Page 172 of What Change Entails

A little disbelief, perhaps, at the family Pemberley had somehow become overrun with.

Georgiana followed Lydia down the corridor, slipper in hand, laughter still trembling in her chest. Miss Bingley might remain a few days longer. The house might still hold difficult conversations, awkward meals, and more attempts at control.

But Georgiana had said no.

And when Lydia seized her arm and whispered, “You were splendid, you know,” Georgiana did not correct her.

She held the ruined slipper higher, gathered what dignity she could, and proceeded toward Mr. Hurst’s rescue.

Chapter Nineteen

Darcy had thought, with more hope than judgment, that Miss Bingley might be deterred by defeat. She was not.

The following morning proved it before the coffee had been poured. She entered the breakfast room in pale blue muslin, her hair arranged with greater care than a woman recovering from an ailment had any right to manage, and apologized for the previous day’s indisposition with such graceful fatigue that Bingley was moved to concern, Mrs. Hurst to sympathy, and Lydia Bennet to a degree of interest bordering upon professional study.

Darcy rose with the rest of the gentlemen. “I trust you are recovered.”

“Nearly,” Miss Bingley replied, allowing the word to carry just enough delicacy to invite further inquiry. “The head is a dreadful tyrant when it takes a fancy to rule one’s whole frame. But I could not remain above while Pemberley held company.”

She sought Elizabeth.

Darcy noticed. Georgiana did as well, lifting her cup before setting it down again without drinking. Miss Lydia, seated beside his sister, leaned closer and whispered something that made Georgiana’s mouth tremble with suppressed amusement.

Miss Bingley saw that also.

It was a peculiar thing, Darcy thought as the party took their seats. Once, he might have found Miss Bingley’s conversation polished, her manners superior to most, her eagerness toward Georgiana harmless if occasionally tiring. Now every small movement carried another meaning. She had spent years arranging herself near influence and calling it friendship. She had mistaken access for right. Worse, he had allowed it.

He had not liked that reflection.

It had remained with him through half the night, as unwelcome as a creditor and rather more persistent.

Elizabeth sat across from him, speaking to Mrs. Gardiner about the previous day’s drive. Her color rose faintly when Lydia asked too pointed a question about hidden views and private lanes, but she answered with tolerable calm. Tolerable to anyone who did not know her. Darcy knew her better now. Enough to see the mischief she restrained. Enough to know when she dared not meet his eye.

He ought not to have taken such pleasure in it.

He did.

Miss Bingley addressed him before breakfast could settle into comfort. “Mr. Darcy, I had thought perhaps we might have music this morning. Georgiana has neglected her practice shamefully since the arrival of so many diversions.”

Across the table Georgiana stiffened. Her spoon rested beside her plate. She did not touch it.

Darcy laid down his knife. “My sister has played when she wished to play.”

“Of course. I meant that young ladies benefit from constancy. Talents suffer when discipline is relaxed.”

Miss Lydia opened her mouth.

Georgiana nudged her beneath the table, perhaps with force.

Darcy answered before Miss Lydia could be required to commit violence upon propriety. “Georgiana’s accomplishments are in no danger.”

Miss Bingley’s lips pressed together.

Bingley reached for toast, totally unaware he had nearly witnessed an engagement between his sister and a young girl armed with marmalade.

Mrs. Gardiner intervened with a question regarding the path toward the high ridge, and the table shifted. The day was too fine to remain indoors, she said. Her husband wished to sketch a view from the western hill before the weather changed. Bingley, always happy to endorse movement, offered to accompany them. Mrs. Hurst wished to drive, Mr. Hurst wished to eat something cold outdoors without walking up a hill to obtain it, and Miss Bingley, after consulting Darcy’s face, announced that a gentle excursion might be restorative.

As the others spoke, Darcy’s thoughts drifted. Harding had mentioned another difficulty before dinner, a disagreement over old boundary stones at Kelton that might yet require Darcy’s personal attention. Darcy had hoped the matter would wait. Nothing in the steward’s first report suggested urgency.