Darcy reloaded, wiping a smear of damp earth from the barrel with his glove. The morning mist began to thin by degrees, revealing the undulation of the fields beyond—ridges and hollows dotted with late-autumn scrub.
Bingley shaded his eyes with one hand. “Fine ground today. If the weather holds, we ought to follow that hedge line eastward and circle back through the stubble.”
Hurst grunted approval.
Only once they turned east, once the slope stretched out long and uninterrupted, did the distant horizon begin to clarify. A pale line of rooftops edged into view far beyond the undulations of field and meadow.
Bingley straightened, breath visible in the chill air. “Ah—look there. Do you see it?” He pointed with the barrel of his gun. “That roofline. That must be Longbourn. Lucas Lodge sits farther west. We ought to see it a little closer soon, eh?”
Darcy lifted his gaze, following the angle of Bingley’s gesture. The houses were still faint through the thinning mist, but the shapes aligned with the map Bingley had sketched out last evening.
“Likely so,” Darcy said. Hurst squinted. “You mean to call on them so soon?”
“Of course I do,” Bingley said. “We are introduced; what is the point of being sociable if one does not behave as such?”
Darcy gave a noncommittal sound and adjusted the angle of his gun.
Bingley stopped speaking long enough to fire. A grouse burst from the grass; Hurst took the second shot and brought it down neatly. Brutus bounded off to retrieve it, tail spinning with pride.
“Fine shot,” Darcy said.
Hurst shrugged. “Luck.” He reloaded.
They waded through another stretch of boggy ground, the water sucking at their boots. A farmhouse sat crookedly to the east; Darcy caught the scent of woodsmoke from its chimney.
“I must ask Mrs Nicholls about hiring again,” Bingley said as they skirted another boggy patch. “When we returned from the Assembly, the fires were low, the lamps half-trimmed, and the cold supper laid out as if the staff had abandoned it midway. Caroline swears Netherfield has not seen proper management in years.”
Hurst grunted. “You will never find good help.”
“Well, that is why one asks for references.” Bingley brushed a reed from his coat. “I may inquire at Longbourn. Mrs Bennet knows everyone in the parish. She would have ten names for me by the end of the visit.”
Darcy lifted his gun as Brutus froze near a patch of rushes. “Hold,” he said quietly.
Another bird rose; Darcy fired cleanly. Brutus tore through the grass to retrieve it, shaking water from his coat as he returned.
Bingley beamed. “Very good. I shall put that one down as yours. Now—ah, yes—before I forget: Darcy, did you receive your post last night? I told them to place it in your room before we went out.”
Darcy’s grip tightened slightly on his gun. “I received it.”
“Nothing urgent, I hope?”
“A steward’s report,” Darcy said. It was the simplest way to end the subject, though the words settled heavy in his throat. “I will attend to it in due course.”
Bingley nodded, already scanning the fields again. “Well, if you require assistance with any estate matters, you know I will help however I can. Now—Brutus! Leave that hedgehog alone, you menace.”
The dog abandoned his quarry and dashed on ahead, sending a flock of small birds wheeling up in alarm.
Darcy watched them rise, disappearing into the pale morning sky.
The breakfast table atLongbourn was already in commotion when Elizabeth entered. Mama darted between chair and sideboard with a level of agitation usually reserved for calamity—or advantageous courtship.
Lydia plopped into her chair with an exaggerated groan. “I shall be tired all day, I know it—but it was worth it. If autumn brings half as many assemblies as Mrs Long predicts, I shall never have a quiet evening again.”
Mary sighed over her book. “One wonders whether a quiet evening might be of use now and then.”
Lydia ignored her. “Mama, we must ask at once when the next ball will be. I intend to dance every set of the season.”
Kitty giggled. “Miss Goulding said she had never seen a girl so determined to burn through her slippers.”
