Mary, who had been hanging reluctantly back, but still making a great show of donning her gloves, cleared her throat and glanced between Elizabeth and Jane. “Oh, well, if you two are together, perhaps I may as well remain at home. I never fancy being an odd number, and I did not finish my reading this morning.”
Darcy did not miss the way she clutched her book closer, nor the slight relief in her posture as she took a backward step toward the house.
Mrs. Bennet, who had been standing just inside the threshold, took one look at Mary’s stance and sighed. “Well, if you must, you must,” she said, though she sounded more exasperated than disappointed. “But do not sit cooped up all day, Mary. It is not healthy for a young lady.”
Mary nodded, already turning away, clearly pleased with the outcome.
“So,” Elizabeth said brightly as they began their walk, “how do you find the country air, Mr. Darcy? Quite different from London, I expect.”
Darcy shot her a sidelong glance. “Indeed. Though I am not unfamiliar with country life.”
“Ah, yes.” She clasped her hands behind her back, tilting her head slightly. “You did say you had family near Matlock, did you not?”
He hesitated. “I did.”
A little too much interest gleamed in her expression. “And are they all so… discreet as yourself?”
He did not dignify that with a response.
Elizabeth only hummed, falling into step beside him.
Bingley and Jane Bennet were ahead, though not far enough for Darcy’s comfort. He watched as Bingley leaned slightly toward her, speaking animatedly about something that made her smile.
He turned sharply back to Elizabeth. “You enjoy making sport of your ‘cousin,’ I see.”
Elizabeth blinked, all feigned innocence. “Whatever do you mean, sir?”
He gave her a look. “You orchestrated that pairing.”
She sighed, her expression one of exaggerated resignation. “You are entirely too suspicious, Mr. Darcy.”
Darcy lifted a brow.
Elizabeth pursed her lips. Then, with a small smirk, she said, “But I am also not denying it.”
Darcy sighed heavily. “Of course not.”
She clasped her hands, looking ever so pleased with herself. “It is only right that a gentleman should properly escort a lady, is it not? I cannot imagine what you are so put out about.”
Darcy did not dignify that with a response, either. Elizabeth Montclair was a menace.
He glanced at her. She was walking easily, idly trailing her fingers along the tall grasses lining the path. Her cheeks were flushed from the sun, and a slight breeze lifted a few wayward tendrils of dark hair from beneath her bonnet.
She was—comfortable.
A pity he had to wreck that.
Darcy cleared his throat. “I have a question for you, Miss Elizabeth.”
She glanced at him, arching a brow. “Oh? Is this an interrogation?”
“Hardly.” Darcy adjusted his stride, angling slightly toward her. “You have told me before what you saw that night, but I am beginning to suspect I did not ask you all that I should have.”
Elizabeth flicked him a glance, wary. “I cannot imagine what else there is to say.”
“You might begin by telling me why you were there in the first place.”
Her expression did not change. “Oh, you know. The thrill of high-stakes politics. The electric energy of the crowd. I simply could not resist.”
