Elizabeth thought of Miss Francesca’s rigid methods and Ambrose’s eager response to tenderness. “I would argue that affection makes correction more effective, not less. A child who feels loved is far more likely to trust guidance than one who fears punishment.”
“Sentiment over sense, I fear,” Mrs Hurst interjected with a superior smile. “Children are naturally wilful creatures requiring firm management.”
“Perhaps,” Elizabeth conceded, winning another trick while aware of Mr Darcy’s continued scrutiny, no doubt finding fault with her opinions as he had with her appearance, “but wilfulness often stems from unmet needs rather than inherent wickedness. A child who receives adequate affection and understanding typically responds with greater cooperation than one subjected to mere authority.”
Mr Bingley nodded thoughtfully. “There is wisdom in that observation. I recall my own childhood—the lessons I learnedfrom kindness stayed with me far longer than those imposed through fear.”
To Elizabeth’s surprise, Mr Darcy spoke quietly. “Experience suggests that children respond most favourably to consistency paired with care. Authority without affection breeds resentment rather than respect.”
Miss Bingley looked startled by this unexpected support from such an unlikely quarter. “Surely you do not advocate coddling children, Mr Darcy?”
“I advocate treating them as rational beings capable of understanding expectations when those expectations are explained with patience rather than imposed through intimidation,” he replied evenly, his gaze meeting Elizabeth’s with what appeared to be approval.
“I speak not of indulgence, but of balance,” Elizabeth added, gathering the cards for the next hand while processing this surprising alliance. “Children flourish when they feel secure in their guardians’ affection while understanding clear expectations for behaviour.”
The debate continued alongside their card play, Elizabeth growing more passionate in defence of her views despite—or perhaps because of—the stakes involved. She won trick after trick while the Bingley sisters maintained their superior smiles, though their arguments grew increasingly weak. Even Mr Darcy’s occasional agreement could not diminish her satisfaction at exposing their callous attitudes towards children, though she wondered what game he was truly playing.
As the afternoon waned and their play concluded—with Elizabeth’s decisive victory in both cards and conversation—she reflected on the day’s curious developments. Ambrose’s innocent affection had warmed her heart, while Georgiana’sgrowing confidence proved deeply satisfying. The Bingley sisters’ calculated coldness surprised no one, yet Mr Darcy’s occasional support of her arguments puzzled her considerably. Perhaps he simply enjoyed contradicting his hostesses, or sought to appear more agreeable than his true nature allowed. Whatever his motives, she remained unconvinced that a few well-chosen words could compensate for his fundamental lack of civility.
The carriage ride home could not come soon enough, yet Elizabeth felt oddly reluctant to leave. Something important had shifted during these hours at Netherfield, though she could not yet name what changes lay ahead.
Chapter Four
A few days later
“Peppermint drops or lemon cakes?” Ambrose demanded with the gravity of a judge weighing capital punishment, his small hands pressed against the confectioner’s window with enough force to leave tiny smudges on the glass.
Elizabeth smiled at his earnest deliberation, though her attention kept drifting to the street behind them. The sensation of being observed had plagued her since they left Netherfield, a prickle between her shoulder blades that refused to be dismissed as mere fancy. Twice she had turned to catch sight of a figure that seemed to melt into doorways or disappear around corners when she looked directly.
“Perhaps we might sample both?” Georgiana suggested gently, her own excitement at the prospect of town sweets barely concealed beneath her proper demeanour. “Mr Bingley did provide us with quite generous pocket money for this expedition.”
Jane laughed, the sound carrying across the autumn chill. “I fear we shall return to Netherfield with a small boy too full of sugar to manage. Your brother may never forgive us, Georgiana.”
“Fitzwilliam enjoys seeing Ambrose happy,” Georgiana replied with fond certainty. “Though he pretends to disapprove of too many treats, I have caught him slipping extra biscuits to the boy when he thinks no one notices.”
Elizabeth’s unease deepened as a shadow moved across the shop window opposite, too swift and deliberate to be coincidental. She turned sharply, but found only empty street and the ordinary bustle of Meryton’s afternoon trade. A merchant arranging his wares, a matron examining ribbons, children playing with hoops—nothing that should cause alarm, yet her pulse quickened nonetheless.
“Lizzy,” Ambrose tugged at her skirt, “you are not attending! The shopkeeper asked what we should like, and you are staring at nothing at all.”
Heat rose in Elizabeth’s cheeks as she realized her distraction had become obvious. “Forgive me, dear one. I was merely admiring the architecture of the buildings across the way.”
The explanation sounded weak even to her own ears, but Ambrose accepted it with the trusting nature of childhood. Soon they were armed with paper twists of sweets, Ambrose clutching his treasures with the satisfaction of a successful negotiator who had indeed secured both peppermint drops and lemon cakes.
“Shall we walk towards the milliner’s?” Jane suggested, linking her arm through Elizabeth’s with sisterly affection. “I confess myself curious about the new ribbons Mrs Harrison mentioned at Sunday service.”
As they strolled along Meryton’s main thoroughfare, Elizabeth’s attention divided between her companions’ cheerful chatter and the persistent feeling of surveillance. The sensation was not imagination—she was certain someone tracked their movements with uncomfortable interest. Yet each time she glanced about, she discovered nothing more alarming than the usual collection of shopkeepers, tradesmen, and housewives going about their daily business.
“Miss Darcy,” Jane was saying in a soft voice that made her beloved by all who knew her, “I cannot express how grateful I am for your brother’s kindness to our family. His assistance with the Longbourn repairs has been beyond generous.”
Georgiana’s cheeks pinked with pleasure at this praise of her brother. “Fitzwilliam believes strongly in helping one’s neighbours. Though I confess he seemed particularly motivated after meeting your family.”
Elizabeth’s eyebrows rose at this observation, though she kept her opinions about Mr Darcy’s motivations to herself. More pressing was the figure she glimpsed again—definitely a man, tall and wearing a dark coat, who stepped quickly into an alleyway when she looked in his direction.
“There is something I wished to discuss with you both,” Georgiana continued, her voice dropping to a more confidential tone. “Mr Bingley has been so very attentive, Jane, and it is clear he holds you in the highest regard. Yet I sense you harbour some reservation?”
Jane’s colour deepened, and she glanced around as if fearing eavesdroppers. “His sisters have made their feelings regarding our connection quite plain. I cannot help but wonder whether such disapproval might influence his eventual decisions.”
“But surely Mr Bingley is master of his own heart?” Elizabeth interjected, temporarily distracted from her surveillance concerns by her sister’s evident distress. “A gentleman of his character would not allow others to dictate matters of such importance.”
