Page 19 of A Question of Character

She wrote that Mr. Darcy remained a very agreeable acquaintance, that Miss Darcy was sweet-tempered and shy, and that London offered far more diversion than she could possibly describe. She added that her aunt and uncle were in excellent health, that the children had become devoted to a new set of wooden animals purchased near Cheapside, and that she hoped Mary had not abandoned the pianoforte merely because no one had contradicted her choice of solemn airs in Elizabeth’s absence.

As for the rest, she was less certain how to set it down.

Mr. Darcy had improved upon acquaintance, which was inconvenient, since she had not thought him in need of much improvement to begin with. He still possessed moments of reserve, particularly in larger company, where he would sometimes retire into silence and leave others to suppose him proud. Yet in Gracechurch Street, or walking beside her aunt in the park, or discussing books with her uncle after dinner, he revealed a mind both serious and playful, capable of dry absurdity when least expected. He did not flatter. He did not perform. He listened with an attention that made careless conversation difficult.

Elizabeth, who had always enjoyed being attended to, found this particular attention troublesome in the most pleasant way.

Their first walk in Hyde Park occurred on a morning so bright and windy that half of London seemed determined to air itself. Mrs. Gardiner had proposed the outing for the children, who raced ahead under the nursemaid’s supervision while Mr. Gardiner and Mr. Darcy fell into conversation behind them concerning warehouses, shipping delays, and some new tariff Elizabeth had no desire to comprehend before noon.

Georgiana walked on Elizabeth’s other side, her bonnet ribbons fluttering against her cheek.

“Do you often come here?” Georgiana asked.

“When I am in town, yes. At home, I am more spoiled. I may walk without carriages, nursemaids, fashionable parasols, and gentlemen who believe the entire path belongs to their boots.”

Georgiana peered ahead where two gentlemen had indeed claimed a broad portion of the walk while speaking with great animation over the top of their canes. “Do you prefer the country?”

“I prefer freedom,” Elizabeth replied. “The country allows one to cross a field because one wishes to know what is on the other side. In town, crossing anything usually requires calculation and courage.”

Georgiana considered this, then said, “I think I should like to walk in Hertfordshire.”

“You would be very welcome. Longbourn has several fields with no purpose except to invite trespass.”

“Does your father mind?”

“My father encourages my crimes by asking whether I found anything worth seeing.”

Behind them, Darcy’s deeper tone mingled with Mr. Gardiner’s easy reply. Elizabeth did not catch the words until her uncle said, with feeling, “No, no, that merchant is completely mistaken if he thinks I shall accept goods in such condition merely because they have crossed the Channel.”

Darcy answered, “Then he has not dealt with you long enough.”

“Long enough to know better, I should think.”

A gust of wind pushed Elizabeth’s skirts against her ankles. She caught her bonnet with one hand and saw Darcy step around a puddle in order to retrieve a small wooden horse dropped by one of the Gardiner boys. The nursemaid had already begun to hurry back, but he reached it first, wiped a smear of mud from the painted flank with his handkerchief, and offered it gravely to the child.

“There, sir. Your cavalry has suffered no mortal injury.”

The little boy took the horse with solemn gratitude. “He fell in battle.”

“A common hazard.”

“Will he limp?”

“If you require it for the story.”

The child studied the horse, then galloped back toward his siblings, evidently satisfied.

Elizabeth became very interested in the budding trees.

Georgiana leaned nearer. “Fitzwilliam likes children, though he pretends not to know what to do with them.”

“He appears to manage wooden horses with distinction.”

“Yes. Real horses too, of course.”

“Useful accomplishments both.”

When Darcy rejoined them, his handkerchief still bore a streak of mud. He folded it, saw Elizabeth’s expression, and tucked it away without comment.