabeth saw her in the distance, waiting near the end of the limestone walk to greet them.
Her uncle, perhaps the only one of the party who was in no hurry to be anywhere, and not at all bothered by being wet, carried his three trout before him like a man bearing thecolours, and recounted to anyone within range and a number of persons beyond it, the history of his catch.
With them came the rest, strung out where the path narrowed. Mr. Bingley was talking happily to the two Pelham girls, while the colonel offered a steadying hand to Miss Elinor where the ground was slick. Mrs. Hurst had fallen a little behind, and behind her came Miss Bingley along the riverside, her ruined hem held an inch off the ground.
Elizabeth glanced back at her. Miss Bingley’s attention was not upon the mud, nor upon the uneven path, but upon Mr. Darcy, who had brought up the rear to make certain none of his guests was lost along the way.
Miss Bingley slowed another step.
Mr. Darcy’s glance passed over her, precise and unreadable, and settled instead on her sister. “Mrs. Hurst, may I offer you my arm? The ground is uncertain here.”
Mrs. Hurst accepted at once, with a grateful murmur.
Then Mr. Darcy lifted his voice just enough to carry. “Bingley, your sister may require you.”
Mr. Bingley turned immediately. “Caroline! I beg your pardon. I have walked on most shamefully.” He came back with all his usual good nature and offered his arm. “Here, let me be of use.”
For one instant Miss Bingley’s face went perfectly blank.
Then she took his arm with a smile so polished it might have been painted on. “Thank you, Charles.”
There was no triumph in the sight. Elizabeth was surprised by a thin, unwelcome twinge of something closer to pity. Miss Bingley had not become kinder because she had been disappointed; but she had become, for one brief moment, easier to understand.
They reached the bridge without mishap. Mr. Darcy wasnow speaking to Mr. Pelham, who had met them at the foot of the hill and walked back with them.
Mr. Darcy neared, and his eyes found Elizabeth at once. Only for a moment, and then they moved, properly, elsewhere.
It was absurd to be aware of so brief a look, but she could not help herself.
When they reached the house, they were received in a confusion of shawls, umbrellas, and footmen. Fires were being made up; dry shoes were being fetched; every lady was assured that she must change directly.
It was in all this confusion that Miss Bingley found her way to Elizabeth’s side. All solicitude, she said, “What a day you have had of it, Miss Eliza. Twice soaked and twice rescued.” Her voice lowered to just above a whisper. “But you must not allow Mr. Darcy’s exertions on your behalf to weigh upon you. He will not think less of you for requiring his care so often, for he has the nicest sense of obligation that I have ever seen.”
Elizabeth thought that while Mr. Darcyhadprotected her at the marquee, he had only come toassistwith Miss Elinor. But while she thought Miss Bingley had got it wrong again, there was something in this speech that did strike home.
A man with reproaches to answer might wish to settle the account. The invitation, the lemonade, the seat defended upon the bench, every one of those things could belong to a man who still loved her, but they might just as well belong to a man who felt himself clearing a—well, not a debt, precisely, but something near to it.
She had laughed all her life at people who saw only what they wished to see, and now she must have some sympathy for them. For she could no longer be certain whether Mr. Darcy’s manner betrayed some lingering warmth, or whether she had merely begun to wish it did.
Mr. Hurst’s first contribution to the general recovery was to ask, with feeling, whether dinner had been put back, and as this was a question of some importance to half the company, it drew several persons into consultation. The colonel was describing the worst of the lightning to Sir Harold, who appeared to be enjoying the account because he had not been out in it. Uncle Gardiner’s trout were handed at last to a footman, but not before he had received Aunt Gardiner’s assurance that she greatly admired them.