Page 9 of Mr Darcy’s Lakeside Romance

After several minutes of pleasant discourse, Mr Darcy stepped back, gesturing at his own inappropriate attire. “You must pardon me, Mr Gardiner. I am unfit to receive company in this state. I sought the lake this morning for a little quiet.”

“We understand, sir.” Uncle Edward tipped his hat. “We shall leave you to your peace and return to our carriage.”

“No, I insist you stay.” Mr Darcy raised a hand, his tone shifting from polite to urgent. “Please. Consider yourselves my guests. Walk the grounds at your leisure. The gardens on the south lawn are particularly fine this time of year. I shall return to the house and make myself presentable. If you would do me the honour, I would be delighted to host you for tea in the sitting-room in an hour. My sister, Miss Darcy, is in residence, and I should much like to introduce her to you all.”

His eyes darted to Elizabeth, burning with a silent plea. Stay. Please stay.

Elizabeth offered a small, jerky nod.

“We should be delighted, Mr Darcy,” Aunt Madeline replied. “A walk about the gardens sounds lovely. We shall find our way to the house when we have finished.”

Mr Darcy bowed one final time, offering Elizabeth a lingering glance before turning and striding rapidly back up the path, his long legs eating up the distance in seconds.

Uncle Edward let out a low, appreciative whistle. “Well, Lizzy. I must say, for a man Mrs Lovejoy painted as a tyrant, he is well-mannered. A sensible, proper gentleman.”

Elizabeth stared at the empty path, her mind whirling in confusion. “He is... He is not usually so accommodating, Uncle.”

Aunt Madeline linked her arm through Elizabeth’s, an amused twinkle in her eye. “Perhaps the country air improves his disposition, my dear. Shall we inspect these famous gardens while he changes his cravat?”

They wandered the winding paths for the better part of an hour undisturbed. Elizabeth attempted to focus on the variety of roses and the stone fountains, but her thoughts kept returning to the lake, to his flushed face, and his polite, respectful treatment of her uncle. It made no sense. It violated every single assumption she had previously established about him.

They had just reached the edge of a flat expanse of lawn that bordered the eastern edge of the house when a commotion shattered the peace.

Elizabeth turned, shielding her eyes from the sun.

The uncoordinated young footman was rushing across the green expanse, holding a tray, a crystal jug of lemonade pitching back and forth, sloshing sticky liquid down the front of his livery. A mountain of biscuits was defying gravity, sliding dangerously close to the edge of the tray.

“The master sent refreshments!” he shrieked, his voice cracking on the final syllable. “Lemonade! For the guests!”

From the terrace steps behind the footman, two wire-haired wolfhounds erupted. They caught sight of the biscuits on the footman’s tray and launched across the grass, baying loudly.

“Oh, dear heavens,” Aunt Madeline murmured, stepping behind the trunk of a large oak tree.

The footman risked a glance over his shoulder. The sight of the hounds closing the distance caused him to release a sound akin to a strangled goose. He abandoned all pretence of dignity, tightening his grip on the tray as he altered his course towards the Gardiners.

“Shoo! Away, you beasts!” He flailed his free arm, obscuring his own vision.

Uncle Edward, having a natural, paternal instinct to protect the foolish and the helpless, stepped boldly onto the lawn, waving his walking stick in a commanding gesture.

“Halt! Down!” Uncle Edward commanded, attempting to project the authority of a seasoned dog handler.

The footman, blinded by his own flailing arm, did not see Uncle Edward. The wolfhounds, ignoring the walking stick, altered their course and closed on the footman from the left.

The collision was violent and unavoidable.

The footman slammed into Uncle Edward’s chest.

The tray launched into the air like a catapulted shield. The crystal jug shattered on the lawn, sending a tidal wave of lemonade on the grass, the biscuits scattering around.

Uncle Edward stumbled backwards, his arms windmilling in an attempt to keep his balance. His boot struck a patch of mossy stone bordering a flowerbed. He hit the ground, releasing a cry of agony as his ankle twisted beneath him.

Elizabeth screamed and ran to her uncle. She fell to her knees beside him.

“Edward!” Aunt Madeline abandoned her hiding place to go to her husband.

Uncle Edward’s face had drained of all colour, leaving him grey. He gripped his right leg just above the ankle, his teeth gritted in pain.

The footman lay sprawled a few feet away, covered in lemonade, biscuit crumbs, and a wolfhound who was using his chest as a convenient place to consume the fallen treats.