They stepped outside where, despite Mrs. Bennet’s declaration of warmth, it had actually begun to snow a little. He peevishly hoped that Mr. Collins would have an exceedingly cold ride home.
“You are wearing quite a ferocious expression, Mr. Darcy,” Miss Elizabeth informed him. “I hope a walk with me is not its cause?”
“Not at all, Miss Elizabeth,” he replied. “I am only thinking.”
“The sort of thoughts that produce a scowl such as the one on your countenance cannot be pleasant. Shall we speak of other things?”
“Such as your love for Gilpin and the . . . picturesque?” He grinned at her as they stepped out into the remains of the garden.
Miss Elizabeth sighed. “I should not have said it, but truly, they were so rude. You at least attempted to correct the slight.”
“The entirety of the jest did not occur to me until later, I confess. I had rather a good laugh about it.”
“I hope Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst never understood.”
“I daresay they did not. I should have been regaled with their distaste and disdain if they had.”
“Where do you suppose they are now?” she asked. “It is only that they must have sent a note to Mr. Bingley’s hotel and received no response. When do you think they shall return—or shall they?”
Darcy shrugged. “When it comes to Bingley’s sisters, I try not to think too much.”
“That must be the only time you attempt to turn off your mind, Mr. Darcy, for I find you are always thinking about something.”
Bingley and Miss Bennet were on the other side of the garden, speaking intently. He took both of Miss Elizabeth’s slender hands in his. They were gloved but warm. His heart beat a little faster and he leaned in.
“Would you know what I am thinking of just now, Miss Elizabeth?”
Her reply was a little breathless. “I am sure I cannot say, Mr. Darcy.”
He tried to put all he was feeling into a smile, and for a second, Miss Elizabeth stopped breathing altogether. He almost panicked, but then she returned his smile and tipped her face up to his. “I have been entirely mystified by you, Mr. Darcy, so I believe you shall have to explain yourself and your thoughts to me.”
He chuckled. “You are as proper as your sister.”
“No,” Miss Elizabeth said, looking him straight in the eye. “I am not.”
Darcy’s mouth was suddenly quite dry. He coughed, swallowed, and cleared his throat. Certainly she did not meanthat. She was an innocent. He shook his ungentlemanly thoughts away but stumbled over a rock in the path and had to bend one knee deeply in order to recover.
“Are you well, Mr. Darcy?” Miss Elizabeth inquired.
He cursed silently. “Perfectly so, though it is clear I must watch where I am placing my feet.” The moment was ruined by his clumsiness, and he berated himself for missing his opportunity.
“Lizzy!” shouted a young woman. Darcy sighed. That screeching howl of delight could only be one person.
“Lydia,” Miss Elizabeth said. “Lower your voice.”
“Oh, no one cares about that, Lizzy, not when you have had a proposal! Who would have thought Mr. Darcy would ask before Mr. Bingley? What a fine joke! Come, Kitty, we must tell Mamma!”
“Lydia!” Miss Elizabeth cried frantically, but her youngest sister, used to heeding no one, skipped inside, joyful at the prospect of announcing news that ought to be shared by Miss Elizabeth.
Not that there was any news to share.
Miss Elizabeth’s cheeks flushed a deep red, making her appear even more beautiful with the light flakes of snow floating down around her. “She must have seen you lose your footing and assumed . . .”
Miss Lydia had been wrong. Not an uncommon occurrence. But she did not have to remain wrong.
“Do you wish to go inside and inform your parents that Miss Lydia is mistaken?” he asked.
“I probably should,” she said, worrying her bottom lip.