“You were most kind to convey us in your carriage yesterday,” Elizabeth said sincerely. “I am grateful for your assistance, Mr. Darcy.”
He nodded with a slight smile. “It was nothing more than common courtesy.”
“Nevertheless,” Elizabeth insisted, “your kindness deserves recognition.”
Darcy dismounted in one fluid movement and came toward her. His riding clothes accentuated his tall, athletic figure. She had always known he was handsome, even when she’d found him most disagreeable, but encountering him here, out in nature, away from the artifice of ballrooms, made his presence more affecting.
“You cannot possibly walk to your destination,” he said sternly. “The roads are still damp from yesterday’s rain, and—” His gaze dropped to her muddy boots.
Elizabeth shifted her weight, trying to relieve the pressure on her developing blister. “I have walked much farther in Hertfordshire.”
“Perhaps, but not on these particular roads.” Darcy gestured toward the path ahead. “The route grows steeper beyond that rise. May I ask where you are bound? This road leads primarily to Pemberley and its grounds.”
Elizabeth hesitated. The truth would invite questions she could not easily answer, yet maintaining the fiction of visiting relations in Lambton seemed pointless now. “I am making my way to Rose Cottage.”
Darcy went very still, his expression shuttered. “Rose Cottage? What business have you there?”
“Research,” Elizabeth replied, ready with her prepared explanation. “I am gathering material for a biographical account of my aunt, Rose Bennet. My father named me after his sister, you see, but has always been reluctant to discuss her. I hope to learn more about her life and… circumstances.”
The color drained from Darcy’s face.
“Rose Bennet,” he repeated, his voice carefully controlled.
“Yes, she was my aunt,” Elizabeth said, watching his reaction closely. “She lived at Rose Cottage for a time. I hope to visit the place where she spent her final days.”
Darcy’s eyes narrowed, and he turned away. A muscle in his jaw tightened. Whatever he knew of Rose Bennet affected him deeply.
“The cottage lies on Pemberley land,” he said. “Mrs. Martha Wickham, the widow of our former steward, lives there now.”
“Yes, I understand she knew my aunt,” Elizabeth confirmed. “I have corresponded with her about my visit.”
Darcy’s brow furrowed deeper. “You intend to stay at Rose Cottage?”
“For a short time, yes,” Elizabeth replied as she trudged along the path. “Just long enough to gather the material I need.”
He seemed to struggle with himself for a moment before reaching a decision. “You cannot continue on foot. Your boots are clearly causing you discomfort.”
Darcy stopped at his horse’s side and adjusted the stirrups. “You must ride. I will walk alongside.”
“Mr. Darcy, I could not possibly?—”
“I insist,” he said firmly. “It is not merely courtesy but practical necessity. Rose Cottage is still nearly two miles distant, and the terrain grows more challenging.”
Elizabeth glanced down at her boots, where the pinching had grown from uncomfortable to painful. Pride warred with practicality. “I am perfectly capable of walking.”
“Of that I have no doubt,” Darcy replied, and Elizabeth was surprised to detect a hint of admiration in his tone. “Your independence is… remarkable. However, capability does not preclude acceptance of assistance when prudently offered.”
The corner of his mouth lifted slightly—not quite a smile, but close to it. The expression transformed his usually severe features, lending them a warmth she had rarely witnessed.
“Very well,” Elizabeth conceded, wondering at the strangeflutter in her chest. “Though I confess I am unused to being the object of such gallantry.”
“Then the gentlemen of Hertfordshire are more deficient than I had imagined,” Darcy murmured, so quietly that Elizabeth wondered if she had misheard.
He approached with his horse, a magnificent bay stallion that stood at least sixteen hands high. “May I assist you?”
Elizabeth nodded, suddenly aware of the impropriety of their situation—alone on a country road at dawn, about to accept his physical assistance. Yet what alternative did she have?
Darcy placed his hands at her waist, his touch firm and careful as he lifted her effortlessly into the saddle sideways. Despite the morning chill, the brief contact sent an inexplicable warmth through her. His hands lingered perhaps longer than strictly necessary before he stepped back.
