Her grief, although years old, was yet a fresh one, and one he could sympathise with. “My father died five years ago. I feel it still.”
The figures parted them, and brought her back. He simply watched her whenever he could, and when there had been a lengthy pause, and he and Miss Elizabeth stood side by side watching the other dancers, he asked her what he most wanted to know: “Why do not you live with your family?”
She gave a soundless huff of laughter, shaking her head at his persistence. “There are many of my neighbours who would be glad to enlighten you, with varying degrees of hyperbole and fabrication. It is no great secret.”
“I askedyou.”
He heard her soft sigh. “It is a long story. The short version is that Neddy does better in the quiet of Fox Hollow than the noise and clamour of Longbourn.”
“It does not explain why you, his sister, are the one raising Edward there.”
Nine
TO THE BITTER END
Elizabeth could not understand his curiosity. He should not care where she lived or who she lived with or even whether she lived at all. He at least spoke of Neddy by his name, instead of ‘it’—as if her brother was some sort of demon—unlike the Philipses and their staunchest allies, Sir William and Lady Lucas, when Mama was not nearby to listen. Besides, there were too many explanations for her living situation, most of which would not cast her family in a particularly good light. On the other hand, her family, apart from Jane, did not mind casting those shadows upon her.
She settled on incomplete truth. “I am the one best suited to do it.” He raised a brow at this, but merely nodded in reply.
Mr Darcy was an impeccable dancer, she had to admit. His evening clothes were exquisite, the material finely woven, his silk stockings revealing long, muscular limbs. Now that his questions were answered, it was likely he would never again have anything to do with her. Indeed, he had said not a word inthe good ten minutes since her admissions. It was almost surprising to her when he spoke again.
“It is your turn to say something now, Miss Elizabeth. I talked about Longbourn, your father and your brother. You ought to make some kind of enquiry about my relations and Pemberley. Then we may be silent.”
With some dismay, she realised that for all her appraisal of her partner’s silences, she had failed to take up her own part of the conversation, almost to the point of rudeness. “I am accustomed to hearing a good deal of opinion on my decision to make my home at Fox Hollow. I suppose I was waiting to hear yours.”
He raised a brow. “Of course, where you make your home cannot matter to me.”
Elizabeth felt her cheeks flushing. “I did not mean that Iwishedto hear it, only that I expected to. It was most unconsciously done.”
“But since you broach the topic, I suppose that if you have a decent companion, and a manservant or two for protection, it cannot matter too much whether you live at Longbourn or, hm, Fox Hollow.”
She was grateful that the figures of the dance bore her away.Wasthis the longest quadrille in the history of quadrilles? Naturally, Mr Philips claimed they could not afford more than the daily girl Mrs Hill sent over with food and to perform light chores. Her ‘companion’ was old, half-deaf Mrs Finch, who traded her dubious protection for room and board—a nod to propriety and no more. Someday, Neddy would be big enough to deter the possible threat of a stranger…that is, if he understood therewasa threat. His tendency was to avoid all adults who were not the Hills, Jane, or Elizabeth.He is butthree!There was yet much time for him to grow in wisdom and perception.
“Pemberley,” she said quickly upon rejoining him, before he could persist in his line of questioning. “In Derbyshire, I think Mr Bingley said? In the Peak District, perhaps? Mr Harrington’s family spent a holiday touring that country, and returned with tales of its utter magnificence.”
He acknowledged the subject change with another lift of his elegant brow. “It is, yes. There are not many estates which are lovelier—I am not boasting, you see, for I am not responsible for its design, nor did any but God Himself create its setting. It has been the work of many generations to build, preserve, and even add to its beauty. I am only its conservator.”
“Such modesty,” she smiled. “As its owner, you must share in its reflected glory. At least a little.”
He held up his gloved hand, an inch separating his thumb and forefinger, his expression as solemn as ever and she had to laugh as she left his side to twirl with others in the circle.
But when he rejoined her, he was first to speak. “Youdohave a manservant?” he enquired, tenacious as ever.
She should have lied. Later, she wanted to kick herself as she rehearsed the conversation in her mind. “Mr Hill comes often,” she said instead.
The look on his face was alarming—a combination of incredulity, apprehension, and anger. Thank goodness the music was winding down, the dance soon ended. She prepared to give him a curtsey, to make her exit, perhaps to leave the assembly altogether.
He halted her, his hand upon her arm. “One thing,” he said with a low-voiced intensity she found almost disturbing. “Donot share your situation with Wickham. I saw he has made himself known to you.”
This was astonishing. “He was very friendly.”
“He makes friends easily. Whether he can keep them is another matter.”
“He has certainly lostyourfriendship.”
Mr Darcy’s brows lifted. “So, he has begun his campaign already.” He shook his head, as if dismissing the matter. “It does not matter what he says of me. Of all things, never allow him to know you are often unprotected.” With that he escorted her the few steps to where Jane stood, bowed, turned, and left her staring after him.
“Lizzy!” Jane said, her tone rather wondering. “Mr Darcy has danced with no one else except Miss Bingley and Mrs Hurst—Mr Bingley’s sisters. Everyone has been wondering about him. What did he say? It appeared you were having quite the conversation.”
