“Yes,” Darcy said under his breath. “I know.”
The sound came again, sharper this time.
Darcy continued down. The breakfast room lay open ahead, already bright with morning. Bingley stood near the sideboard, halfway between pouring coffee and engaging his sister in some animated discussion that Darcy had not been attending to closely enough to follow.
Bingley turned at once. “Ah! There you are. I wondered if you meant to sleep half the day away.”
“I did not,” Darcy replied. “I had originally intended to attend some correspondence.”
Brutus took this as encouragement and moved forward, nails ticking briefly before Darcy checked him with a look.
Bingley laughed. “He appears to have formed other plans for you.”
“He has,” Darcy said. “And he is not accustomed to being gainsaid.”
Miss Bingley glanced over her shoulder. “Surely you are not proposing to take him out now? You have not broken your fast.”
“I have no intention of lingering,” Darcy said.
Bingley hesitated, disappointment flickering across his face. “But I had hoped—well. Never mind. I suppose you may as well go, if you must. I am to meet with Mrs Nicholls directly after we are done.”
Darcy paused. “For what purpose?”
Bingley looked surprised. “The ball, of course.”
“The—” Darcy checked himself. “You have decided upon that, then.”
“I mentioned it to Sir William yesterday,” Bingley said easily. “It seemed past time, and everyone expects it. Mrs Nicholls has very strong opinions about the ordering of things, and Caroline insists she must be consulted.”
Miss Bingley smiled without warmth. “Someone must ensure the affair does not descend into chaos.”
“But why am I to be included in this discussion? The matter ought to be your own to determine.”
“Oh, come, Darcy,” Bingley said. “You have attended more balls than I.”
“But I have never hosted one.”
“You are our guest, though—a rather distinguished guest, though you refuse to admit it. Caroline will wish to know your preferences.”
Darcy glanced at Brutus. The dog’s tail struck once against the side of a chair. “No doubt. But I am sorry, Bingley, I believe I shall withdraw.”
Miss Bingley lifted her brows. “You will not absent yourself entirely, I hope.”
“I shall return,” Darcy replied. “Before you have exhausted yourselves.”
Bingley laughed again. “Very well. Do not be long.”
Darcy did not answer. He turned instead, the decision already made, and Brutus moved at once, satisfied now that motion had been conceded.
Elizabeth sat with herhands folded loosely in her lap, not so much resting as paused.
The air lay still. The distant sounds of the house had fallen away, and even the usual small movements of thought seemed to have loosened their hold. Her eyes rested on nothing in particular—the pale reach of grass, the curve of a low bough—and her mind drifted without purpose, not asleep, not properly awake either. It was the same half-state she sometimes fell into when a book slipped from meaning into cadence, when words became sound, and sound became something softer still.
She drew breath. Let it out… and it was wonderful. It felt almost like forgetting.
A sharp bark split the stillness.
Elizabeth lurched upright with a gasp, her heart leaping before her mind had caught up. The sound came again—closer now—and the brush behind her parted with sudden energy. Something large and dark burst through the undergrowth, moving too quickly to be anything but alarming.
