It was not how Darcy would have responded to an errant child at table, but this was not his house. He glanced over at Miss Elizabeth but did not allow his gaze to linger. Her eyes were on her plate, and he could tell she was blushing with embarrassment.
Miss Bennet took it all in and announced, “Mr. Darcy told me that Mr. Bingley greatly enjoys the festive season. When he is feeling better, Lydia, perhaps we could gather greenery and decorate his room while he is downstairs.”
Darcy blinked. He had not expected such a suggestion from demure Miss Bennet, but then, would it matter if Bingley was elsewhere? It was simply a thoughtful gesture for an invalid.
“Oh, yes.” Mrs. Bennet sounded as though she were actually cooing, reminding Darcy of the pigeons in the park near his London townhouse. “That is a wonderful idea,” the matron continued. “Mr. Bingley will be in residence for some time, and we should do everything we are able to make him feel as though he is at home.”
“Mamma,” Miss Bennet said, shaking her head. “Mr. Bingley’s injuries are thankfully of a temporary nature, but it would be a kindness to make his stay as pleasant as possible.”
“I believe Bingley would be grateful for the gesture, Miss Bennet,” Darcy said. “He is of a rather active disposition, and being kept abed will not be easy for him.”
From the other end of the table came a harsh intake of air that rather sounded like a donkey braying.
“Lydia,” Miss Elizabeth said, and Darcy could feel her frustration.
“Mr. Bingley sounds like you when you are ill, Lizzy,” Miss Lydia said as she lopped off an enormous piece of cake and placed it on her plate. Miss Kitty pressed her lips together at that but did not laugh aloud.
Darcy filed the knowledge away. Like Bingley, Miss Elizabeth was an active person, though she was more focused than his friend, whose mind often tried to tackle several problems at once, resulting in no more than a terrible tangle. For the first time, he considered that Miss Bennet’s calm demeanour might be an excellent complement to Bingley’s more energetic nature.
When Miss Elizabeth held out the platter of eggs and murmured his name, Darcy realised he had not put anything on his own plate. “Thank you, Miss Elizabeth,” he said.
“Rather stunned by all the colour and pageantry, Mr. Darcy?” she asked, but there was a sort of warm teasing in the question.
“Pageantry?” Mrs. Bennet was exasperated. “What can you mean, Miss Lizzy?”
Miss Elizabeth’s groan was imperceptible to anyone other than Darcy. Mrs. Bennet might have gone on longer, but Mr. Bennet peered at his wife over the top of his paper and tipped his head once in Darcy’s direction.
Mrs. Bennet quieted but also frowned. If his presence at the table was preventing Mrs. Bennet from launching into a diatribe aimed at Miss Elizabeth, then he could only be glad he was here.
“I must compliment your cook, Mrs. Bennet,” he said to remove the woman’s focus from Miss Elizabeth. “I must be loyal to my staff, of course, but I will say that beyond my own homes I have rarely enjoyed a meal so much as I have here.” It was entirely true. The food at breakfast was much simpler than it had been at dinner, of course, but it was every bit as delicious.
Mrs. Bennet smiled and opened her mouth to speak, but her husband beat her to it.
“Give us time, Mr. Darcy,” Mr. Bennet said from behind his paper. “We are sure to disappoint eventually.”
“Oh, Mr. Bennet!” cried his wife.
“Will Mr. Collins be returning today, Mrs. Bennet?” Mr. Bennet asked, reaching for his coffee cup.
Miss Bennet threw an annoyed look at her father. Darcy had nearly forgotten about the rather strange young man who had introduced himself at the ball. The dolt had danced the first two with Miss Elizabeth and only her lively steps had saved her toes. Was he still a guest of the house, and if so, why was he visiting Lucas Lodge?
“I do not know that he shall ever return again!” Mrs. Bennet cried. “Not when he has been so infamously used.”
Darcy hoped that was indeed the case. The man was simultaneously exempt from all common sense and puffed up with an overweening kind of pride. If the pompous pastor believed that Lady Catherine de Bourgh thought of him at all other than to issue orders thinly veiled as advice, he was mad.
“Just as he chooses, my dear,” Mr. Bennet replied, at last folding his paper and dropping it on the table. “If he would prefer to spend the rest of his visit at Lucas Lodge, so much the better.”
“Those artful Lucases,” Mrs. Bennet grumbled, but a gentle look from Miss Bennet stopped her yet again. After this, she applied herself to her food, but Darcy had never seen anyone eat so spitefully before. She stabbed her eggs and sliced her fruit with a zeal he found a little frightening.
“Will you walk today, Miss Elizabeth?” he asked, tearing his eyes away from Mrs. Bennet’s tiny massacre.
She smiled with what he presumed was relief. “If it is warmer, yes, I shall.”
Excellent. “I would accompany you if I may. You might show me around the gardens.”
She tipped her head to one side and gave him a quizzical glance. “I am afraid there is not much that remains to be seen this time of year, but as you please, Mr. Darcy.”
He nodded once.