Page 135 of What Change Entails

“He lives here,” Lydia answered. “It would be cruel to exclude him from his own picnic.”

“I was referring less to exclusion than sanitation.”

Horace sneezed one orange directly into Bingley’s boots.

Bingley grinned and leaned against the wall.

Darcy forced his attention elsewhere before he disgraced himself similarly.

Miss Bingley moved toward him, plainly expecting intervention. “Mr. Darcy.”

“I confess,” he replied, “I do not know the proper punishment for assault by citrus.”

Elizabeth’s laugh came from behind him.

He answered the sound before prudence could interfere.

She stood near the open doors speaking with Mrs. Gardiner, her bonnet hanging from one wrist while sunlight caught in the loose curls stirred by the breeze. She had chosen a walking dress of pale green that morning. He had no business noticing such things with the precision he now did.

Unfortunately, he noticed everything.

Her gloves. The slight crease appearing beside her mouth when she fought amusement. The manner in which she tilted her head while listening.

Miss Bingley followed his glance.

That ruined the moment instantly.

“Well,” Lydia declared, springing to her feet. “If Miss Bingley objects to Horace, she may ride separately.”

“Lydia,” Elizabeth protested.

“What? I merely offer solutions.”

Miss Bingley ignored her and addressed Darcy instead. “Surely the tenants do not expect the whole party.”

“They expect hospitality,” Darcy answered. “And they shall have it.”

Something in his tone ended further argument for the moment.

Servants carried the baskets outside soon afterward while the party gathered near the carriages. The day promised uncommon beauty. Sunlight spread across the lawns in broad gold bands, and beyond the terraces the Derbyshire hills rolled deep green beneath a cloudless sky.

Darcy assisted Mrs. Gardiner into the first carriage while Bingley attempted unsuccessfully to persuade Horace not to follow the horses.

“You are encouraging him,” Darcy observed.

“I encourage everyone,” Bingley replied. “It is my chief talent.”

“That and choosing disastrous sisters,” Lydia muttered under her breath to Georgiana.

Georgiana choked visibly.

Miss Bingley narrowed her eyes. “Did you say something?”

“I said your shawl is lovely,” Lydia answered smoothly.

Darcy did not believe her for one instant.

The tenant picnic took place in a meadow beyond the eastern orchards, where the ground leveled near the river. Darcy had attended dutifully since inheriting Pemberley. He had shaken hands, listened to petitions, settled disputes between neighboring tenants regarding sheep, weather, fences, and occasionally poultry.