Page 57 of An Accidental Meeting
When Elizabeth at last reached the gardens, Aunt Nora emerged from among the roses with a basket of cut flowers. “Good morning,” she called. “We are all up and about this morning, I see.”
Breakfast would not be served for another two hours, but she would not call this early. “We are,” Elizabeth said. “Is this common?” Until today no one in the house had been stirring for at least another hour. Other than Mr. Darcy, of course, who was always in his study.
“There was a bit of a to-do last night. I am not privy to the details, but the Hursts were evidently found in places they ought not be, and so my nephew spoke to Mr. Bingley. The result of it is that we have two fewer guests today.”
Elizabeth said nothing for a moment while she overcame her shock at such a recounting. “While the Hursts have never been warm to me, I believed they understood the benefits ofa connection with Mr. Darcy. Why would they do anything to jeopardise it?”
Aunt Nora was watching her rather closely. “I could not say, only that this is one more blow for my nephew. It is why he rarely has house parties at Pemberley. There are so few people he really trusts enough to allow in his home.”
Elizabeth tipped her face up to the sun while she thought. It was a terrible cycle. Mr. Darcy had been shaped by a society that was always grasping at him for something. It had made him resort to aloof and haughty behaviours to keep away those who would take advantage. Unfortunately, that same behaviour would also prevent him from winning him the friends he truly deserved. Only Mr. Bingley had managed to break through Mr. Darcy’s façade. It was no wonder that Mr. Darcy took such prodigious care of him.
“A life where you cannot trust those around you,” she said with a sigh, “it cannot be pleasant.”
“No, I daresay it is not,” Aunt Nora replied. She seemed to be waiting for something, but Elizabeth had nothing else to offer. Not aloud.
Mr. Darcy had issued an impetuous invitation to her, and to the Gardiners as well, of course, though he had never met them before. Elizabeth respected them, and therefore so had he. She had been pleased at the time, but now she felt truly honoured.
She touched one of the larger blooms. “This is lovely.”
“The roses were Anne’s favourites,” Aunt Nora said affectionately. “I am taking these to her reading room. Would you like to come with me?”
Elizabeth sensed there was more to this than a desire for company. “Of course.”
There was an anxiety to the hum of servants that had not been present when they were touring the house with Mrs. Reynolds. Elizabeth kept in step with Aunt Nora and soon found herself onthe same floor as their bed chambers, though this must be the family wing.
“Will you hold the basket?” Aunt Nora inquired. Elizabeth held the roses as Aunt Nora entered a small sitting room and emerged with a large vase.
They walked all the way in the northern corner of the house, Elizabeth a half a step behind the older woman. There was a small room there, the door standing open. As they entered, she saw Mr. Darcy carefully folding a quilt and kneeling to place it in an open drawer. He slid it closed.
“Aunt Nora,” he said, standing to greet them. His grave gaze moved to hers. “Miss Bennet.”
Elizabeth felt the sting of unshed tears. She had seen Mr. Darcy clever, teasing, prideful, angry. But she had never seen him appear so impossibly sad.
She prayed she would never see it again.
“Nephew,” Aunt Nora said softly, “we have brought some of your mother’s roses.” She set the vase down. “Oh dear, I have forgotten the water. Miss Bennet, would you arrange the flowers while I fetch a pitcher?”
“Of course,” Elizabeth said, and lifted one of the creamy, ivory-coloured blooms from the basket. “I can see why they were your mother’s favourite." She held the bloom to her nose and breathed in. “The scent is so soothing.”
Mr. Darcy stared at her, and unsure of herself, she held out one of the flowers for him to smell. He took a faltering step forward and bent his head down to the bloom as she had done. She held her hand steady, and when Mr. Darcy reached for the stem, Elizabeth expected he would take the rose from her. Instead, he placed his own hand gently around her wrist and lifted it an inch or so, breathing in more of the scent.
Her heart thumped in staccato.
“Thank you, Miss Bennet,” he said quietly.
Elizabeth’s free hand rose instinctively to cover his. “You are welcome, sir, though I know not what for.”
He drew in a shuddering breath at her touch, and the tension in his shoulders eased.
She could not trust herself—was he feeling the same charge between them as she? She arched an eyebrow at him and motioned towards the basket that held three other colours of roses. “May I instruct you in the fine art of flower arrangement?”
Startled, he barked out a little laugh and dropped his hand. “An accomplishment I cannot boast, as you well know.”
“You are not too old to learn,” she replied pertly. “For you may one day have a wife you wish to impress.”
His eyes again rose to hers, and she was pleased to see that the darkness had lifted. “Perhaps I may.”
Chapter Fifteen
