Pausing partway up the mount, she spoke aloud into the still morning. “There must be a reason for the secrecy.” Leaning against a nearby tree, she folded her arms, her air thoughtful and intent. “Perhaps his family does not approve. Or maybe he has not the fortune to marry a woman with no dowry.” That possibility she dismissed outright. Her admirer was evidently a man of consequence; the gifts he had bestowed thus far were not trifling.
Am I alreadyacquaintedwith the gentleman?What if he isnota gentleman, but a wealthy tradesman?The idea struck her as absurd. She knew no wealthy tradesmen beyond her uncle and a handful of his associates. She recalled one Mr. Timmons, introduced to her last summer. A tall, reasonably attractive man of three-and-thirty, he had paid her some attention while she visited London with her relations. Yet her interest had been slight; indeed, she regarded him as an indifferent acquaintance and believed he felt much the same. Still, the timing now cast her assumptions into doubt. The first gift had arrived on themorning of the twenty-fifth, the day after the Gardiners’ arrival.Could Uncle have been entrusted with tokens ofaffection from one of his associates? Why would Mr. Timmons wait?Elizabeth frowned.Had he thought me too young last year and only now feels ready to pursue me?
Still no closer to finding an answer, she pushed away from the tree and continued up the hill. It was far too cold to remain in one attitude for long. With long strides, she made her way to the summit, breathing heavily as the incline lessened and the ground leveled. Elizabeth crossed the small clearing atop the mount, observing animal tracks in the light dusting of snow and pacing to preserve her warmth.
The sound of an approaching horse disturbed her musings. When she lifted her gaze and caught sight of Mr. Darcy astride a large brown and white gelding at the edge of the clearing, she quickly donned her bonnet. The sunlight streamed across the open space, catching in the horse’s glossy coat and the polished brass fittings of the bridle. Upon seeing her, Darcy dismounted with practiced ease and looped the reins around a low-hanging branch.
“Miss Elizabeth,” he greeted, bowing his head with courtesy. His voice was warm, gentler than she expected, though she wondered whether the early hour lent her imagination too much sway. “How do you do this morning?” He tipped his hat, then added, “’Tis a lovely day, if a trifle cold. Beau needed a good gallop, and so I left the warmth of Netherfield to chase the frost across the fields.”
“That is quite poetic, Mr. Darcy.” Her eyes were bright with appreciation. She could admire a well-turned phrase, and he appeared unexpectedly fluent in them this morning. “I, too, was called by the morning air. Tell me, does your horse—Beau, is it?—wake with the dawn as I do, or must you rouse him from his stall to meet your sense of duty?”
He laughed; it was a low, rich sound that sent a pleasant thrill through her. “Beau is short for Beaudric. My sister saw the name carved upon a weathered stone in a country churchyard and declared it must be given to my next horse. One can hardly refuse an eight-year-old, particularly when she is so earnestly insistent.” He glanced affectionately toward the animal. “Beau is a noble steed and an excellent companion; he is not as spirited as others I have ridden, but faithful and only mildly temperamental. He waits on me very patiently, I assure you.”
Elizabeth nodded, her expression thoughtful. “He seems to be a fine specimen. We have only Nellie to ride, an old mare more content in the stable than under saddle. I dare say I can walk faster than she can canter. Thus, you discover the reason for my wandering the countryside with windblown hair and skirts weighted with six inches of Hertfordshire mud.” She laughed lightly, recalling Miss Bingley’s withering remarks on the subject.
Mr. Darcy’s eyes caught the light, an odd glint in them that arrested her. At first, she believed he disapproved, and a spark of irritation stirred within her. But then she looked again, more carefully, and saw that the intensity in his gaze held no censure. Her cheeks warmed—no small matter on such a chill morning.
“I find a lady’s eyes are brightened by frequent exercise,” he murmured, stepping nearer. “There is nothing to be ashamed of. Your devotion to your sister is to be admired.”
Elizabeth felt a strange flutter rise within her. The compliment, spoken with gentle sincerity, surprised her. “I thank you, sir, though I must confess I once believed your opinion to be quite the opposite. My arrival at Netherfield seemed…less than welcome to most of its occupants.” She paused, uncertain whether her honesty had overstepped civility.
His expression changed, and she felt she could read it clearly—shame. The sight was unexpected. She had not imagined Mr. Darcy capable of such vulnerability.
“I believe I owe you a rather large apology.” His eyes lowered to the ground as he nudged his boot across the snow, exposing the yellowed grass beneath. “From our very first meeting, I have not conducted myself as a gentleman ought. I insulted you grievously—without provocation. There is no excuse for my petulant, ignorant behavior. Though I have attempted some form of reparation since, I know I have not done enough.”
Her mother had once proclaimed that a late apology was worth as little as a false one, but Elizabeth had never quite believed that. Sincerity was a currency of its own. And here stood Mr. Darcy, in all seriousness, offering his regret without defense or deflection.
“Thank you, sir. I admit I harbored...unflattering opinions of you after that night. But an earnest apology does much to repair the injury. Ought we to begin again—and go on as friends?” She smiled then—openly, warmly.
“Friends,” he repeated, straightening a little, as though the word had settled something deep within him. “Yes, that is a good beginning.”
He bowed, a deep, formal gesture as though they had only just been introduced. “Miss Elizabeth, my name is Fitzwilliam Darcy. How pleased I am to make your acquaintance.”
She smothered a laugh, curtsying with equal grace. “The pleasure is mine, sir.”
An awkward pause followed, and Elizabeth searched for a topic to carry them forward. The silence stretched, and then—too hastily—she spoke. “Is Miss Bingley’s presence such a trial that it affects your behavior entirely?”
A look of surprise crossed his face, and then a low laugh escaped him. The sound warmed her more effectively than any winter cloak.
“It would be ungenerous of me to express the full scope of my thoughts regarding Miss Bingley. But yes, I confess her company at times tried my patience. Still, other factors weighed more heavily on my spirits during those first months.”
He did not elaborate, and she chose not to press him.
“Well,” she said at last, “I am glad your spirits have improved. My father has enjoyed your company greatly and wonders when you might next have the opportunity to call and play chess with him.”
Darcy smiled, his mien gentling with remembrance. “I have not had so skilled a partner since my father’s passing. I should be pleased to call on Mr. Bennet. Bingley and I are to dine at Lucas Lodge this evening; perhaps I might come on the morrow.”
“We are to attend this evening as well.” Elizabeth’s thoughts drifted to the pearl combs hidden in her chamber. Would they suit the diamond and garnet locket? Perhaps she would wear one and not the other. “Sir William entertains more during Christmastide than at any other time of year. I expect he will host at least one more soiree before Twelfth Night.”
The cold began to creep through her cloak and gloves, and Elizabeth rubbed her arms briskly. Her breath formed clouds before her lips.
“You are cold.” Darcy stepped toward her, one hand half-lifted before he let it fall. “Come, allow me to assist you onto Beau. I shall escort you back to Longbourn.”
“It is no matter, sir, though I thank you. The walk is short, and I shall be warm again once I am moving.” She curtsied once more. “Until this evening, then.”
“Yes. Yes, goodbye, Miss Elizabeth.”
She had only taken a few paces before he called her name. She turned, glancing up at him with curious expectancy. He appeared torn between caution and courage, but ultimately, courage won.
