Page 33 of Elizabeth Bennet and the Scottish Laird

“What was possible?”

“Eliciting some form of mirth from you.” Her eyes twinkled. “You do it so rarely, I had begun to think it was against your principles, like dancing or enjoying yourself at assemblies.”

“I enjoy myself at assemblies.” The protest emerged even as he knew it patently false.

“You most certainly do not. I watched you at the Meryton Assembly, Mr Darcy, and you spent the entire time looking as though you would rather be anywhere else on earth. Preferably somewhere without music, conversation, or other human beings.”

“That is not entirely inaccurate,” he admitted.

“At least you are honest about your misanthropy. That is refreshing.”

“I am not a misanthrope.”

“No?” Elizabeth tilted her head. “What would you call a man who actively avoids society and looks upon social gatherings as a form of punishment?”

“Sensible?”

“I must confess,” Elizabeth said, her amusement softening into something warmer, “I find your honest grumpiness far more appealing than the sort of empty charm some men deploy like weapons. At least when you are unpleasant, it is genuine.”

“I am not certain whether to be flattered or insulted by that assessment,” he commented.

“Be flattered. Genuine unpleasantness is a rare gift.”

“I shall endeavour to cultivate it more assiduously.”

“Please do. The world has quite enough false charm. We could use more principled cantankerousness.”

They fell into comfortable silence. Darcy thought with painful clarity what marriage to Elizabeth would be. This easy wit, this comfortable sparring, these moments of perfect understanding. Malcolm MacKinnon would have all of this, would wake each morning to her cleverness and her laughter, whilst Darcy would—

The sound of boots in the entrance hall shattered the moment like glass.

Malcolm MacKinnon's voice carried clearly from the corridor. “Miss Bennet, is Elizabeth in the morning room? I have some additional arrangements to discuss with her.”

“Please go right ahead, Mr MacKinnon,” came Jane’s reply. “She is supervising Moira’s lesson.”

Elizabeth's expression shifted instantly. The easy warmth drained away as her shoulders drew back and a carefully arranged smile fixed itself in place.

When Malcolm entered, bringing cold air and confidence with him, Elizabeth rose gracefully. “Mr MacKinnon, I was not expecting you this morning.”

“I hope I do not intrude.” Malcolm stopped upon seeing Darcy. Darcy rose as well, bowing with careful correctness whilst every muscle tensed. “Mr Darcy. I had not realised you made a habit of escorting your sister to these lessons.”

“Miss Darcy appreciates the company on the journey,” he replied coldly. “The roads remain treacherous.”

“Indeed, they do.” Malcolm's attention had already shifted back to Elizabeth.

Darcy watched him cross the room with a smile. He noticed Elizabeth’s shoulders curve slightly inward as her betrothed approached.

“Da!” Moira abandoned her primer without ceremony and flew across the room, her usual reserve entirely forgotten. Malcolm caught her easily, lifting her with obvious affection.

“There's my lass.” His Scottish accent grew more pronounced with pleasure. “Are you being diligent with your studies, or must I scold you for neglecting Miss Darcy's excellent instruction?”

“I have been very diligent,” Moira insisted, wriggling to be set down. “Miss Darcy says my accent is improving remarkably.”

“High praise indeed.” Malcolm set her down gently, his hand resting on her shoulder as he turned to Elizabeth with a smile that held easy familiarity. “Elizabeth, forgive the intrusion. I thought we might discuss the journey north, but I see you have company.”

Elizabeth's shoulders had drawn back slightly. That careful social smile remained fixed in place, so different from the genuine amusement of moments before. “Mr MacKinnon, you are always welcome. You know Miss Darcy, of course.”

“Of course, of course.” Malcolm crossed to the chairs by the fire, settling himself with the ease of a man entirely comfortable in his surroundings. “The roads grow more treacherous daily. I fear we must hold to our arrangements, else the passes north will close against us before we can travel at all.”