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Miss Bingley’s head swung towards him. “Ah, you must refer to instances in Miss Darcy’s youth, for I have observed her to be a consummate lady.”

“She is genteel in most situations, yet she still engages in games with our dogs.”

“Well, your fine animals are far superior in breeding to my brother’s hounds.” Miss Bingley frowned at Samson. “One might almost consider them a different species.”

“I do not suppose Georgiana would make that discrimination. She has seldom met a dog she did not favour.”

Whilst he fixed upon Miss Bingley, I took the opportunity to peer at his noble profile. His statements seemed to be designed to defend my conduct. Yet a courtly act like that would not fit his character…or did I mistake him? In any case, I needed to change out of my soiled clothes. “If you will excuse me, I must return to the house.”

“Permit me to escort you.” At Mr. Darcy’s suggestion, the two Bingley ladies shared a stricken look.

Under his steady gaze, my cheeks burned. “Thank you, but there is no need to curtail your walk.”

“I should prefer to see you back.” He glanced towards his companions. “Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley, though, may continue on the planned route.”

“Oh no, we shall come as well.” Miss Bingley touched her sister’s wrist.

“By all means,” said Mrs. Hurst.

He offered his arm to me. A voice in my head admonished to decline his assistance and maintain my distance; yet my bottom still smarted, and the support would be welcome. So, with feigned nonchalance I wrapped my limb around his larger, stronger one.

At this development, Miss Bingley’s nostrils flared, and her angular features buckled. She hied to claim the spot on his other side.

A more gracious person than I should not have taken satisfaction from her evident displeasure; in my case, I had to press my lips flat to contain a grin.

We had not progressed far before the slight tingling of my flesh in contact with Mr. Darcy’s arm absorbed me, as did the agreeable masculine essence teasing my senses, subtle elements of which defied identification. For their part, Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley saved me from having to engage him; they peppered him with a succession of trite questions and remarks, ensuring he remained occupied.

That afternoon, Jane awoke from her nap with a renewed appetite and free from symptoms of ague. After dinner, she declared herself sufficiently recovered to join the company downstairs.

My sister received polite welcomes from all, but none so heartfelt as Mr. Bingley’s effusive greeting. He proceeded to fuss over Jane’s comfort and offered any amenity she might name to ensure her contentment, though she assured him that she wanted for nothing. The sight of them warmed me from within. No one could have convinced me that he did not hold my sister in genuine affection.

Mr. Hurst suggested cards, but when no one present seconded the notion, his bearing slumped, and he soon drowsed, emitting occasional snores. Miss Bingley queried Mr. Darcy for his preferred pastime, and he stated his intention to read. She lauded his decision and, after declaring she would follow suit, obtained two volumes of poetry. She pressed one book into Mrs. Hurst’s hands and sat in the chair nearest to Mr. Darcy with the other.

My seat on the sofa provided an unfettered view of Jane and Mr. Bingley. So far, my sister displayed a pleasing combination of high spirits and vitality. Still, I remained prepared to escort her upstairs if she showed signs of fatigue. Meanwhile, I took up my current sewing project, a tiny dress intended for one of our tenant’s first child, expected in January. By and by, a shadow fell over me, and I looked up, meeting the eyes of Mr. Darcy.

“You look quite well this evening, Miss Elizabeth.” His speech, low and quiet, sounded even more sonorous than usual. “I hope you are well restored from this morning’s mishap.”

The combination of his unexpected nearness and his intimate way of speaking instigated a not-unpleasant shudder between my shoulder blades. “Yes, thank you.” In fact, the achiness in my posterior had faded to almost nothing.

With a nod, Mr. Darcy continued to the fireplace and stoked the flames before returning to his seat. I glanced to my right, where Miss Bingley sent an icy stare my way. She would be happy to see the last of me.

Soon thereafter, Miss Bingley abandoned her book to saunter the perimeter of the room, then she strode in my direction. The flickering light from nearby candles cast a maniacal shade upon her face. “Miss Eliza, I heard the most disturbing information from my cook this afternoon. She maintains that your father has authorised a band of Romanis to camp on his estate.” Her mouth bent downwards. “I do not understand why he would expose the neighbourhood to this threat.”

My jaw jutted outwards. She assumed the worst of them for no other reason than their ethnicity! “The Greenwood family do not pose a danger to anyone.”

With a sharp inhalation, Miss Bingley drew her upper body back. “Am I to understand that you have associated with these people?”

“I have met Mrs. Greenwood and her young son, and my uncle Gardener is acquainted with her husband.”

With uncommon haste, she spun from me to approach Mr. Darcy. “Sir, do you not find this revelation to be alarming?”

“No, I cannot say that I do, and Mr. Bennet has every right to choose who may reside on his land.”

She tucked her chin. “Well…um…I am relieved to hear your opinion.” Her retreat exhibited a great deal less vigour than her approach.

For a time, silence ruled the room, and I made progress on my infant dress.

“Oh, Charles.” Miss Bingley’s hand flew up towards her brother. Once he wrenched his gaze from Jane, she lowered her arm. “I hope you are not intent on this notion of giving a ball. We must take our guest’s preferences into consideration, and neither Mr. Darcy nor I are fond of dancing.”