Page 11 of The Servants’ Matchmaking

"I have improved."

"Within six minutes?"

"Your standards are unreasonable."

They reached the end of the terrace, where a gravel path curved away towards a small pavilion set among bare limes. The sun still showed, pale and thin, though clouds had begun gathering behind the house in a manner Elizabeth had not troubled to notice.

Darcy looked towards the sky and went still. "We should turn back."

"Because your valet objects to rain?"

"Because the wind's changed."

Elizabeth felt it then. A colder current slid against her cheek, sudden as a hand. The first drop struck Darcy's sleeve with an audible tap.

They turned.

Rain crossed the lawn in a grey sheet, faster than either of them had thought possible, and reached them before they had gone twenty yards. Darcy offered his arm as the gravel turned soft and treacherous underfoot. Elizabeth took it without hesitating. The blue shawl covered her hair but very little else, and rain found the gap at her collar within seconds.

"The pavilion's closer."

"The house is safer."

Thunder answered for him, rolling low across the grounds. The path below the terrace filled at once, water rushing over the edging stones in a thin brown current. Darcy led her towards the pavilion, keeping himself between her and the worst of the wind. It was a circular brick shelter with an open doorway and shuttered windows, and the roof, at least, held. That was its only real virtue.

Elizabeth stumbled in, breathless, rain hammering the tiles above them like something trying to get in. Darcy stood at the doorway, looking back towards the house through the downpour.

"They can see the pavilion."

"They cannot see the flooded path."

"Then they may conclude we are enjoying ourselves."

"Are you?"

She looked at his wet coat, his hair flattened at one temple, and the mud on boots McKeever had defended with wholly inadequate zeal.

"Immoderately."

His laugh was quiet and brief, but it warmed the ugly little shelter more than the situation had any right to allow.

The storm did not pass. Water deepened around the path, cutting the pavilion off from the terrace entirely. They could have crossed it. Elizabeth's half-boots were already ruined beyond saving. Darcy refused outright.

"The ground falls sharply beside the drain. You cannot see the edge under the water."

"I crossed three miles of mud yesterday."

"That does not make an unseen ditch safer today."

He was, infuriatingly, right. She resented the fact for a full minute before letting it go. They stood apart in the small space. The doorway remained open, rain misting in at the edges. Cold crept through Elizabeth's damp gown and settled into her bones.

Darcy removed his coat and held it out to her.

"No. You will freeze."

"I am wearing more layers."

"That is not a gentlemanly argument."