Page 64 of The Longbourn Bloodline

“I would not presume to intrude on a ladies’ expedition, especially if stiles are involved.” His voice was dry, but his eyes were warm. “Bingley requires a detailed tour of the boundary stream between Netherfield and Longbourn to forestall any future boundary disputes.”

“Poor Mr. Darcy, condemned to boundary disputes when he might have been racing me across stiles.”

“The sacrifices of friendship are not to be underestimated, Miss Elizabeth.”

They were flirting in front of his sister and her family, but Elizabeth loved the ease, and she never wanted it to stop. To think that only a fortnight ago, she had resented his dark, brooding presence.

“Come, Miss Darcy.” She turned before her face could betray her entirely. “Let us assemble our basket and escape before my mother conscripts us for a tedious duty.”

The basket sat by the kitchen door, packed that morning with Hill’s help—tea, seedcake, dried beef, a pot of the blackberry preserves Jane had put up in September, and small clay jars of remedies Elizabeth had prepared from Philippa’s commonplace book. Lip balm made of beeswax and a crimson root for Mrs. Turner. The chilblain salve for the Millers, rendered from mutton tallow and elderberries. A cough syrup of horehound and honey for old Mr. Henderson. A jar of comfrey ointment for Widow Pratt’s knees, the receipt copied in Elizabeth’s own hand from Philippa’s cramped and fading script.

Georgiana lifted one of the jars and read the label. “Comfrey and goose grease, for rheumatism. Did you make this yourself?”

“From a receipt in my great-great-grandmother’s commonplace book. I cannot vouch for the goose grease. Hill swears by it, but she swears by several things I find medically improbable.”

“You have a working stillroom?” asked Georgiana.

“We have a room that was once a stillroom and is currently a repository for broken furniture and Lydia’s discarded bonnets. Jane and I have been discussing its restoration.”

“I studied botany with my governess. Herbal preparations and tinctures. I have always found it fascinating and have wished to explore it further. Although at Pemberley, Mrs. Reynolds manages the stillroom with a precision that discourages interference.”

“If she is at all like your brother’s valet, then she is rather formidable.”

“She is a force of nature,” Georgiana said. “Rather like your mother, I think, though quieter about it.”

“Although my mother cares nothing for herbs and mixing tinctures, or melting beeswax and rendering goose grease, so if you are eager to dabble in unguents and infusions without incurring a housekeeper’s wrath, we can commence your education here in ours.”

“I would love that.” Georgiana looked up with an expression of such eager, unfeigned admiration that Elizabeth felt a sudden, heartwarming glow. She could grow to love Darcy’s sister as her own.

Their walk to the Millers’ cottage led them past the stile where Elizabeth had once bested Darcy, now rendered unclimbable by a treacherous glaze of ice. Georgiana, undeterred by the cold, inquired after the tenants—their number, their histories, and their needs. She displayed the same meticulous curiosity as her brother, her mind keen and her interest unfeigned.

“Your brother was very kind to the Millers when he was here,” Elizabeth said, handing the chilblain salve to Mrs. Miller while the youngest child clung to her mother’s skirts. “He sent for the physician when the baby was ill. Paid for it himself and told no one.”

“That sounds like Fitzwilliam.” Georgiana knelt to the child’s level. “He does a great deal and says very little.”

“He does.” Elizabeth felt a warmth in her chest—the warmth of fully understanding Darcy and realizing how worthy he was of knowing. “It is one of his better qualities.”

They left the Millers’ and visited the Hendersons, where Mr. Henderson immediately swallowed a large spoonful of the cough syrup, licking the sweet residue from the spoon. The eldest boy showed them a wooden horse he had carved for his younger brother, and told them that Darcy had introduced him to the stable before he left, and he had been mucking stalls. Elizabeth commended the boy and left peppermint sticks, apples, and carrots for him to befriend the horses.

The Turners and Fosters were not home, likely out visiting, and so they left the lip balm salves with a note. The walk to Widow Pratt’s cottage took them past the frozen duck pond, along the orchard wall, and through the copse where the bare trees stood silver-grey against the winter sky. A thin curl of smoke from the chimney carried the scent of baking bread, and the repaired roof gleamed with new thatch.

Widow Pratt opened the door before they knocked. She was one of those women who seemed to know when company was approaching, and her face creased with pleasure at the sight of Elizabeth and Georgiana.

“Miss Elizabeth! And—oh, my dear, you’ve brought a visitor.”

“Mrs. Pratt, may I introduce Miss Georgiana Darcy? Mr. Darcy’s sister. She is staying at Netherfield and wished to see the estate.”

“Miss Darcy!” Widow Pratt’s eyes went wide. “The gentleman’s sister! Oh, do come in, miss, you must be frozen through. Such a fine lady, visiting my little cottage.”

“It is a lovely cottage,” Georgiana said. “And much warmer than the walk here. I confess I am still adjusting to Hertfordshire winters. Derbyshire is colder, but somehow this damp gets into one’s bones differently.”

“That it does, miss, that it does.” Widow Pratt ushered them inside, directing them to the best chairs near the fire. “Now, let me see what Miss Lizzy has brought—oh! Preserves, and dried herbs, and is this the comfrey salve? My knees have been aching something terrible.”

“From my great-great-grandmother Philippa’s commonplace book,” Elizabeth said, settling beside Georgiana near the hearth. “I have been copying some of her receipts. This one is meant for aching joints in cold weather.”

“Bless you, child.” Widow Pratt clutched the jar with gratitude. “Philippa, ah, I remember my own grandmother talking about her. She was a great healer, knew every herb in the hedgerow and what it was good for. My grandmother learned from her, years and years ago. Philippa was Miss Alice’s mother.”

“Yes, she was,” Elizabeth said. “The one you told me who had fallen in love with the Darcy boy.”