Darcy gave him a flat look, and Bingley merely grinned. “Come now. You may hide behind your scowls all you like, but I see the truth of it. And if Miss Elizabeth has captured your interest, I cannot say I blame you.”
Darcy said nothing for a moment, then admitted, “She is…unlike anyone I have ever known.”
“Indeed,” Bingley said cheerfully. “And what a delightful lady she is. Just the sort to stir even the proudest and most silent of gentlemen.”
Darcy let a small smile tug at the corner of his mouth, then spurred his horse forward as the others called back that the beaters were ready.
He would shoot today, yes—but he found that his aim was not the only thing focused. With each passing moment, his resolve grew stronger.
He would go to Longbourn again.
And perhaps, if he dared, discover not just the source of stolen candles and gloves—but the truth of a woman who had unsettled him in the most unexpected and welcome of ways.
Chapter Five
October 30-31, 1811
Longbourn
Elizabeth
Elizabeth’smindwouldnotquiet itself so she could drift off to sleep. She was tired—so very tired—but as soon as her eyes fluttered shut, thoughts of Mr. Darcy crowded into her mind, chasing away any hope of slumber. The hours had ticked by slowly, each minute stretching endlessly as she tossed and turned, her restless thoughts refusing to yield to the comfort of her bed. She had tried everything: focusing on her breathing, recalling the day’s events, even silently counting backward from one hundred. Nothing worked. Sleep remained stubbornly out of reach.
What is it about the gentleman that fascinates me so?she wondered, staring at the shadowy canopy above herbed. The change in her own feelings perplexed her as much as the man himself. How quickly she had gone from despising him to calling him a friend. Elizabeth had always considered herself a forgiving sort, yet when he had uttered that terrible insult at the Meryton assembly, she had vowed never to forget Mr. Darcy’s arrogance and disdain. The memory of his words had once stung like a fresh wound, yet now, when she thought of him, it was not anger but a strange warmth that filled her chest.
And then he had apologized—sincerely, humbly—and she had found she could not deny him her acceptance. Their conversations since had been stimulating and unexpectedly delightful. Beneath his reserved exterior lay a keen wit and a depth of feeling she had not anticipated. Though he still bore traces of his aloof, unapproachable manner, he made genuine efforts to be sociable. Each attempt to engage, awkward though it sometimes was, spoke of a gentleman trying to change, and Elizabeth could not help but admire that.
Her pillow was very soft, a goose-down cloud that cradled her weary head. Elizabeth turned on her side, tucking one hand beneath it, seeking the elusive comfort of sleep. A yawn escaped her lips, her lashes grew heavy, and at long last, she began to drift towards that blissful oblivion she had longed for since the evening began.
Cree-aa-k.
The sound startled her, slicing through the quiet of the night like a blade. Her eyes snapped open, her breath caught in her throat, and she stared wide-eyed into the heavy darkness of her chamber. Her heart began to pound an unsteady rhythm, each beat echoing in her ears as she strained to listen.What was that?
Strange, she thought with a flicker of unease.Mama keeps all the hinges well-oiled.Mrs. Bennet detested squeaking hinges, and the servants knew better than to leave them untended. The noise had been distinct, sharp, as though a door had opened and closed slowly, deliberately. It had not sounded like the groan of an old floorboard beneath a servant’s light tread, either.
Elizabeth lay completely still, scarcely daring to breathe, every nerve on edge. The darkness of her room felt heavier now, the faint glow of moonlight at the window doing little to chase away the oppressive shadows. Then, soft but unmistakable, she heard footsteps pass by her door. They were muffled by the long carpet that ran the length of the hallway, yet there was a weight to the tread—a measured heaviness—that made her pulse quicken.
She pressed her lips together to keep from gasping, her hands clenching the coverlet as if the thin fabric could protect her from whatever, or whoever, was moving aboutthe house at this late hour. Silence stretched for a moment, making her doubt her own senses, and then came another sound, a dullthump,followed by a low, peculiar hissing noise that sent a shiver racing down her spine. After that, nothing. The house seemed to fall into a deeper, more suffocating silence, as though it, too, held its breath.
Surely, I am imagining things.The rational thought came slowly, struggling to rise above the flood of unease coursing through her. She tried to comfort herself. Perhaps it was only a servant, up for some trivial reason. Perhaps the sound had been a loose shutter knocking in the wind.
The longcase clock that stood in the drawing room downstairs chimed the hour, the sonorous notes drifting eerily through the stillness. Elizabeth startled again when she counted the strikes—two in the morning.Good heavens,she thought,have I truly lain awake so long?
Yes, she reasoned as she burrowed deeper beneath the warmth of her coverlet, willing the fear to leave her chest.I have stayed awake too long, and my mind has conjured phantoms from nothing. It is only weariness and imagination playing tricks on me.
She clutched the blankets tighter, closed her eyes, and forced her breath to steady. Slowly, bit by bit, the weight of exhaustion overcame the lingering fear. As her muscles relaxed and her mind finally yielded to fatigue,the house remained silent around her. And so, at last, Elizabeth Bennet slipped into a deep, dreamless sleep, unconcerned that the night might hold its secrets beyond her door.
“It is not a lie, Sally.”
Elizabeth stirred from slumber as the low, urgent whisper broke through the haze of dreams. Blinking against the early dawn light that crept through the curtains, she realized the hour was barely six o’clock. Two maids stood at the hearth, their silhouettes framed by the faint glow of embers. Sally clutched the ash bucket in both hands, her expression tense, while Molly bent over, her small shovel scraping softly as she scooped the remnants of the previous night’s fire.
“You cannot possibly believe Longbourn is haunted,” Sally hissed, her tone a mixture of annoyance and unease. “Now be quiet, else you wake Miss Lizzy.”
Molly huffed, but said no more, working faster now, the metal of the shovel tapping lightly against the grate as she filled the pail. Elizabeth remained still, half-hidden beneath her quilt, her mind foggy with sleep yet keenly attuned to the unusual conversation. Haunted? The wordmade a shiver crawl down her spine, recalling the strange noises of the previous night—the footsteps and the noises that had left her heart racing in the dark.
Once Sally departed, leaving Molly to finish, Elizabeth pushed herself upright, her hair tumbling loose around her shoulders. “Oh! I am so sorry, miss,” Molly exclaimed, spinning around with wide eyes and a crimson blush rushing to her cheeks. She dropped a quick curtsy, brushing soot-stained hands on her apron. “We did not mean to wake you.”
“Never mind that, Molly.” Elizabeth’s voice was gentle, though curiosity prickled at her every nerve. “Tell me, why do you think Longbourn is haunted?” Her tone was casual, but her gaze fixed sharply on the maid’s face, reading every twitch of unease.
