Chapter 15

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

F riday dawned sunny and perfect for a picnic within the shade of the willow grove. Darcy could hardly wait to sit by the stream, preferably with Elizabeth at his side, nibbling on fresh strawberries and basking in the splendour of a flawless afternoon. She would say something witty, he would riposte with something equally clever, and they would laugh in chiming harmony. Then they could take a stroll along the lake, where he would take her hand—to prevent her from stumbling, of course—and show her the choicest spots for viewing. With Pemberley at her best, surely his beloved would wish to remain forever.

Such had been Darcy's expectation upon waking, but he was not enjoying the excursion as much as he had anticipated. The blame for his discontent could be laid at the feet of one individual: Miss Bingley. When she was not clinging to his arm or brazenly putting herself forward to his notice, she was complaining over how uncomfortable it was to sit on the ground ‘like a savage' and fussing over the state of her gown. Why one would wear satin to an outdoor picnic in the summer is beyond my comprehension. There were too many insects buzzing about, the salad was wilted, the grass was too damp, the willow branches caught at her ensemble, the wind was threatening to dismantle her coiffure…an orchid required less coddling.

Darcy had been forced to excuse himself to sit with the gentlemen in order to escape her, which sadly meant that he was presently divided from Elizabeth as well—a consequence that was no doubt part of the lady's scheme. Aside from their initial greetings and a few exasperated glances shared behind Miss Bingley's back, Darcy and Elizabeth had barely interacted at all, leading him into impotent frustration. She was so close yet maddeningly divided from him by the length of the rug they sat upon. She reclined at the far end, just out of reach, chatting quietly with Georgiana over the remains of their luncheon—simple fare of cold ham, chicken, cheese, salad, bread, fresh strawberries, and Cook's special jam tarts, per their original intent—so enticingly lovely in her ivory muslin gown against the background of rustling leaves. Every so often, one of the branches would caress her cheek or shoulder as if they too recognised how well she fitted into the scene. She belongs here.

The breeze that tormented Miss Bingley picked up and wafted Elizabeth's delectable honeysuckle scent in his direction, teasing her curls and intoxicating his faculties. Should she ever accept his hand, he would spend hours luxuriating in her hair. He could imagine himself plucking her hairpins free, one by one, until the tresses tumbled around them both.

"Is the fishing any good here, Mr Darcy?"

Startled from his inappropriate wool-gathering, he jerked about to face Mr Gardiner. The older gentleman was watching him with an amused glimmer in his eye. "Pardon? "

"I asked whether your lake"—he nodded to the expanse of water stretched out before them—"has good fishing."

"Oh yes, quite good. Excellent," Darcy stammered, his ears burning, "though I most often utilise the trout stream behind the house. Do you enjoy the sport?"

"I do not often have the opportunity to partake in it, but yes, when I get the chance." After a pause, Mr Gardiner smirked and asked, "Tell me, are there more like what Lizzy found in the lake on our first visit to be caught? If so, I believe one would require a net."

Darcy barked an uneasy laugh. "Ah, no. Pike and trout only, I am afraid."

"A great pity, indeed. Lizzy was quite happy with her catch."

"Fishing, you say?" interjected Hurst, saving Darcy from whatever bumbling reply would spill from his lips. "I say, that sounds like just the thing. What say we make a party of it tomorrow? Bingley? Gardiner?"

Bingley, never one to deny anyone their pleasure, readily lent his voice to Hurst's cause. Mr Gardiner, seemingly chagrined at what he had inadvertently begun, had the grace to show more deference to their host. "I was not hinting at another invitation, I assure you."

"Nonsense!" Hurst replied, as if the authority rested with him. The man is an inveterate leech. "It was a capital idea, and you ought to benefit from it. The more the merrier and all that."

Warily, Mr Gardiner looked to Darcy. "I am game, should Mr Darcy not object."

"No objection," he muttered, leaving the other gentlemen to sort out the particulars. It was quickly settled that the morning, before the heat of the day was upon them, would be the best time, and the aforementioned trout stream would be their location .

Darcy had hoped to spend the day wooing Elizabeth. With Miss Bingley's interference, he was not likely to have much opportunity today, despite being only a few feet separated from her. So much for my grand plans. His gaze again found his beloved with palpable yearning. Apparently sensing the tickle of his attention against her skin, Elizabeth looked up, her cheeks flushing prettily. I wonder whether Bingley would object to locking his sister in the cellar for the remainder of their stay.

He was about to resign himself to another day without Elizabeth when a notion occurred to him. "Mr Gardiner, if the ladies are not otherwise occupied tomorrow, they might call on my sister at, say, one o'clock? We could then join them for refreshments."

Mr Gardiner, recovered from his momentary chagrin, chuckled. "You are not yet tired of hosting my family, then?"

"Not at all. It would be my pleasure—and Georgiana's." He hastily included his sister lest he appear unbecomingly eager.

"We had tentative plans to tour the church tomorrow, but nothing has been absolutely settled. Let us apply to the ladies for their opinions."

Mrs Gardiner, with a knowing glance at her niece, agreed that tea at Pemberley sounded like a delightful idea. Elizabeth echoed her aunt with encouraging bashfulness. After looking to Mrs Annesley for an approving nod, Georgiana clapped her hands with enthusiasm. Even Mrs Hurst appeared generally pleased with the proposed plan. Only Miss Bingley's face puckered as if her lemonade was too sour—no doubt another complaint she had yet to voice.

It was not only Miss Bingley's interference in his courting of Elizabeth that raised Darcy's ire but also her presumption. The lady behaved as if Pemberley were her own—as if she had the right to direct the household according to her particular whims. He had been absolutely out of patience with her on Wednesday when she had attempted to take control of this picnic without so much as being asked for her help, and he was reminded of that annoyance now as she surreptitiously glowered at Elizabeth and Georgiana. Who does she think she is?

My future wife. Darcy flinched at the revolting thought. He could see that Georgiana was correct to warn him about Miss Bingley and her pretensions; it was growing increasingly clear that she saw herself as the destined mistress of the house and was acting accordingly. He had already been cautious around her; now he would be on his guard.