Mary looked up, uncertain whether to feel honoured or alarmed. “Indeed, sir, I am.”
Elizabeth took the opportunity, fastening her cloak. “Enjoy your discussion, Mary. Pippin and I shall return before luncheon.”
“Do not stay long, Lizzy,” Mrs. Bennet called after her. “And keep that creature from rolling in the dust!”
Elizabeth smiled as she opened the door. “I shall do my best, Mama, though Pippin rarely obeys anyone but herself.”
The cool air met her like a gift. Pippin bounded ahead, tail wagging, pausing only to glance back as if to confirm their escape.
Elizabeth laughed softly. “Yes, my clever girl, we are safe for the moment. Between Mr. Collins and Lady Catherine, I think we have both earned this liberty.”
Pippin barked once in cheerful agreement, and together they made their happy retreat toward the village green.
***
THE AIR WAS CRISP and sweet with the scent of new grass when Pippin and her mistress began their walk. They walked in silence for some time—nearly ten minutes—and neither seemed inclined to break it. After the endless stream of Mr. Collins’s conversation, the quiet was a blessing they both required.
Elizabeth did not speak until they approached the green, and when she did, her voice was low and confiding.
"I know the entail matters to Mama, but there is absolutely no possibility of my marrying Mr. Collins."
Pippin gave a soft whine.
"I have told you already—if I am to marry at all, it must be for love and nothing else. I would sooner die a spinster than wed a man who has entirely surrendered his own judgment to his patroness's whims."
Pippin whined again, softer this time, as if in sympathy.
"You, fortunately, need not concern yourself with such complications. You are a natural charmer." Elizabeth’s tone turned teasing. "Did you not have Apollo positively besotted only days ago?"
At the name, Pippin’s ears pricked forward, her tail beginning to wag.
"Yes, I see. Even the mention of his name excites you."
They were nearly at the edge of the green when Pippin suddenly went rigid. Then, with a sharp whine, she lunged forward, yanking the leash clean from Elizabeth’s grasp.
"No, no, no—Pippin!"
But it was too late. The little spaniel was already bounding across the grass toward a familiar silver shape.
Elizabeth did not run—there was no point—but she quickened her pace with as much dignity as she could muster.
And then she saw him.
Mr. Darcy.
Of course. If Apollo was here, naturally his master would be as well, Elizabeth thought.
Apollo and Pippin collided in a joyful tangle of fur and wagging tails. Pippin’s trailing leash whipped through the air and caught the ankle of an elderly gentleman passing by. He stumbled, his walking stick clattering to the ground, and his hat went sailing into a hedge.
"Oh my goodness—sir, I am so sorry!" Elizabeth cried, hurrying forward.
Mr. Darcy moved swiftly. He plucked the hat from the hedge, brushed it off with two quick sweeps of his hand, and extended his other arm toward the gentleman. His fingers closed firmly but gently around the man's elbow, steadying him.
"Are you hurt, sir?" His voice was low, his brow creased with concern.
The gentleman blinked, then smiled at the two young people and at the dogs cavorting merrily at his feet. "Hurt? Not at all, not at all. Just startled by young love, it seems." With a chuckle, he reclaimed his stick, tipped his hat, and went on his way.
For a brief moment, Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy were silent—then laughter escaped them both, light and unguarded.
