Page 34 of Elizabeth Bennet and the Scottish Laird

He reached across to cover Elizabeth's hand with his own, the gesture casual and proprietorial. Darcy watched her fingers still beneath the touch. She did not pull away, but neither did she turn her hand to clasp his, a detail Malcolm seemed not to notice.

“I am certain we shall manage,” Elizabeth said quietly. “There is time yet.”

“Not so much as you might think.” Malcolm's attention shifted to include Darcy in the conversation with polite courtesy. “The journey to Strathaird requires careful planning, particularly in winter. We must cross through Edinburgh, which adds days to the travel, and then the ferry to Skye is subject to weather delays.”

“You have made the journey many times, I collect,” Darcy observed, keeping his tone merely conversational despite the questions burning in his mind.

“Indeed. I know every inn along the route, every treacherous turn in the road.”

“And you have always lived on Skye? Your family estates are there?”

Something akin to annoyance flickered in Malcolm's expression. It was so brief Darcy might have imagined it. “Well, I find myself constantly on the move. Business matters, you see. But, the MacKinnons have held Strathaird for generations. My father before me, and his father before him.”

“A considerable legacy.” Darcy leant forwards slightly. “I confess, I know little of the Isle of Skye beyond what one reads in travel accounts. The Clearances must have affected the area significantly.”

“They did.” Malcolm's voice had cooled perceptibly. “Many families were displaced, though we managed to protect most of our tenants.”

“Most fortunate. I have heard the factor's role in such matters was often difficult.” Darcy watched Malcolm's face carefully. “The decisions required of estate management during such upheaval must have weighed heavily on your father.”

“My father died before the worst of it.” Malcolm's accent thickened. “I was barely of age when I inherited. Perhaps too raw, for such responsibilities.”

“How young?” The question emerged more sharply than Darcy intended. He saw Elizabeth glance at him with surprise.

Malcolm's eyes narrowed slightly. “Young enough that the details are somewhat hazy, Mr Darcy. Is there a particular reason for this interest in my family history?”

“Merely curiosity.” Darcy pressed on despite the warning in Malcolm's tone. “Estate management fascinates me, particularly in regions so different from Derbyshire. Your mother, was she from Skye as well, or did your father marry into the property?”

“My mother was English. Yorkshire.” Malcolm's jaw had tightened. “She died when I was a boy.”

“I am sorry for your loss. And your wife, Moira's mother, she was Scottish, I presume?”

“She was.” Malcolm stood abruptly, his courtesy fraying into visible irritation. “Forgive me, Mr Darcy, but I am not accustomed to such interrogation regarding my family circumstances. Is there some concern you wish to voice directly?”

Elizabeth's eyes had widened. She looked between them with growing alarm. “Mr MacKinnon, I am certain Mr Darcy meant no offence—”

“None whatsoever.” Darcy rose as well, though his pulse hammered in his throat. “I apologise if my questions seemed impertinent. As I said, merely the curiosity of one landowner to another.”

“Your curiosity is rather specific for casual interest.” Malcolm's Scottish burr grew sharp with suspicion. “If you have doubts about my suitability as Elizabeth's husband, perhaps you might address them directly rather than circling like a lawyer deposing a witness.”

The accusation hung in the air. Darcy felt Elizabeth's gaze on him, questioning and confused. He had pushed too hard. Now Malcolm's defences were raised in a way that would make further enquiry impossible.

“I have no doubts.” The lie tasted bitter. “I merely wished to understand the circumstances Miss Bennet would be entering. Surely you cannot fault a friend for taking interest in her future welfare.”

“A friend.” Malcolm's tone suggested he heard more than Darcy wished to reveal. “How considerate.”

The tension stretched taut between them. Georgiana rose from the table with Moira, her timing impeccable as always. “Brother, I believe we have imposed long enough. Miss MacKinnon has mastered today's lesson beautifully, and I promised Lady Lucas we would return in time for luncheon.”

Malcolm seized the excuse with obvious relief. “I should take my leave as well. Elizabeth, we can discuss the arrangements another time, when we have more privacy.” The emphasis on the final word was pointed. He bowed to Georgiana before nodding curtly to Darcy. “Miss Darcy. Mr Darcy.”

He withdrew, Moira in tow, towards the nursery stairs, the child glancing back with confusion at the adults' strained faces. The moment the door closed, Elizabeth turned to Darcy with barely contained frustration.

“Are you quite well, Mr Darcy? Only, I am unaccustomed to such a measure of impropriety from you.”

Darcy met her eyes, seeing the sharp intelligence. “I merely wished to know more about the man you are to marry.”

“By interrogating him as though he were a criminal?” she demanded. “You sounded like a magistrate conducting an investigation, not a friend making conversation.”

“Did my questions seem unreasonable?”