Darcy sighed. “She is a remarkable woman,” he conceded.
Georgiana reached out and squeezed his hand. “Then you must go personally to help her. You might even have time to make her a Christmas bride! Would not that be romantic?”
Darcy chuckled as he glanced around the hall, relieved to see the servants had abandoned them. “Let us not get ahead of ourselves, sweetling. But thank you. Your support means a great deal to me.” He met her gaze. “I must go now.”
“Promise me you will be careful?”
“I shall,” Darcy assured her, touched by her concern. “And you will be well, here on your own?”
It was his sister’s turn to laugh a little. “Fitzwilliam, this is Pemberley. I am never entirely on my own unless I am sleeping.”
With a final squeeze of her hand, Darcy left her to refresh himself, change his clothing, and have something to eat before riding back to Hollydale.
The first night at Hollydale was long and cold. After taking his turn watching the house, Darcy moved to the men’s makeshift camp inside a closed-up room where the firewood for the kitchen was typically kept. Someone had made room on the floor and tossed down two thin mattresses. He stretched out on one and pulled a heavy blanket over him. The floor had not been swept, so there were bits of wood and stone underneath.
As he picked them out, reminding himself that he had willingly left his comfortable bed behind at Pemberley, the door swung open on creaky hinges, and he stood to close it again. He made a note to mention it to Mr. Bennet, for in a storm the wood might be rained or snowed on and made unusable.
As he was examining the latch, a sound like a door opening made him look up.
A small figure emerged from the kitchen door, and he watched Miss Bennet—it could be no other—disappear down the path toward the front of the house. It was just as it had been some weeks ago, when she walked to the stables and had Thatcher carry out a box.
As he cautiously rose to his feet and moved closer, taking care to remain unseen, Darcy stepped into the little wilderness to one side of the front drive. He stood where he was, peering around the corner of the house to see what she was about. A cart stood waiting down the road a bit in the dim moonlight, its driver cloaked and seated with a bowed head. The flickering lantern on the cart barely illuminated the scene, but Darcy strained his eyes to make out more details. The figure sitting in the cart was familiar. His posture, the set of his shoulders looked very much like Mr. Milner—but in the darkness, Darcy could not be sure.
Miss Bennet approached the cart quickly, glancing back toward Hollydale once more before handing a sack to the driver. Their exchange was brief and quiet. Darcy caught only faint murmurs of their voices carried on the air, but nothing distinct enough to make out the words. The driver nodded once, taking the sack from her hands, and placing it into the back of the wagon before urging the horse forward with a soft cluck of his tongue.
The cart rolled away into the night, disappearing into the darkness beyond the estate’s boundaries.
Miss Bennet stood there for a moment, watching it go, and Darcy watched her, his mind swirling with questions. Whatever she engaged in, it was something she wanted kept hidden, even from him. The thought made him uneasy. He was not supposed to be on the grounds anymore. To confront her now would raise far more questions than he was prepared to answer.
Darcy’s eyes followed Miss Bennet as she turned back toward the house, her steps quick and light. She slipped through the side entrance, disappearing into the warmth and safety of Hollydale without looking back.
He turned back towards his bed, such as it was. Thompson emerged from the shadows a few moments later, unaware of what had just transpired but seeing him awake. “All clear, Mr. Darcy?” he asked, his voice low.
Darcy nodded, masking his unease with a calm expression. “Nothing unusual,” he replied, keeping his voice steady. He could not bring himself to call attention to what he had just witnessed. Not yet.
Thompson yawned and stretched his arms. “Good. You best catch some sleep while you can.”
Darcy’s mind remained on Elizabeth even as he curled up under his meagre blanket. What was she doing sneaking about in the dead of night? What had been in that sack? The thought gnawed at him, but he knew he could not accuse her without more information. He would have to watch her closely, bide his time, and wait for her to reveal her secrets on her own. Eventually, his eyes drifted shut, but sleep remained elusive.
When dawn broke, Darcy stretched out his aching back, grimacing, and silently vowed that he would never again complain about an inn's inferior accommodations.
He was greeted by Thatcher, Freedman, and Thompson who were making every attempt to appear stoic.
Darcy grunted. “You may as well say it before you injure yourselves holding it in.”
They all laughed.
“Good morning, greenhorn,” Thatcher teased.
“Did you not bring your feather pillow?” Freedman chimed in.
“Perhaps he is used to a cup of warm milk before bed.” Thompson added, casting a look at his employer, and barely containing his laughter.
Darcy rolled his eyes but could not suppress a wry smile. “Gentlemen, the hardness of the ground is irrelevant when your snoring could wake the dead.”
The laugh had done them all good. Thatcher nodded. “Let's get to work, boys. Mr. Darcy, we thought this evening we’d leave a window ajar, try to tempt him. What is your opinion?”
“Not a bad idea. Though you will need more than that to fool him, I think. A window ajar in the winter might alert him to a trap. However, if he saw most of you watching that window, he wouldknowit was a trap.”
