Page 93 of Mr. Darcy Comes to Town

“Ye can ‘ave ‘em fer free, miss,” Mr. Grant said, looking shocked.

“Thank you for your generous offer,” Miss Elizabeth said, shaking her head. “However, they are of value to me, so I will pay something for them.”

“Thank ye, miss,” Mr. Grant said, still appearing dubious to Darcy.

“Pray give my regards to your wife,” Miss Elizabeth said, smiling and giving Mr. Grant a cordial nod of dismissal.

“Good day to ye, miss. Sir,” the farmer said.

“Thank you,” Darcy said. He turned them around and they continued their walk to Meryton. Once out of earshot, he said, “You are exceedingly comfortable talking to your neighbors.”

“I know them all,” she replied in a straightforward manner.

“You will miss them when you marry and move away,” he observed.

“If I should need to move away, then you are correct. There is something comforting in knowing everyone in your environs.” She looked over at him. “Oh. I forgot to ask him about Jeffry.”

“We can stop by on the way back, if you like.”

“Thank you,” Miss Elizabeth said, smiling warmly up at him. “Is he still in the basket?”

Darcy felt the weight of the basket. “I believe so.”

She squeezed his arm. “I should hate to open the container to show people my guinea pig and find it empty. How embarrassing that would be.”

“Is everyone used to you knowing so much about animals?”

She shrugged. “Everyone is such an all-encompassing word, is it not? Our village knows, and a good number of people in Meryton know—but not everyone.”

How would she adjust to living in Derbyshire where no one knows her, or her skills? I know a few farmers who would not listen to a single thing she might say about their animals.

Darcy felt cold inside.

“Is aught wrong?” she asked him.

He heard the concern in her voice and it warmed him.

“Nothing is wrong.” Inwardly Darcy sighed, but added, “It is a beautiful day, and I have a lovely woman on my arm. What could be wrong?”

She narrowed her gaze. “Perhaps nothing…perhaps something.”

*

Mary sat on the fortepiano bench beside Georgiana.

“Shall we warm up with a few scales?” her new friend asked. After Mary nodded, she said, “Let us start with the major scales, beginning with C-major.”

Mary knew her scales, so she felt confident in being able to keep up, albeit two octaves lower, since Georgiana sat to her right and would begin her scales on middle-C. It did not take Mary long to realize that even in scales, Georgiana proved to be the superior player—more fluid, more accurate.

“Nice,” her friend murmured. “Try to think of your fingers as birds that alight on the keys ever so fleetingly.”

Mary lifted her eyebrows and did her best to follow Georgiana’s instructions.

“Better.”

Her heart warmed at the praise. After running through all of the scales—twice—they spread the piece out before them on the music rack. Georgiana had brought a pencil, and they discussed who would play which part, and where they would play together, overlapping the measures. They practiced for an hour, and then called a halt.

“Shall we take a turn in the garden?” Georgiana asked brightly.