Page 83 of A November to Remember

“You must take my arm, Miss Elizabeth.” He offered his elbow, stepping closer to shield her from the wind. “The ground is unfit for walking without a proper anchor.”

Elizabeth placed her hand on his sleeve, feeling the solid warmth of him through the layers of wool. “I thank you, Mr Darcy. I had no desire to return to the house resembling a clay statue.”

He laughed, and his arm settled a little more comfortably under her hand. It was a disconcertingly pleasant beginning to a walk she had expected to spend apologising for her younger sisters, who had returned from the gate on discovering that the lane contained neither officers nor any prospect of them.

“Lizzy! Lizzy!”

Lydia attached herself to Elizabeth’s free side, while Kitty walked next to Mr Darcy, occasionally moving ahead to avoid the puddles and then falling back to continue beside them.

“The bonnet was quite dreadful. Did you see it, Lizzy?” Lydia asked, her eyes wide. “There were feathers standing straight up at the back, and every time Mrs Forster turned her head, they trembled. I told Kitty I could scarcely attend to the service for wondering whether she would take flight.”

“You could scarcely attend to the service because you were looking at Captain Carter,” Kitty corrected. “You asked me whether he had seen your new ribbon.”

“I asked whether the ribbon had slipped. It is not the same.”

“You asked it when he looked round.”

Elizabeth drew breath to intervene, very conscious of Mr Darcy beside her. But he glanced at Kitty with interest.

“Did it slip?”

Kitty blinked at him. “The ribbon?”

“I believe that was the point under dispute.”

“No,” Kitty admitted, while Lydia bestowed on him the pleased smile of a litigant whose case had received unexpected assistance.

“There, you see, Lizzy? Mr Darcy understands. One must enquire about these things. A ribbon may come loose at any moment.”

“Especially when Captain Carter turns round,” Elizabeth said, and felt a small movement under her hand which made her suspect Mr Darcy was containing a laugh.

Lydia ignored this unhelpful contribution and addressed him directly. “Do you dislike feathers, Mr Darcy? Gentlemen pretend they never notice bonnets, but they always know when they dislike one.”

“My sister has occasionally asked my opinion.” He guided Elizabeth around another icy patch. “I have learned that I am more useful when she presents me with two possibilities.”

“Because then you must choose?” Kitty pressed.

“Because otherwise I advise her to buy something warmer.”

Both girls regarded him with horror. To them, he had failed to grasp the purpose of an entire branch of civilisation. Elizabeth pressed her lips together, but Mr Darcy seemed untroubled by their judgement.

“Mr Darcy.” Lydia stepped forward to catch his eye. “Is it true you have fifty servants at Pemberley?”

Here it comes, Elizabeth thought.

“Fifty-three,” Mr Darcy said, without blinking. “Though I am told the boot-boy is considering an offer from a neighbouring estate, so the number may fall.”

“And this sister of yours—how old is she?” Lydia moved nearer, her interest thoroughly engaged. “Is she out? Is she pretty? Is she very grand? Has she been presented?”

“She is not yet sixteen, and she has not yet been presented. She is extremely pretty in my unbiased opinion, and she is not in the least grand. She is shy and plays the pianoforte. She enjoys music more than dancing, though she may discover a greater affection for the latter when she has partners who are not related to her.”

“Then she is nearly my age!” Lydia exclaimed. “You must bring her here.”

“Mary plays,” Kitty interjected tentatively, considering how much further honesty required her to go.

“I have heard her.” Mr Darcy met Elizabeth’s eye, and she tightened her fingers on his sleeve in warning before she realised what she had done.

There was enough amusement in his eyes to make her avert her gaze first.