Page 32 of Mr Darcy’s Lakeside Romance

Darcy smiled at the words. The merchant had a remarkable, innate ability to divert tension.

“Miss Elizabeth and I suffered a great many misunderstandings during our time in Hertfordshire, and later in Kent.” Darcy chose his words with meticulous care, wishing to protect Elizabeth’s privacy while conveying the truth of his own foolishness. “I allowed pride to dictate my behaviour. I gave her every reason to despise me, and she formed a justified poor opinion of my character.”

Mr Gardiner nodded, his expression shifting into serious contemplation. “My niece is fiercely loyal to those she loves. If she believes someone has been wronged, she does not easily forget the slight.”

“She did not forget.” Darcy focused at the intricate pattern of the carpet. “In April, believing myself above reproach, I offered her my hand. She refused me.”

Mr Gardiner’s eyes widened to comical proportions. “A proposal! You asked Lizzy to marry you, and she refused?”

Darcy winced, the memory still burning. “With remarkable clarity, sir.”

Mr Gardiner threw his head back, an uproarious burst of laughter echoing off the tall bookshelves. “Are you telling me that my niece could have been the mistress of Pemberley? She could have been personally responsible for Bates’s ongoing training, and she declined the position?”

Darcy could not help but join in the laughter. The absurdity of the situation, framed by Mr Gardiner’s practical perspective, stripped away the lingering sting of the rejection.

“She spared the footman a very kind mistress.” Darcy relaxed his shoulders.

Mr Gardiner wiped a tear of mirth from his eye, his expression gradually sobering into paternal fondness. “You speak of these misunderstandings in the past tense, Mr Darcy. Are they resolved?”

“I believe they are.” Darcy met the older man’s gaze squarely, stripping away all remaining pretence. “We spoke yesterday by the lake, clearing some apprehensions. The anger she held towards me is gone, I believe.”

Mr Gardiner tilted his head, his eyes missing nothing. “And your feelings for her?”

“They have never wavered.” Darcy felt like a schoolboy called before the headmaster. “My problem, sir, is that I wish to court her properly. I wish to do it right. I seek your permission to pay my addresses to your niece.”

Mr Gardiner stroked his chin, an approving smile softening his features. “Elizabeth is of age, Mr Darcy. She is a sensible, independent woman. You must ask her permission, not mine. Though you have my blessing, as I am certain her father would give, were he present.”

“Thank you, sir.” Darcy exhaled a relieved breath. “But I must ask another favour. How exactly does one court Elizabeth Bennet? I have never undertaken such an endeavour before.”

Mr Gardiner raised his eyebrows in astonishment. “You have never courted a woman?”

“I have evaded courting women for the better part of a decade.” Darcy ran a frustrated hand through his hair, compromising Fletcher’s meticulous work. “I usually employ my cousin the colonel to stand between myself and any ambitious mothers at Almack’s. I am out of my depth.”

Mr Gardiner dropped his voice to a conspiratorial murmur. “I know my niece well. Lizzy does not care for grand, empty gestures. She detests poetry that does not rhyme, and she will mercilessly mock a man who attempts to flatter her with excessive compliments. You must be straightforward. Speak plainly. And, should she accept your request to court her, a gentleman can never go wrong with sweets and flowers.”

Darcy committed the advice to his very marrow. Sweets. Flowers. Plain speaking. He began formulating a plan involving the estate’s hothouse and the local Lambton confectioner.

“Do not overthink the matter, Mr Darcy.” Mr Gardiner rubbed his bandaged leg. “A woman who laughs with you amidst a pile of shattered crystal has already made up her mind.”

Darcy entered the drawing-room and observed the tableau in front of him with satisfaction.

The room hummed with domestic conversation as the evening shadows lengthened across the south lawn. Mrs Gardiner sat by the fireplace, perusing a colourful fashion plate from a London magazine. Georgiana and Miss Elizabeth occupied the settee, heads bent together as they attempted to untangle a particularly stubborn knot of bright blue embroidery silk. Mr Gardiner reposed in his Bath chair near the window, feeding illicit bits of cheese to Apollo and Diana.

Darcy wore a dark formal evening coat, his snowy cravat a masterpiece of Fletcher’s most rigorous engineering. A fine sheen of nervous perspiration glistened along his brow.

Miss Elizabeth raised her head from the tangled silk, her brow furrowing with concern. She dropped the thread into her lap.

“Is something wrong, Mr Darcy?” She rose from the settee, taking a hesitant step forward. “Has there been another accident? Is Bates around?”

Darcy moved to stop three paces away from her. He cleared his throat, an abrasive sound that silenced the hum of the conversations. He cast a fleeting glance at the window.

Mr Gardiner offered an encouraging nod.

Darcy squared his shoulders, fixing his gaze on Miss Elizabeth, ignoring the curious stares of his sister and Mrs Gardiner, and the wolfhounds sniffing at his boots.

“Miss Elizabeth.” Darcy pitched his voice to reach every corner of the drawing-room, his hands clasped behind his back to hide their slight tremor. “I wish to court you. Do I have your permission?”

Georgiana sprang up from the settee, her embroidery hoop clattering to the floor.