Page 8 of A Promise Made

“Lizzy!” Mr Bennet snapped.

Darcy was shocked. Miss Elizabeth had always seemed to be honest and honourable.

She looked up and smiled faintly. “Good morning, Papa, Mr Darcy.”

“What can you be thinking, going through my papers?” Mr Bennet sounded more embarrassed than angry, which was surprising.

“I was thinking, sir, that a mere six months ago you asked me to organise the loose papers piled high on your desk into packets, and I was the one who had to come up with how to organise the packets and how I should label each packet.”

Mr Bennet spluttered more than spoke in rebuttal.

Darcy realised that he must amend his censure of her action. If her father had relinquished the privacy of his concerns to her to the point where she had to create organisation out of chaos, in many ways the papers belonged as much to her as to him.

Speaking calmly, Miss Elizabeth said, “I was just examining the Vowels Outstanding packet, Papa. You asked me to remind you to apply to Mr Johnson for the funds he borrowed.”

“Oh, yes. Yes, I thank you for the reminder, Lizzy. But for now, you may go. I have things to discuss with Mr Darcy.”

“Of course, Papa.” She kissed him on the cheek.

As soon as she left, the men drank tea and ate cold meat and cheese as they discussed the prices of rethatching a cottage versus replacing thatch with slate or pantiles. Darcy looked at the table of figures, based on likelihood of fire and need for replacement, and he explained his own conclusions. As usual, Mr Bennet deferred to his opinion, and the older gentleman wrote an order.

When Darcy left Mr Bennet for the day, he was surprised to run into Miss Elizabeth at the stables. “Are you about to ride, Miss Elizabeth?”

Her laughter was merry. “Me, ride? No. I avoid riding when I can, which ends up being all the time.”

“That is surprising.”

“I still find it surprising that you are working so hard on an estate not your own, Mr Darcy. I keep telling my mind not to wonder, not to craft yet another theory, but my mind…has a mind of its own.”

They both laughed at the silliness of the statement. “I suppose I did not think that through,” Miss Elizabeth said, shaking her head.

“Well, your mind is quite reflexive, I suppose, thinking about thinking, wondering about wondering, and so forth.”

“That is quite correct, Mr Darcy.” Miss Elizabeth smiled and said, “I thank you for recasting my fault of being far too curious as a virtue; I am a deep thinker and ever so philosophical.”

“And what are the latest theories for my presence at Longbourn that your curious mind has come up with, recently?”

“Oh, you know, I contemplated that, some time ago, you were in your cups and gamed far too long, with my father, no less, and in this far-fetched theory you were so deeply in debt, you decided to work it off.”

The sound that Darcy emitted could have been an animal’s yelp but was, in fact, a startled laugh that he swiftly cut off. He squelched the smile that threatened to take over his face, as well, because he did not wish to appear to feel positive about such a horrible suggestion.

That he should be so deep in debt as to require him to work it off—such a thing was so impossible, it was farcical.

“I assure you, Miss Elizabeth, that I owe no man—or woman, for that matter—a debt of honour. I rarely gamble, and I never play high.” Darcy wondered if his voice sounded stiff and judgemental.

“I find that admirable,” Miss Elizabeth said, “although you could possibly express yourself with less self-congratulation.”

“Apologies. I worried that I might have sounded too stern.”

“Well, it is not as if I do not deserve a bit of a stern talking-to.”

“I also hope you accept my word that I do not drink to excess and that means

that I have never been ‘deep in my cups,’” Darcy said.

“I do believe you,” Miss Elizabeth assured him. “And then–”

“There is more?”