Her heart lifted, disconnected from any restraint her will could impose. Something that felt surprisingly like giddiness swept through her in a blast stronger than the wind. It was him! Hehadcome! Despair wanted to intrude on the heels of her elation, but she thrust the feeling aside.He had come!
Slowly she turned, as though afraid her ears had deceived her, and he would not be there.
But he was, as he had always been whenever she needed him, whether she had known it or not. He strode forward swiftly, his many-caped greatcoat emphasising the breadth of his shoulders.
“Mr Darcy,” she said, her voice almost a whisper.
“Miss Elizabeth,” he repeated, sounding a little breathless and bowing. “I nearly missed seeing you. I suspected you might come out, despite the weather. I lit a fire in the folly, should you require any warming.”
Another wave of misery-laced joy bloomed at his consideration. “It-it s-sounds lovely.” She stumbled over her words, and his look immediately changed to one of concern.
“You are chilled through,” he said, frowning. “Come, let us get you indoors.” Together they turned back into Netherfield’s park.
He said nothing else, and she did not speak either, being too full of a confusing array of emotions, most of which she ought not to permit herself to feel.
She had no idea to which folly he referred. Netherfield had several of them, as she recalled, and she had only been inside the one nearest the lake and the Etruscan temple, which was often used as an amphitheatre for entertaining. He turned off her usual route in a south-easterly direction, cutting across a windswept field, the snow falling in thick flakes as they entered one of the many groomed paths in the vast park.
The trees were nearly impenetrable, which blocked the wind, but the temperature seemed to have dropped further. When they disturbed branches collecting snow, they were soon wearing it themselves. She shivered, hugging herself tightly, her teeth chattering. Soon, it grew difficult to force herself forward, to plant one foot in front of the other. She saw nothing resembling a building, and briefly, she wondered whether they were lost. Mr Darcy did not hesitate, however, and plunged onwards; they had to walk single file in the narrow spaces between trees. A few minutes more brought a folly into view. It resembled a miniature country house, with two chimneys and red brick exterior, complete with twin stone balconies. Elizabeth gasped at the sight of it.
“I had no idea this was even here!” she cried.
He glanced at her, his eyes crinkling just a bit at the corners. “There is no direct path leading to it. It is meant to excite wonder and astonishment in the wanderer, initiating a true spirit of discovery.”
With the loss of tree cover, the snow flung itself at them with renewed purpose, collecting in the crevices and carvings of the pretty little building.
Mr Darcy took a key from his pocket and climbed the tiled steps. He opened the door wide, and Elizabeth scurried within as quickly as possible. He hung back, however.
“Come in and shut the door!” she called, going at once to a hearth where a blazing fire burned. There was a second fireplace across the room; a stack of wood sat neatly piled by each. “You will let out all the heat.” She removed her hat, which was sodden, and hung it on a nearby hook, looking around with interest.
The interior was largely unfurnished. A little, curving staircase in the corner led up into the shadows. There was a polished wooden bench on one side of the room, as well as a cushioned banquette before the furthest fireplace. When she was warm enough to remove her coat and gloves, Elizabeth draped them over one end of the long bench to dry. She was about to take a seat upon the banquette when she noticed that Mr Darcy still stood by the entrance, dripping upon the limestone floor.
In her anxious hurry to escape the cold, she had completely disregarded the decorum of entering the building and being alone with him. Why had he brought her here? The impropriety must have occurred to him when he lit the fireplaces.
“I meant to show you this place and give you the key, so you might have a private, peaceful place to come, to think, now that it has grown cold,” he said. “I did not realise the weather would so quickly turn wretched.”
It was probably the most thoughtful thing anyone had ever done for her. Why did she feel like crying?
Because I am an idiot, she told herself.Of course,he had not brought her to a cosy spot to spend time alone with her, heedless of manners or conduct. That would be a sure way to become trapped in a marriagehecould not want. Excellent man that he was, he knew she wished to be away from Longbourn, and thus he provided a place for her. It was the charitable gesture of afriend. She closed her eyes briefly, then looked at him again. Boldness was her only recourse.
“Can you trust,” she said, “that I would never breathe a word of this meeting or your presence here? No one will ever know we were alone. Will you stay long enough to dry your clothing, at least partly?”
His gaze and voice were both sombre. “It is I who should be promising you those very things.”
She inclined her head. “I do not require your reassurances to know you would never do anything to hurt me or my reputation.”
He nodded once and removed his coat and beaver, hanging them to dry on the hooks by the door. Elizabeth sat on the banquette and for a few minutes, simply enjoyed the sensation of warmth. From the corner of her eye, she noticed that Mr Darcy remained standing. It was only then she realised her wet outerwear was taking up the only other seat.
“Please, sit,” she invited, scooting over to the furthest side of the banquette to ensure he had plenty of room.
After a moment, she felt the cushion shift against his weight as he sat; quick glances showed her how his wet hair curled and the shadowed growth of his beard, even though he undoubtedly had been shaved that morning. As she pretended not to watch, he loosened the limp, wet cravat, until more of his neck was visible than she had ever seen in a man unrelated to her.
It was a strong, attractive neck, and suddenly she wondered whether that curling hair would feel soft or coarse to the touch, and how the texture of his cheeks would feel beneath her caress. She flushed, forcing her attention back to the flames. And then her mouth opened and words spilled out—almost without her permission.
“Why do you allow Mr Wickham to spread lies about you?”
His head jerked towards her as though he had been slapped—and she was not mistaken in the fury lighting his eyes at the mere mention of his rival. It only lasted a moment, much like the first time she had brought up the other man’s name. She almost withdrew the question, except it seemed important, somehow, that she stand her ground. Whydidhe say so little to refute these aspersions when he must know of Mr Wickham’s popularity amongst her neighbours, which made his account believable?
“Of what he has particularly accused me, I am ignorant.”
