Page 27 of Elizabeth Bennet and the Scottish Laird

"Yes."

A faint uneasiness moved through him. He could not bear the thought that she felt obliged toward the man, nor that her generous nature might lead her into an attachment founded on gratitude rather than inclination.

"I know I am overstepping my boundaries, Miss Elizabeth, and I beg your forgiveness," he said, with more deliberation than he intended, "but I should hope that you feel under no duty. At least none beyond what your own wishes dictate."

A small frown marred her countenance. Before she could speak, Moira managed a particularly troublesome phrase, causing Georgiana to applaud her success with unguarded delight. The interruption was innocent, yet Darcy felt the moment between himself and Elizabeth fall gently apart, like a thread loosened from its knot.

***

After that first lesson, it was Elizabeth's elder sister who brought Moira to the morning room. Darcy assured himself that there must be some innocent explanation for Elizabeth's abrupt absence. After all, Jane had long played the part of household deputy, and Elizabeth's absence might be owing to any number of claims upon her time. Yet the suspicion lingered, unwelcome and persistent, that she had chosen to absent herself in consequence of his clumsy remark. He had spoken more plainly than he ought, and the recollection of her startled expression had troubled him ever since.

By the third day, his discomfort had grown too sharp to ignore. He felt compelled to offer some form of apology, or at least to assure her he had never intended to distress her. After making some harmless excuse at Lucas Lodge, he took up his hat and set out for Longbourn under the pretence of seeking fair weather before the afternoon turned. He suspected he would be intruding on the Bennets, especially since he had been there earlier that day for Moira's lessons. He only hoped Elizabeth would grant him a few minutes of her time.

"Good afternoon," Darcy said as Mrs Hill opened the door. "I wish to speak to Miss Elizabeth, please."

"Miss Elizabeth is in the garden with the others, sir," Mrs Hill replied, looking curiously at him. "Why don't I show you the—?"

"Thank you," Darcy said, rounding the house before the housekeeper could finish her sentence.

He knew he was being highly improper, but Darcy could not quite bring himself to care about etiquette right this moment.

But on rounding the curve of a boxwood hedge, he halted at once.

In the small clearing beyond stood Elizabeth. Before her, on one knee upon the damp gravel, Malcolm MacKinnon spoke with earnest intensity.

A short distance behind them stood Moira and Jane. The child watched with grave interest. However, Jane's countenance revealed far more than she probably intended. Darcy glimpsed a fleeting tremor of shock and what looked like dismay before she mastered herself, arranging her countenance into polite neutrality.

He ought to have withdrawn at once. Every principle of propriety demanded it. Yet he stood rooted, concealed by the hedge, unable to move. It was as if the world had narrowed to a single, irrevocable moment.

Elizabeth's demeanour was calm, almost solemn, as she gazed at the gentleman kneeling in front of her. There was no trace of joy in her face. What he saw instead was measured acceptance.

"I know you asked for more time to consider my offer, Miss Elizabeth, and I do not wish you to feel pressed," MacKinnon was saying. "But I must soon return to Scotland, and I cannot leave you and your family without certainty." He paused.

Elizabeth hesitated. "Your consideration does you great credit."

"Then we are agreed," MacKinnon replied. "January. A modest ceremony. Your mourning will be respected in all particulars. It will be near three months after your dear Papa's demise."

There was another hesitation and then Elizabeth nodded.

"Elizabeth has done me the honour of accepting my hand," MacKinnon said, rising to his feet as he addressed Jane and Moira.

Moira studied them both with grave intensity before granting a single, decisive nod. "Aye. She'll do."

Smiling, Elizabeth knelt before Moira, heedless of the damp earth, and spoke in a voice too low for Darcy to hear. Whatever she said softened the child's stern expression into a shy smile.

Darcy felt a slow, quiet fracture within him. Elizabeth Bennet would be Malcolm MacKinnon's wife. In January she would leave Hertfordshire and everything that had once been her world. She would travel north to Strathaird and a new life. She would mother a child already attached to her.

And there was nothing he could do. Not unless news reached him soon about MacKinnon. Alas, as he walked away now he could not deny that a part of him was beginning to wonder if his suspicions about the man – though shared by Bingley and Hurst – were not entirely rooted in his own jealousy.

Chapter 9

Elizabeth could tell Moira was worried about something as they sat in the morning room at Longbourn the day after she accepted Mr MacKinnon’s offer. The little girl sat on a straight-backed chair near the window, her small hands folded in her lap with unnatural stillness. Moira had been at Longbourn for nearly a week now, and despite how quickly she had attached herself to Elizabeth, she remained as wary as a fox in unfamiliar territory.

Elizabeth pushed away the household accounts spread before her.

“You need not sit so formally, dear Moira,” Elizabeth said. “You may move about as you please.”

The child's jaw tightened. “Dinnae ken where to go.”