Page 12 of Elizabeth Bennet and the Scottish Laird

Elizabeth's cheeks coloured slightly. “Mr MacKinnon is too kind. He possesses considerable experience himself. His insights into estate improvements have been particularly valuable.”

“You flatter me, Miss Bennet. I merely offered a Highland perspective on English problems.”

The unstudied ease of the address made Darcy's jaw tighten. Watching this affable Scotsman with his easy manner and obvious admiration speak to her so familiarly whilst she received it with such comfort required deliberate effort not to betray his displeasure.

“Will you take tea, Mr Darcy?” Mrs Bennet gestured towards the sofa with the air of someone determined to display proper hospitality despite reduced circumstances. “Kitty, do ring for tea. Lydia, sit down properly. Lizzy, surely you can spare a few moments to entertain our distinguished guest.”

“Of course, Mamma.” Elizabeth took a seat near the window, her hands folding neatly in her lap with studied composure. MacKinnon settled into a chair nearby.

As he accepted a cup of tea, Darcy's gaze snagged on the friendly smile MacKinnon gave Elizabeth.

His mind worked rapidly through observations he had no right to make. MacKinnon's presence here as the rightful heir, his evident involvement with the estate's affairs, Mrs Bennet's obvious approval, and Elizabeth's ease in his company all suggested something rather more significant than casual acquaintance.

“How long do you intend to remain in Hertfordshire, Mr MacKinnon?” The question emerged more sharply than intended. Elizabeth's eyes flicked towards him briefly before returning to some middle distance.

“That remains to be determined by circumstances beyond my immediate control,” MacKinnon replied with untroubled ease. “I have certain business matters requiring settlement. Legal complications regarding inheritance and such. I would not wish to depart before ensuring everything here is properly in order for the ladies.”

“Business matters?” Darcy heard the edge in his own voice, made a conscious effort to moderate his tone. “Of what specific nature, if I may enquire?”

“Aye, legal complications regarding inheritance through family connexions. My solicitor is working through the particulars with Mr Philips in Meryton.” MacKinnon's expression remained pleasant throughout this explanation, but something about the phrasing felt rehearsed to Darcy's ear. In truth, his replies sounded too practised, as though the man had prepared these precise words for repeated use.

“Mr MacKinnon is related to my dear late Mr Bennet through his grandmother's line,” Mrs Bennet supplied helpfully, leaning forward with the air of someone delighted to share her superior knowledge. “It is all very complicated with entails and inheritance laws and such things that quite exceed my understanding. But Mr Philips has explained it thoroughly, and Mr MacKinnon has been most helpful.”

Elizabeth's expression revealed nothing, but her cup stilled in her lap for a fraction of a second before she set it down with studied composure. Darcy noted the movement, filed it away alongside his growing catalogue of observations about this entire peculiar situation.

“The estate generates approximately two thousand per annum, I understand,” MacKinnon continued, addressing Darcy directly now with the confidence of someone well versed in his subject. “Primarily from tenant rents, with some additional income from timber sales in alternating years. Miss Bennet has managed affairs with truly remarkable competence since her father's death. The tenants speak most highly of her fairness.”

The compliment was deserved. Darcy knew Elizabeth's intelligence, her capability in practical matters. He had witnessed it himself during her time at Netherfield nursing her sister. But hearing such praise from MacKinnon's lips, delivered with unmistakable warmth and respect, stirred something dark in his chest. This man had spent hours with her reviewing estate accounts, discussing drainage and tenant welfare. This man clearly valued her intelligence, consulted her opinions as though they mattered.

Everything Darcy had failed to do.

“Miss Bennet has always shown excellent judgement in practical matters,” Darcy said with careful formality, the words feeling inadequate even as he spoke them.

Her eyes met his briefly, a flash of something – surprise perhaps, or wariness – before she looked away. “You are kind to say so, Mr Darcy.”

