Page 14 of Elizabeth Bennet and the Scottish Laird

Courtesy demanded she read them, but as much as she enjoyed new reading material, Elizabeth had not been able to bring herself to delve into the poetry. He told her stories of Scotland. Ancient clans, wild moors, sheep farming in terrain entirely unlike Hertfordshire's gentle hills. The stories held interest, she supposed. They never captured her imagination the way a single conversation about books at Netherfield had once done.

And all through their courtship, he never ceased teaching her everything she needed to know to manage an estate. It was the kind of education her Papa never provided. She avidly learned about soil management, maps and crop rotations, and new drainage systems that would help Longbourn curb costs. It was the kind of knowledge that certainly engaged her mind.

Yet, despite his endearing charms, kind humour, and efforts, Elizabeth’s heart remained woefully unengaged.

A soft knock. “Come.”

Jane entered with a small smile.

“Malcolm is waiting for you in the morning room, Lizzy. He says you promised to continue the lesson on topographical maps this morning.”

“I did.” Elizabeth turned from the window, reaching for her silver hairbrush. “Thank you, Jane. I shall be down directly.”

Moments later, Elizabeth and Jane strode into the morning room to see Malcolm examining a framed map of Hertfordshire hanging above the sideboard. His face brightened with that open warmth as she entered.

“Miss Elizabeth.” Malcolm bowed with natural grace. “I hope I have not disturbed you too early. I thought we might review the estate maps before the weather turns too cold for our outdoor surveys.”

“Not at all, Mr MacKinnon.” Elizabeth accepted the chair he held as Jane busied herself with her embroidery in the far end corner of the room.

“I brought the topographical maps I mentioned yesterday.” He settled opposite, producing a leather portfolio worn smooth at the edges. “Understanding how to read elevation changes will prove invaluable for managing drainage and irrigation.”

He spread papers across the mahogany table, its surface scarred from generations of Bennet use. Elizabeth leaned forward, studying contour lines and markings with genuine intellectual interest. Here was something concrete to engage. Symbols and measurements, logic and application.

“See these lines here?” His finger, callused from outdoor work despite his gentleman's status, traced marks across the paper. “Each represents a change in elevation. The closer together, the steeper the slope.”

She did see. The concept was straightforward once explained, elegant in its simplicity. The next hour passed in discussion of how terrain affected agricultural planning, how water flowed across different gradients, and why certain fields flooded whilst others remained productive even in the wettest seasons.

Malcolm proved an excellent teacher. Patient, thorough, genuinely pleased by her quick comprehension. Elizabeth asked questions, offered observations, engaged with the material as she would any interesting academic exercise. Yet even as her mind worked through the problems he presented, something remained detached. Like watching herself in a play, going through the motions, which should have signified but somehow did not.

When Malcolm's hand brushed hers as they both reached for the same document, she registered contact without reaction. There was no quickening pulse or warmth beyond simple physical fact. She moved her hand.

How different from those charged moments at Netherfield when even Mr Darcy's formal assistance from a chair had sent awareness cascading through her entire being. But such comparisons helped nothing. Mr Darcy had made his opinion of her connexions abundantly clear at Hunsford. That door had closed months ago.

“Now, regarding crop rotations...” Malcolm produced another document, his enthusiasm undiminished despite the hour already spent. “In Scotland, we alternate between different crops to maintain soil fertility. Legumes one year to enrich the soil, then cereals the next.”

He explained the science. Why certain plants depleted specific nutrients whilst others replenished them, how a four-year cycle could keep land productive indefinitely without expensive application of lime or marl. Elizabeth listened with overt interest. This was useful knowledge, practical information that might serve her well regardless of how her future unfolded.

“You grasp these principles remarkably quickly,” Malcolm said. His eyes held approval. “Many gentlemen never acquire such understanding despite years managing their estates.”

The compliment was sincere. Elizabeth recognised that even as it failed to move her beyond mild gratification at comprehending the lesson. “You explain clearly, Mr MacKinnon. That aids understanding considerably.”

They continued discussing agricultural theory until Mrs Hill appeared with tea, the familiar rattle of china announcing her before she rounded the doorway. Malcolm accepted a cup with thanks, cradling it between his palms as though grateful for warmth, then set it aside to continue. He was in no hurry to end their time together.

“I confess,” he said, his voice dropping, “I find these discussions immensely satisfying. To share knowledge with someone who values learning for its own sake, not merely as ornamental accomplishment. It is refreshing beyond measure.”

“I do value it,” Elizabeth said. That much was true. She valued the knowledge and respected his treating her as capable of understanding complex subjects. What she did not feel was anything beyond that intellectual appreciation. No warmth toward him personally, no eagerness for his company beyond the lessons themselves, no thought of him when he was absent.

How could she settle for a marriage that would be entirely devoid of the profound feelings she had read so avidly in her books?

The realisation sat heavy in her chest, a weight accumulating for three weeks that could no longer be ignored. Yet what choice did she have? Malcolm must turn north before the roads closed, and he would not go alone. He offered security not just for herself but for her entire family. Was that not sufficient reason to accept? Many marriages began with less and prospered nonetheless.

Eventually, Malcolm departed, saying he needed to speak to the tenants.

Setting her embroidery aside, Jane crossed to her. “Are you quite well, Lizzy?”

“Yes.” Elizabeth rearranged her countenance into what she hoped was a more pleasant expression as she looked at her sister. “Malcolm shall return tomorrow with more maps and calculations.” She gestured at the papers still strewn across the table. “Indeed, he is very thorough in his instruction. I believe Longbourn shall be in excellent hands with him at the helm.”

Jane settled into the chair Malcolm had vacated. “And how do you find these lessons?”