Richard cracked the balls together and straightened. “I know a bloody bit more than you, if you think you can marry her off to Bingley and be done with it.”
Darcy leaned against his cue. “It does me little good to disagree with you, for the matter is out of my hands. Bingley has declared himself in love with Miss Jane Bennet, and unless he should alter his intent, it is she to whom he means to return.”
“Ah. Then that does present a problem, for you will continue to have a remarkably handsome widow about. But, if she has any sense, she will rather marry after her mourning period ends than continue as Georgiana’s companion. Only four more months, if I am not mistaken? I suppose you know some other chap in want of a wife.” He finished his remarks with that Cheshire Cat grin of old days, a head tipped forward in interest, and a hand cocked at his hip.
Darcy slowly lowered his cue. “I see that marriage has not dampened your thirst for intrigue and gossip.”
“A man needs some entertainment, and heaven knows I do not find it at home. I wonder, since you are so experienced in arranging the unions of others, have you a second gentleman in mind for Mrs Wickham? You must have given the matter some thought.”
Darcy’s only response was a grunt as he considered the table.
“A shopkeeper? Or perhaps a genteel farmer? She is not of the finest stock, if I recall correctly, but she has ample… assets. I trust you can warrant her… ah… quality?”
“Do not be such a pig, Richard,” Darcy growled. “Whatever has got into you, speaking of an honourable widow as if she were merchandise? I begin to think you merely mean to irritate me.”
His cousin merely shrugged and chuckled. “I have missed you, too, Darcy.”
Elizabeth’sfingerscrushedtheflower stem abruptly, bending it until the petals drooped. She turned her hand over and stared at it from all angles—noting the irony of that plain gold band she still wore, pressed against a dead bloom. How very fitting!
She ought to discard the ridiculous ring. It never meant anything in the first place, save for… well, the person who had slid it onto her finger. But that odd memory was gone the way of this poor flower. The autumn iris, so alive a moment ago, now looked as if it had been wilting for some days. Elizabeth sighed and cast it back into the flower beds before resuming her aimless wandering of the garden.
“Does not Mr Darcy object?” came a voice behind her.
Elizabeth turned to find Anne Fitzwilliam—pale under her wide bonnet and attended by a vigilant maid carrying an extra shawl. She curtsied. “I am uncertain what you can mean, Mrs Fitzwilliam. Do you mean to ask if he objects to my plucking a flower, or causing disarray among the hedges by discarding it so haphazardly? Or perhaps he might object to the muddy portion of grass I have just walked through, where some careless gardener spilled too much of the water that had been intended for a sapling? You are perfectly right, for I suppose he would object to my footprints ruining the sod and the sod spoiling my shoes.”
The lady came near with a hawkish expression. “I heard you were an impertinent one, but you would do well to recall your place, Mrs Wickham. What I meant to ask, before you so flippantly presumed upon my intent, was whether your employer would object to you gadding about the grounds—alone and indecorously heedless of your appearance.” She sniffed and appeared to take pleasure in staring at a bit of grass on Elizabeth’s skirt before frowning and speaking once more. “Oughtn’t you to make yourself decent and return to Miss Darcy?”
“Your concern is well-meant, I am sure,” Elizabeth answered lightly. “Perhaps it is not so long that you cannot recall what it was to be a girl yourself—always some guardian or chaperon at your side? I have no desire to make myself an odious presence by over-constancy.”
Mrs Fitzwilliam’s cheek flinched. “I recall perfectly,” she retorted in a frosty voice. “But Miss Darcy’s preferences must and should be subject to her guardian’s wishes.”
Elizabeth bowed her head. “If Mr Darcy should make his objections known to me, I will be certain to address them. Good day, Mrs Fitzwilliam.”
“Here, now! I have not taken my leave of you, Mrs Wickham. Do you dare to turn your back on me?”
Elizabeth looked over her shoulder, her expression all innocence. “Forgive me, Mrs Fitzwilliam, but when I said, ‘Good day,’ that was me taking my leave. Is that not how it is done in Kent?”
Anne Fitzwilliam’s face took on the first hint of colour since Elizabeth had met her—though splotchy red could hardly be deemed healthy or attractive. “You take your leave of… A lady’s companion dismissing me? Preposterous! Come back here, you!”
Elizabeth gritted her teeth and faced the woman once more. “I am a respectable widow with property of my own, madam.”
“But who is your mother? A daughter of trade, no doubt, if her child possesses such audacity and so little decorum. I wonder at Mr Darcy for choosing such a—”
“Saucy minx? Poor influence? Provacateur?” A masculine voice interrupted Mrs Fitzwilliam, causing her to pale and jerk her head to the speaker. Mr Darcy himself had just rounded the hedge and was standing in his typical manner—hands clasped lightly behind his back, head inclined in half-facetious interest, and one foot slightly to the fore, as if to suggest that he was by no means on his guard. He glanced at Mrs Fitzwilliam, then turned his gaze to Elizabeth.
“Perhaps you are right, Anne,” he mused with a half-smile. “Mrs Wickham is certainly all these things and is a dreadful choice as a proper companion.”
“Precisely!” the lady agreed with energy. “Now, Darcy, if you would only look at the names I gave you last year, I am sure—”
“I have not done, Anne. Mrs Wickham?”
Elizabeth blinked and reached unconsciously to gather her skirt. “Yes?”
Mr Darcy gestured impatiently. “We had matters to discuss, had we not? You appear to be at your leisure and, at present, so am I.” He turned to his cousin, giving her a formal bow. “Anne. I hope you enjoy the rest of your constitutional.”
Elizabeth hesitated, but then a prick down her spine seemed to urge her forward. She fell meekly into step beside her employer, her body curved away from his as they walked side by side in an uncomfortable display of professionalism. She knotted her fingers in front of her stomach and fastened her eyes to the grass.
“I know what you wished to speak of,” she offered in a flat voice.
