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“Lydia and Kitty?” Elizabeth rolled her eyes, a gesture of affectionate exasperation. “They practise constantly. And if they are not dancing, they are conspiring. Just last month, they attempted to dye an old muslin gown with boiled walnuts to create a fashionable new colour. They managed only to stain the kitchen floor, three of the cook’s best linen towels, and the family cat. Poor Mr Whiskers was a shade of sepia for a fortnight.”
Miss Darcy pressed her hand over her mouth, a peal of laughter bursting forth. “The cat! Oh, the poor creature! Did he mind it terribly?”
“He exacted his revenge by sleeping on Lydia’s cleanest white spencer.” Elizabeth was captivated by the joyous transformation in the young girl’s face. “So, you see, Miss Darcy, the silence of Pemberley is a luxury. I shall soak it into my skin while I am here.”
“I am so glad you are here, Miss Elizabeth. The house is different with you in it. Lighter, perhaps.”
Elizabeth’s throat acquired a lump. She swallowed hard, moved by the unguarded confession. The Wickham tragedy had undoubtedly cast a shadow over this girl’s heart, but the darkness was receding.
“I am glad to be here, too.” Elizabeth stood, smoothing the skirt of her sensible lilac morning gown. “Now, I believe the aroma of roasted coffee and fresh bread is calling to us from the ground floor. Shall we brave the dining room?”
They descended together, the silence of the house broken only by the soft rustle of their skirts. When they reached the breakfast parlour, however, they discovered the room was devoid of the Gardiner party and the master of the house.
Instead, a solitary figure stood at attention near the sideboard.
Bates held a coffee pot to his chest as if it were a newborn baby. His green and gold livery was immaculate. He stared straight ahead, his jaw locked in intense concentration.
Elizabeth paused in the doorway, exchanging an amused glance with Miss Darcy.
“Good morning, Bates.” Elizabeth smiled, approaching the table.
Bates executed a jerky bow, careful to keep the coffee pot level. “Good morning, Miss Elizabeth. Good morning, Miss Darcy. I am... I am manning the sideboard, miss. Fletcher posted me here for the breakfast service. He is occupied with the master’s riding boots and does not expect me until the plates are cleared.”
Miss Darcy bit her lip, suppressing a giggle. “Is Fletcher a very strict taskmaster, Bates?”
“He is a tyrant, Miss Darcy.” Bates’s eyes widened, filling with dread. “He made me walk the length of the servants’ hall balancing a teacup on my head. Five times. I am convinced he intends to break my spirit before the week is out.”
Elizabeth took her seat, unfolding her linen napkin. “Then we shall not keep you from your post longer than we must. I am certain Mr Darcy will return shortly.”
“The master is away, miss.” Bates took a cautious step forward, hovering near Elizabeth’s right shoulder, intending to pour the coffee and prove his worth. “He rode out at first light to inspect the timber at the northern edge of the estate. The steward required his direction.”
Elizabeth felt a pang of disappointment. She had woken with a fluttering anticipation in her stomach, eager to see Mr Darcy’s face, eager to discover if the teasing camaraderie of the previous evening had survived the night.
“And my aunt and uncle?” She kept her tone light, masking her internal plunge in spirits.
“Mr Gardiner is resting his ankle, miss.” Bates poured the coffee slowly, his tongue poking from the corner of his mouth in concentration. Not a single drop spilled onto the white tablecloth. He released a shuddering breath of relief. “Mrs Gardiner is breaking her fast with him in their chambers. They requested not to be disturbed.”
Miss Darcy took the seat opposite Elizabeth, reaching for a scone from the basket. “I must leave you after breakfast, Miss Elizabeth. Mrs Annesley is expecting me for my Italian lessons. I am behind in my conjugations.”
Elizabeth buttered her toast, formulating a plan. The morning stretched before her empty and sunlit. She could not bear to sit indoors.
“Then I shall explore the grounds.” Elizabeth turned her head, fixing Bates with an encouraging smile. “Bates, when you are finished, would you be so kind as to serve as my escort? I wish to walk down to the lake, but I fear I might lose my way amongst all these trees.”
Bates puffed his chest out, growing two full inches taller, his face beaming with pride. “It would be my greatest honour, Miss Elizabeth! I know every inch of the estate. I shall protect you from the swans, the hounds, and any inclines!”
Half an hour later, Elizabeth stepped onto the gravel sweep before the house, her parasol unfurled. Bates walked two paces behind her and to her left, his long limbs moving with exaggerated, careful precision, like a heron attempting to tiptoe through a shallow pond.
They walked by the kitchen gardens—the scene of yesterday’s lavender disaster—and took a shaded path that led to the dense woodland bordering the lake.
The air was fresh and sweet, filled with the trilling songs of unseen birds and the gentle rustle of oak leaves. Elizabeth breathed in, the crunch of her boots on the gravel soothing her restless thoughts.
“I understand your family farms on the estate, Bates.” She spoke over her shoulder, deciding to satisfy her burning curiosity. “Have you lived at Pemberley all your life?”
“Yes, miss.” Bates increased his pace to walk beside her, thrilled to be engaged in conversation. “My father worked the Lower Farm until he passed three winters ago. My mother runs it now with me and my brothers. We have been Pemberley’s tenants for three generations.”
Elizabeth twirled her parasol, her eyes fixed on the shimmering water appearing through the trees ahead. “It must be a difficult life, managing a farm. Does the master of the house take a personal interest in his tenants?”
Bates stopped walking. He stared at Elizabeth, his expression shifting from eager nervousness to unwavering solemnity.
