Fitzwilliam smiled. “On the contrary, Miss Elizabeth, I find your village delightful, and its inhabitants even more so.”
Miss Elizabeth’s laugh was gentle, but Darcy detected a faint edge to her amusement. As her gaze flicked briefly to him, he felt the spark of her curiosity. She knew something or at least suspected that there was something to know.
For now, he could only bow politely as she excused herself. Her elder sister was stepping out of the little house, and a man he did not recognize but who appeared to be a footman was watching Miss Elizabeth. He was carrying four more baskets, two over each arm.
As she curtsied and returned to her party, Darcy turned back to Fitzwilliam.
He would uncover the truth about Mr. Bennet’s lineage. As for Miss Elizabeth, he must bid farewell to any desire to make her his own. For he was damned if he did ask and damned if he did not.
Elizabeth turned away from Mr. Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam with deliberate calm, determined to shake off the strain she had observed between them. She had no inclination to intrude upon their private conversation. Unlike Lydia, she did not eavesdrop. Not intentionally, at any rate. Yet, as she approached Jane, her mind persisted in replaying the sight of what had been a brief but charged encounter.
“Was that Mr. Darcy I saw?” Jane asked. They strolled down to the Simmons house on the corner and knocked.
“It was,” Elizabeth replied before the door was flung open by a boy who was half her height. She smiled. “Master Davey, good day to you.”
“Have you come with the apples?” he cried, jumping up and down. “Is it the apples?”
“Oh,” Elizabeth said, feigning confusion and peering into the basket she held. “I am not certain. Were you expecting apples?”
“The spice-ed ones!” he nearly howled as his mother put a hand on his shoulder. She was a young woman, but she was pale and appeared tired. Not so tired however, that she could not be embarrassed by her son. “Davey Sebastian Simmons, you apologise to Miss Elizabeth this instant!”
Davey stopped hopping and glanced up at her with an adorable pout. “Sorry, Miss Elizabeth.”
Jane reached into the basket and extended a small jar of honey to the boy. “Is this it?” she asked innocently.
He took the jar. “No, Miss Bennet, this ain’t it. But I thank you. Honey is nice too.”
The words were all correct, but they had the sound of a dirge. Elizabeth shook her head. “Next year, then, Davey. Here, take this basket for your mother.” She handed over the basket, and Mrs. Simmons smiled at them.
“Please put everything on the table, Davey.”
“Yes, Mum,” the boy said. He took the basket and offered them a sad little bow before he disappeared inside. A few moments later there was a shout. “Thereareapples!”
His grandmother, Old Mrs. Simmons, could be heard saying, “Do not you dare open that jar, Davey Simmons. Those apples must be shared.”
“But there are two jars!” the boy exclaimed.
Jane smiled and whispered to his mother, “Actually, there are three. He loved them so much last year.”
Mrs. Simmons bent down to lift a toddler into her arms. “Thank you so much.”
“There is no need for thanks,” Jane assured her. “Your father worked at Longbourn for twenty years, and many still rely upon your mother for her excellent nursing skills. It is our honour to do this small thing for you.”
“And even if that were not the case, it is a very great pleasure to bring these apples to a boy who loves them so much,” Elizabeth added with a warm smile.
They said their goodbyes, and Jane took Elizabeth’s arm as they strolled to the next house. “Mr. Darcy has not been to town much since his arrival at Netherfield. I wonder why he came today.”
Elizabeth schooled her features to mask her interest. “That is true. He and his cousin were engaged in some deep discourse. I did not remain to investigate.”
Jane glanced at her sister, with affectionate amusement. “You mean to say you resisted the temptation to uncover the source of their debate? That is unlike you, Lizzy.”
Elizabeth chuckled as she turned her attention to the next villager. “Tempting as it was, I thought better of it. He and his cousin seemed at odds. It is strange, for the colonel seemed rather stern. Rather different than his previous manner.”
“He is a military man, sister,” Jane teased lightly. “I must presume he is not always as pleasant as he is when he calls on us.”
They walked two streets over to knock on Mrs. Lawton’s door, greeting her and offering one of the baskets.
“Thank you, Miss Elizabeth,” the woman said, as her young daughter removed two jars and clutched them to her chest. “This will be such a treat for our supper on Twelfth Night.”
