"You have seen more than you will admit," he said at last. "And yet you speak with caution."
"Caution is often a wiser companion than pride."
He gave a quiet, humourless laugh. "Perhaps I ought to learn that lesson."
They approached the parsonage gate. Elizabeth’s steps slowed. She sensed the moment was not yet done, that he might reach out once more with a question she could not evade.
"Miss Bennet," he said softly. "If there is something I may do—if you find yourself again in danger, or…"
She turned to him then, her expression warm. "You have already done a great deal, Mr. Darcy. And I thank you for it."
He looked at her a moment longer, as though trying to commit the moment to memory. Then he gave a slight bow.
"Good day to you, Miss Bennet."
She curtseyed. "And to you, Mr. Darcy."
He turned and walked back down the lane, his figure receding into the spring light. Elizabeth stood watching him until he vanished from view. Her heart was a fluttering, uncertain thing, caught between hope and fear, truth and silence.
That she should discover him a Second time was no surprise to her; Elizabeth had long suspected that Mr. Darcy, whether by design or chance, would find himself upon her accustomed path again. And indeed, as she turned a shaded bend near the copse, there he stood—silent, tall, and, for a moment, seeming as though he too questioned the wisdom of such repeated encounters.
"Miss Bennet," he said with grave civility, inclining his head. "It appears I am intruding upon your solitude yet again."
"Intrusion is not the word I would choose, Mr. Darcy," Elizabeth replied lightly, though with a heart that beat a shade too quick. "The path is common to all walkers, and your presence is always marked by such fine silence, it hardly disturbs."
He offered the barest smile, but it faded quickly. They turned and walked, the rustle of the path beneath their boots the only sound for several moments.
"I have wondered," he began suddenly, glancing at her from beneath his brow, "whether you often favour Haydn above other composers."
Elizabeth felt her composure falter, but only briefly. "Indeed I do. He has a clarity and sweetness that appeals to the heart."
"Then 'Ode to the Happy Heart' must be a particular favourite. It is not often played—at least, not in Hertfordshire. Yet I recall you performed it at Lucas Lodge, did you not?"
"Yes," Elizabeth answered, and then, catching her breath, added, "It is not often appreciated. I only knew it from... from a collection I encountered while visiting my aunt in London."
Darcy gave a slow nod, his expression unreadable. Elizabeth did not dare meet his eye fully but pressed on, striving to shift the conversation.
"Have you been long acquainted with the piece?"
"It is familiar to me," he said slowly, still watching her. "My mother once played it, and Georgiana has taken it up—though she prefers Clementi for the piano."
"A woman of excellent taste," Elizabeth replied warmly. "From all I have heard, she must be very accomplished. I confess I would greatly enjoy meeting her."
"She would be honoured by your acquaintance," he said, and for a moment his tone softened. "You remind me of her in some ways."
Elizabeth smiled but felt a tightening in her chest. They walked a little further in silence before Darcy asked, as though the question had long been forming in his mind:
"You have spoken of Georgiana before... even before you could have heard of her through natural means. I must ask—" he hesitated, frowning. "Have you—did someone speak to you of her at length prior to your time at Netherfield?"
Elizabeth paused a beat too long. "Not at length, no. I—some things one intuits. A young lady’s preference for Clementi over Beethoven might be guessed from a style, a temperament."
"Intuition," Darcy repeated quietly.
He said nothing more on the matter, but Elizabeth, watching from the corner of her eye, noticed the faint tightening around his mouth and the way his gaze settled on the distance, as if seeking answers from the hills beyond. He had not missed the inconsistency. She had hoped he had.
Yet their conversation took a lighter turn as they approached a break in the trees.
"Miss Bennet," Darcy said, changing the subject abruptly, "I have often found these grounds quite soothing. You must find them a pleasant place for reflection."
