Page 34 of When Elizabeth's Cat Chose Darcy
“Thyme. Smell it.”
She brought it to her nose with the careful delicacy of a girl sampling perfume at a London shop. “It smells like the stuffing Cook prepares at Pemberley.”
“Indeed, it likely forms at least half of it, if your cook follows the same school as ours at Longbourn,” I explained, handing her a sage leaf. “And this completes the other half.”
She rubbed it between her fingers, releasing the dusty, peppery scent. The smile came without any effort on her part, which was, I thought, the only kind worth having.
We moved on. She paused at a low-growing plant with tiny purple flowers.
“That is pennyroyal,” I said, crouching beside her. “It repels fleas and has a most particular scent. Though I must caution you not to use it in cooking.”
She pinched a leaf and recoiled at the aggressive mint. “It is so potent.”
“Most useful things are.” I stood, brushing my skirt. “The pleasant-smelling ones are generally decorative.”
Farther along the path, she paused before a patch of tall grasses, their seed heads nodding in the gentle breeze.
“And these? At Pemberley, I merely thought them all ‘grass’ without distinction,” she confessed with a becoming blush.
“This one is wild barley,” I said, taking a stalk and running my fingers along its bristled head. “And beside it grows timothy. Our tenant farmers value them differently for their livestock.”
“How remarkable that I have spent seventeen years on earth and never truly observed what grows beneath my feet.” She gathered a small bouquet of grasses with the attention of someone who has only now discovered that the world is larger than it appeared from the drawing room window. Which, in fairness, it is.
I smiled at her enthusiasm. “Here,” I said, crouching down to point at a modest plant with jagged leaves, “this is yarrow. My mother keeps it for fevers. And beside it—” I gently parted the soil to reveal small white bulbs, “—wild garlic, which makes the most delicious sauce for mutton.”
“May I dig some?” she asked eagerly.
“By all means. Mrs. Jolliffe shall be impressed with your industry.”
She removed her gloves and unearthed several bulbs with the pride of a young lass showing her first embroidered handkerchief. And then she moved on to another expanse.
“Oh! And these yellow flowers? They seem to glow in the sunlight.”
“Ah, those are buttercups,” I replied, a fond smile playing on my lips. “As children, we used to hold them under our chins to see if we liked butter.” I demonstrated the old game, the flower’s golden reflection casting a warm glow on my skin.
She picked one and tickled her chin, mimicking my actions as we strolled through the orchard gate. The Bramley tree Mrs. Jolliffe had mentioned stood at the far edge, its branches heavywith apples.
I set the basket down, assessed the lowest branch, and climbed.
“What are you doing?” Georgiana’s voice rose half an octave.
“Collecting apples,” I replied, my boot finding purchase against the trunk as I reached for a higher branch. “The finest specimens always reside at the top—a principle that holds true for most things in life.”
I climbed. Not gracefully because grace was not required for climbing, only good balance and not falling.
“Are you well, Miss Elizabeth?” Georgiana called when I missed a branch, scraping my knee.
“Better than when I fell into a pig trough.” I laughed. “Lydia will never let me forget it.”
“Miss Bennet!” Georgiana’s tone held a note of alarm. “Surely you’ve ascended too high!”
As I glanced down, I was struck by how closely her posture mirrored her brother’s—as if Darcy himself had been diminished in stature and softened around the edges. The family resemblance was unmistakable: the angle of her jaw, the set of her shoulders, and the stiffness in her carriage as she stood ready to catch me should I fall. Perhaps Darcys were by nature protective.
“I am perfectly situated. The apple does not come to the climber, Miss Darcy.” I plucked an apple. “Will you catch?”
She positioned the basket with the attention of someone who had been given a task she did not wish to fail and stood beneath me, looking up with a hungry expression as though she were watching someone do the thing she most wanted to do and had been told she must not.
I tossed down six apples in quick succession. She caught four, missed one, and was struck on the shoulder by the sixth.
