Page 24 of Elizabeth Bennet and the Scottish Laird

It was not trust. Not yet. But as they made their way along the lane towards the copse of oaks that Elizabeth had loved since childhood, she thought it might be the beginning of something.

Chapter 8

The bells of Meryton church were still ringing when Darcy handed his sister down from the carriage into the churchyard. A thin Sunday congregation was filing in beneath a sky the colour of pewter, breath clouding in the cold, and Darcy scanned the faces with a want of composure that shamed him.

He was under no illusion as to why he had come. Whatever errands had carried him into Hertfordshire, it was Elizabeth Bennet he wished to be near and to protect as best he could.

But a man might know his own heart and still be glad of a decent excuse to follow it. He had written to Bingley that business would bring him to Hertfordshire once more, and he'd be available to attend to matters related to Netherfield. Bingley had given him several non-emergent tasks which would serve as cover for his stay, alongside Mrs Annesley's visit to her cousin.

None of it was false. Every errand was real, every reason sound. That they were also, one and all, a screen behind which he might do the thing he had no business doing—look upon Elizabeth Bennet once more—he knew quite well. He found he did not much mind. A man denied the thing he wanted could at least be grateful for the small mercy of a pretext that let him want it with some measure of dignity.

Beside him, Georgiana had grown pale and quiet, and he pressed her gloved hand where it rested upon his arm. Since Ramsgate she had shrunk from strangers and from society both; that she had agreed to this journey at all he counted a small miracle, and he would not have her overtaxed. An outing to church had seemed the right and proper way to start their stay here.

"You need not speak to anyone you do not wish to," he murmured.

"I know." She managed a smile. "But I should like to. Truly, Fitzwilliam. I have been shut away long enough and we are here on an important mission after all."

The Bennets stood a little apart near the lychgate, a family in unrelieved black. Mrs Bennet, swathed in bombazine and crape, was already dabbing at her eyes. Beside her stood the eldest Miss Bennet, serene and lovely even in mourning, and next to her—

Elizabeth.

She had not seen him yet. She stood with her head bent toward a small figure at her side, a fair-haired child in a grey cloak too large for her, and something in the tenderness of the attitude caught at Darcy's chest and held it. Then she looked up, and her eyes found his.

The Lucases were with them—Sir William already bowing, Lady Lucas and Miss Maria at his elbow—and it was Sir William, predictably, who broke the silence.

"Why, Mr Darcy! Mr Darcy, upon my word! We had no notion—that is, what a very great pleasure! And this must be—?"

"My sister. Miss Darcy." Darcy bowed. "Forgive the intrusion. We did not mean to descend upon your congregation unannounced."

"Intrusion! Not in the least, not in the very least." Sir William beamed upon them both with undiminished good nature.

Mrs Bennet recovered herself with visible effort, her curtsy a shade too deep. "Mr Darcy. What a—what an unexpected honour. We did not look to see you in Hertfordshire again so very soon." Her gaze moved to Georgiana with frank and hopeful assessment. "And Miss Darcy. How very elegant."

Georgiana curtsied. "Mrs Bennet. I am glad to make your acquaintance, though I am very sorry it should be at such a time. Please accept my condolences upon your loss."

"You are very good." Mrs Bennet's handkerchief reappeared.

Elizabeth had said nothing. When Darcy at last permitted himself to look at her directly, he found her regarding him with an expression he could not read—guarded, certainly, but not, he thought, unwelcoming.

"Mr Darcy." She inclined her head. "You are a long way from town or was it Derbyshire you were returning to?"

"My sister's companion, Mrs Annesley, has family at Perkins," he said. "We are come to see her settled there for a little while. And Mr Bingley has asked me to look over Netherfield on his behalf, the lease being nearly out. It seemed hardly worth bringing him the whole way from the north for so small a service."

"How considerate of you." If there was any irony in it, she did not let it reach her voice.

The service claimed them then, and Darcy saw little of the sermon and less of his prayer book. He was aware of the Bennet pew across the aisle, of Elizabeth's dark head bent over her book, of the fair-haired child beside her who fidgeted and was gently stilled by Elizabeth's hand. He did not see MacKinnon. Perhaps he was not the religious sort.

When the congregation spilled back into the churchyard afterward, it was Jane who came to them. "Mr Darcy, Miss Darcy, an inn is a poor place to pass a Sunday. Will you not come back to Longbourn and take some refreshment before you return? It is but a step, and Mama would be glad of it."

Mrs Bennet, who a moment before had worn the harried look of a woman calculating whether her larder could withstand company, brightened at once. "Yes! Yes, indeed, you must come. We are in mourning and receive very little, but for such friends we shall certainly make an exception."

Darcy hesitated. Every principle of prudence counselled refusal. To sit in the same room as Elizabeth, to watch her pour tea and hold her composure and belong, however unwillingly, to another man's future—it was a species of torture he had no business inviting.

"We should be glad to," said Georgiana.

He looked down at his sister in surprise. There was a faint colour in her cheeks that had nothing to do with the cold, and something almost like resolve in the set of her mouth. She had not sought company in a twelvemonth. He could not, in that moment, bring himself to deny her.

"Indeed," he agreed.