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“Barely, sir.” Fletcher placed the brush on the dressing table with a sigh. “I had him practising with a tray of wooden blocks from the nursery in the servants’ hall. He dropped them thrice. Cook threatened him with a rolling pin, which only exacerbated his panic. I have confined him to the silver pantry for the remainder of the morning. He can do little damage to the spoons, provided he does not attempt to juggle them.”
A chuckle escaped Darcy. The absurdity of the situation—the legacy of Pemberley being threatened by a well-meaning, gangly youth from the lower farms—was too ridiculous to bear with any real anger.
“Keep him away from the guests, Fletcher.” Darcy adjusted his cuffs, his mind already drifting to the lady occupying the green chamber. “And keep him far away from Mr Gardiner and the hounds. If Bates initiates another collision, I fear the apothecary will move here permanently.”
Fletcher bowed, his face a mask of solemn determination. “He shall not see the light of day, sir. The silver will be polished until it blinds the county.”
Darcy left his valet to his plotting and went downstairs. A bright, musical sound drifted from the morning room—laughter. Real, unrestrained, joyous laughter.
He paused on the threshold to see a room flooded with sunshine. Mrs Gardiner sat in an armchair near the window, her embroidery hoop forgotten in her lap. Miss Elizabeth and Georgiana were seated together on the sofa, their heads bent close, behaving for all the world as if they had known one another for a decade rather than one day.
Mr Gardiner occupied his wheeled fortress, his injured leg securely strapped in the elevated position. Apollo and Diana sat at attention on either side of his chair, their eyes locked onto the plate of sausages resting on the gentleman’s lap.
“You must understand, Miss Elizabeth, I was not even born when this occurred.” Georgiana’s eyes danced with a mischievous light Darcy had rarely witnessed. “But Cousin Richard swears on his honour that the tale is accurate.”
Miss Elizabeth’s face sparkled with anticipation. “A military man’s honour is a sacred thing, Miss Darcy. You must tell me.”
Darcy froze in the doorway, a prickle of apprehension crawling up his body. Colonel Fitzwilliam had an extensive arsenal of humiliating childhood stories, and he deployed them ruthlessly when fancy took him.
Georgiana lowered her voice to a dramatic, conspiratorial whisper. “Fitzwilliam was twelve years old. Richard was fourteen, and visiting for the summer. They were exploring the muddy banks near the old boathouse, searching for appropriate skipping stones. Richard claims Fitzwilliam was being too fastidious about his boots, refusing to go into the reeds.”
Mrs Gardiner covered her mouth with her hand, her shoulders already shaking.
“Richard threw a handful of mud.” Georgiana giggled, pressing a hand to her chest. “Fitzwilliam moved to avoid it, tripped over a tree root, and fell backwards into the muddiest patch of the reeds. He was submerged.”
A sound of delight escaped Miss Elizabeth’s lips. “The pristine Mr Darcy! Oh, the tragedy!”
Darcy closed his eyes, leaning his forehead on the doorframe. He knew exactly where this story was heading.
“It gets worse.” Georgiana was in her element. “He stood up, roaring with fury, covered in black muck. But as he marched to the bank to exact his revenge on Richard, a croaking sound began to emanate from his person.”
Miss Elizabeth’s eyes widened. “No.”
“Yes!” Georgiana threw her head back, laughing freely. “A large frog had managed to slip down the waistband of his breeches during the fall. Richard said Fitzwilliam danced a shrieking jig all the way back to the house, clawing at his clothes while the frog serenaded the estate!”
The room erupted. Miss Elizabeth collapsed in the cushions clutching her sides, Mrs Gardiner wiped tears of mirth, and even Mr Gardiner released a guffaw, accidentally dropping a sausage onto the carpet—which Apollo snatched.
Darcy took a breath, marshalled every ounce of his remaining dignity, and walked into the room.
“I maintain to this day,” Darcy announced, his voice carrying over the din, “that it was not a frog, but a toad of monstrous proportions.”
Georgiana shrieked, jumping on the sofa. Miss Elizabeth’s head snapped up, her cheeks flushed from her laughter.
Darcy had spent months convincing himself that his attraction to her was a momentary madness, a lapse in judgement brought on by her fine eyes and wit, and that after Hunsford he had conquered it.
Seeing her now, laughing in his home, treating his sister with such warmth, he knew the truth: he was irreversibly lost.
He forced his feet to move, approaching the sofa with a lopsided smile. “I see my cousin’s treasonous tales have already corrupted your opinion of me, Miss Elizabeth. I shall have to have him court-martialled.”
Miss Elizabeth tilted her head, her smile turning decidedly wicked. “I am relieved to discover that you are capable of participating in undignified country pursuits, Mr Darcy. I had assumed you emerged from the cradle wearing a cravat and a look of disapproval.”
“Only on Sundays.” Darcy took the seat opposite her, resting his elbows on his knees, refusing to avert his gaze.
Mr Gardiner cleared his throat, wiping sausage grease from his fingers with a linen napkin. “It is a glorious morning, Mr Darcy. My wife and niece have been trapped indoors for far too long. I propose we venture outside. I am eager to test the capabilities of this wheeled chariot on the gravel paths.”
“An excellent suggestion, sir.” Darcy rose, grateful for the distraction. He was staring at Miss Elizabeth like a besotted fool, and he needed physical activity to ground himself. “The paths through the south gardens are wide and flat. I shall take the helm myself. We cannot trust a footman with such a delicate operation.”
Ten minutes later, the party was assembled on the sweep before the terrace. The air was warm, sweet with the scent of blooming jasmine and damp earth.
