Lady Hertford had left Elizabeth’s side and claimed a bench beneath a spreading chestnut tree, her gloved hands foldedaround her parasol as though she were presiding rather than resting. She watched the promenade with a keen, appraising eye, but when Darcy approached and bowed, she inclined her head graciously.
“Walk with her, Mr. Darcy,” she said, already waving them on. “I shall enjoy the sunshine.” Lady Matlock joined her.
Elizabeth turned at Lady Hertford’s prompting, surprise flickering briefly across her features before she masked it with composure. She inclined her head, then fell into step beside him without hesitation.
For a few moments, neither spoke. Darcy was acutely aware of the sound of their footsteps, of the faint rustle of her gown, of the careful space she kept between them—neither distant nor intimate. She looked well. Not radiant in the manner of a ball, but fresh, thoughtful, very much herself. A simple bonnet framed her face, and a soft breeze stirred a loose curl at her temple.
“I am glad of this opportunity,” Darcy said at last. “The season allows for little quiet.”
“That is quite true,” Elizabeth replied lightly. “London prefers noise and movement. Stillness makes it suspicious.”
He smiled, grateful for the ease in her tone. “And yet you walk here often.”
“When I am permitted.” Her glance toward Lady Hertford was neither resentful nor deferential—merely factual. “It is one of the few places where one may breathe without being examined.”
He nodded, then ventured, “You are very much established in Town now.”
She considered him a moment. “I am present,” she corrected. “Establishment implies intention.”
Heaven help me, she never misses anything.“And your intention?”
She lifted a shoulder. “To endure the season with as much grace as possible.”
He hesitated, then said contritely, “I owe you an apology.”
Her step slowed imperceptibly. “For which offense?”
“For patronizing you,” he said plainly. “For assuming I understood your circumstances—or you—when I did not. I spoke as though I were entitled to explanations I had not earned.”
Elizabeth looked ahead as she answered. “That is an accurate assessment.”
He accepted the rebuke without flinching. “I would ask your forgiveness nonetheless.”
She stopped then, turning fully to face him. Her expression was not cold but searching. “Tell me something, Mr. Darcy. Would you have apologized so readily if I were not—” she gestured vaguely, “—well connected?”
The question struck him squarely. He did not evade it. “I ought to have,” he said. “I should have in Hertfordshire.”
The wind stirred again, lifting the hem of her gown, tugging lightly at the ribbon of her bonnet. She studied him, as though weighing not only his words but the cost of them.
“I appreciate the honesty,” she said at last. “It is rarer than apologies.”
Relief loosened something tight in his chest. They resumed walking.
“For what it is worth,” she continued, “I am grateful for a familiar face in Town. One can feel quite unmoored amidst all this—” she gestured to the wide sweep of the park, the passing carriages, the carefully arranged leisure, “—splendor.”
Familiar.The word settled warmly in him. “I am glad to be of service,” he said, and meant it more deeply than she could know.
They walked in companionable silence for a time before Darcy ventured, “Your cousin seems well.”
Elizabeth’s lips curved faintly. “She is improving.”
“And she remains with you?”
“Yes. Jane is staying with me.”
“I am pleased to hear it.” He hesitated, then added, “You may wish to know—Bingley has entered a courtship.”
She stopped again, this time more abruptly. “Indeed?”