No warmth animated her tone whatsoever. She might have been addressing a complete stranger rather than the man who had proposed marriage mere months ago. The contrast with her manner towards MacKinnon could not have been more pronounced. With the Scotsman, she was not precisely warm, but there existed a comfort in their interaction, an ease born of genuine partnership and mutual respect.

“The tenants have shown remarkable patience during this difficult period,” Elizabeth continued, addressing the room generally rather than any one person. “The Abbotts in particular have suffered much with their sons' misfortunes. Indeed, one of the sons was killed at Waterloo while the other perished from consumption.” She shook her head. “Yet, they persist in meeting their obligations despite being reduced to hired labour. Mr MacKinnon has suggested several improvements to drainage that may benefit not only their holding but several of the smaller farms as well.”

“Your Highland experience must provide useful perspective on such matters,” Darcy offered, struggling to maintain proper conversation whilst his mind circled these new and deeply troubling observations.

“Each challenge requires its own solution, to be sure, but the fundamental principle remains constant. Good land management ultimately benefits both tenant and owner alike.” MacKinnon spoke with easy confidence, leaning slightly forward in his enthusiasm for the subject. “Miss Bennet grasps this principle instinctively. Many landowners, even those born to such responsibilities, never acquire such genuine understanding of the relationship between land and people.”

The comparison was not explicitly stated, but Darcy heard it nonetheless as clearly as if MacKinnon had shouted it across the room. Here was a man who valued Elizabeth's intelligence as an equal rather than an anomaly. He visibly regarded her as a genuine partner in estate management rather than merely a dependent female to be provided for. He was a man offering everything Darcy had bungled through his own insufferable pride and arrogance.

Mrs Bennet prattled on about various household matters. Mary contributed occasional observations about scriptural comfort in times of trial. Kitty remained subdued in her corner, her attention drifting frequently towards the window as though seeking escape from the oppressive atmosphere of mourning and change. Lydia pretended to be enraptured with a piece of embroidery, but in reality listened intently, he could tell by the way her head was tilted toward them.

“Mr MacKinnon has been teaching me about Highland sheep breeds,” Kitty ventured suddenly, breaking her unusual silence with a flash of genuine enthusiasm. “Did you know they can survive on remarkably little forage, even in the harshest winter conditions? It is quite fascinating, really.”

“Aye, the Blackface is a particularly hardy creature, well suited to rough grazing and exposed hillsides.” MacKinnon's face brightened at her interest, his attention turning fully to Miss Kitty with what appeared to be genuine pleasure at her curiosity. “Miss Mary mentioned your interest in agricultural improvement during one of our estate discussions. I thought you might find the comparison between Highland and Lowland breeding practices instructive.”

“You must find Hertfordshire quite different from the Isle of Skye,” Darcy said, more to break his own increasingly troubled thoughts than from curiosity about the answer.

“Aye, gentler land, softer weather, more forgiving soil for cultivation. But there is considerable beauty here as well, though of an entirely different character from our Highland vistas.” MacKinnon gestured towards the window with ease, as though the view beyond held genuine interest rather than mere politeness. “The beech trees particularly. Have you marked how the autumn has turned them copper and amber? Quite striking in this morning's light. Nothing like our Highland colours, of course, but lovely in their own right.”

Darcy had not particularly marked the trees at all. He had been too occupied with his own turbulent thoughts during the journey to notice much beyond what was necessary for safe driving and navigation. MacKinnon, meanwhile, had apparently taken time to observe and appreciate even small beauties of the landscape whilst simultaneously managing estate business and offering genuine assistance to a grieving family. The contrast between them could not have been rendered clearer had someone painted it explicitly.

The call had already extended well beyond the customary half hour that propriety allowed for morning visits. Darcy rose from his seat, suddenly desperate to escape the suffocating confines of this drawing room where everything seemed calculated to remind him of his failures. “I must not intrude further upon your time and hospitality. Mrs Bennet, I thank you for receiving me during this difficult period.”