Rebellion at Longbourn

He lifted his chin. “Occasionally. If they are short-handed in the fields during planting or harvest. Particularly if there is a fire or flood—every person is needed.”

“And you consult with your steward about crops and planting, you allocate money, and balance the estate’s books.”

“Yes.” His furrowed brow suggested he did not understand which way her conversation tended.

“Is that not also work?”

He frowned. “It is different.”

“Why?”

“Because…it…I…because I am the owner of the land.”

“So, when your steward makes entries in the ledgers, he is working, but if you do so, you are not?”

“I never…but there is a difference. There is. Between his work and my work.”

She shrugged. “I used to believe so, but now I am not so sure. I used to think there was women’s work and men’s work. Servant’s work and master’s work. Now I am coming to believe there is just work, and it does not matter who does it.”

Mr. Darcy drew himself up straight. “You are quite a radical, Miss Bennet!”

She laughed, a gentle exhale of breath. “I suppose some might use that label. Or perhaps that is the natural result when a gently bred woman takes on labor usually performed by a servant.”

His lips quirked in a smile. “I daresay it is the natural result when you take on the labor usually performed by a servant.”

Did he intend those words as a compliment?

His hand rose to touch one of the curls framing Elizabeth’s face. “You are giving me much to consider…a new way to view the world.” He shook his head. “How is it that every conversation with you is a revelation?”

Elizabeth inhaled sharply. More words that sounded like a reluctant compliment. And what did he mean by touching her hand and hair? That was certainly beyond the bounds of strict propriety.

Even now he was leaning toward her as he had before, his face mere inches from hers. Would he kiss her? She shivered—with panic or desire? She did not know. Hopefully, he would believe she had a chill.

Was he planning to declare himself? Surely not! Not Mr. Darcy, who could marry nearly any woman in England. However, if he did not intend marriage, he had no business kissing her.

His lips were tantalizingly close. She had never been kissed by such a man or felt someone’s hands touch her shoulders, her neck, her hair. But she could not allow it.

Perhaps he did not consider how his words sounded to a woman with no prospects—how they might raise hopes she should never entertain. Suddenly, she was angry at him—angry that he was so obtuse that he might allow her to think there might be anything between them.

I will not give in. I will not surrender to his charms. Not when I can have no hopes of him. Elizabeth bit down on her lower lip so savagely she tasted blood. The spasm of pain cleared away the haze of longing and focused her attention.

He must not notice her irritation. He may have been thoughtless, but the harm he had inflicted was unintentional. Furthermore, she valued his friendship and wanted to retain it.

She forced herself to laugh, an awkward sound to her own ears. “Mr. Darcy! You do know how to compliment a girl! Everyone knows we love to be praised for our red lips, porcelain skin, and revelatory conversation.”

He gave her a bemused smile, confused by her shift in tone.

I am probably being silly. He does not want a country miss whose station in life has slid precipitously lower in the past two years. She was amazed he had even been willing to acknowledge their acquaintance in public.

Unless—?

She had considered before if he might be cultivating her for the purpose of making her his mistress. A gift of a lavish ball gown would be a perfect demonstration of the life he could give a mistress.

But he could not possibly believe she would consider such an arrangement. Of course, Mr. Darcy’s money would protect her sisters and mother for the rest of their lives…

No.

I cannot sell myself, not for marriage or protection. It is dangerous to even be thinking these things about Mr. Darcy—whether or not he is thinking them about me. I should not be standing on a terrace with him. I am a fool, allowing myself to be seduced by moonlight and spring air.