His expression remained that same neutral that it had been all evening, but she swore she saw the slightest flicker of amusement in his eyes. “It is a skill,” he said dryly. “One you have not entirely mastered.”
Elizabeth smirked. “No, I am afraid I am rather dreadful at it.”
Darcy made a sound that might have been a chuckle, though it was so brief that she could not be certain.
She tilted her head. “Tell me, Mr. Darcy—why did you bother to speak on my behalf earlier? With Sir Archibald?”
His expression did not change, but his posture shifted ever so slightly. “You needed the endorsement,” he said simply.
Elizabeth studied him for a moment, unsure of what to make of that answer. Before she could press him further, Lady Matlock approached, smiling warmly.
“Miss Bennet,” she said pleasantly, “you and my nephew make a rather fine pair.”
Elizabeth stiffened immediately.
Darcy, however, merely inclined his head. “You flatter us, Aunt.”
“Not at all. It is simply a delight to see two such fine minds in harmony.”
Elizabeth could not help it. She laughed outright. “Harmony, Lady Matlock? That is generous indeed.”
Lady Matlock’s eyes twinkled. “Oh, my dear,” she said. “You will find that I am always generous.”
Chapter Twelve
Darcy flipped the letterwith a sharp snap and tossed it onto the growing pile of correspondence. Another tenant dispute. Another complaint about grazing rights. Another problem he could do nothing about from London.
The knock at his study door came before he could reach for the next letter. “Come in.”
The door creaked open, and Mrs. Younge stepped inside, her hands folded neatly at her waist. “Good morning, Mr. Darcy.”
He sighed. “I assume this is about Georgiana,” he said, not bothering to disguise his impatience.
Mrs. Younge nodded once. “Yes, sir. I regret to say, I think it best if we discuss her behavior.”
Darcy pushed his letters aside with a grimace and gestured for her to continue.
“She has been increasingly difficult these past few days,” Mrs. Younge began, stepping further into the room. “This morning, she dismissed the new French tutor after ten minutes, claiming his accent was unbearable. Yesterday, she informed the music master that the pianoforte is a ‘tedious instrument for tedious people.’”
Darcy arched a brow. That sounded uncomfortably familiar. “And what of last evening?” he prompted. “Did you ever learn why she declined to join me in the drawing room?”
“She claimed she had a headache, though I suspect sloth or defiance to be the cause.”
Darcy leaned back in his chair, his fingers drumming against the polished wood of the armrest. “Has she given any indication as to why she is behaving this way?”
Mrs. Younge hesitated. “She seems restless, sir. Isolated. She spends most of her time reading alone in her room, but when encouraged to join company or attend lessons, she becomes sullen. I believe she feels… disconnected.”
Darcy frowned. “Disconnected from what?”
Mrs. Younge’s lips pressed together as if weighing her next words. “From society, sir. I believe what Miss Darcy needs is a change of scenery. A seaside retreat, perhaps. Ramsgate is quite fashionable this time of year, and the fresh air might do wonders for her disposition.”
Darcy’s jaw tightened. “You have mentioned Ramsgate before.”
“I have, sir. You brought me on for my experience, and in my experience, young ladies require some… consideration for their sensibilities. The sea air and freedom from the pressures of London could offer her some… refreshment. She may benefit from some time away from the restrictions of this household.”
Darcy’s gaze darkened. “Georgiana’s problem is not thehousehold,Mrs. Younge. She has been given every opportunity to thrive here, but she refuses to engage. I will not reward her obstinance with a seaside holiday.”
Mrs. Younge inclined her head, though the faint downturn of her mouth suggested she was not pleased with his response. “As you wish, Mr. Darcy. I shall suggest she try a new painting.” She left the room as quietly as she had entered.
