He inclined his head. "You are very kind."
The silence which followed was less uncomfortable than those they had shared at Lucas Lodge. Elizabeth was not entirely certain what to make of that.
"You come here every morning," he said at last.
"Most mornings."
"And when the weather is unfavourable?"
"I come regardless," she replied. "My mother considers it a defect in my character."
The corner of his mouth moved. "I imagine you consider it a necessity."
She glanced at him.
"I find walking settles my thoughts," she said. "Nothing more extraordinary than that."
"Of course."
She became aware once more of that quality in him, the watchfulness, the patience, the sense of a man waiting rather than merely standing still. She had observed it at the assembly, at the gatherings where they had encountered one another since, at Lucas Lodge, and now here upon a hilltop, and she remained no nearer to understanding what exactly he was waiting for.
What she did know was that she had no intention of providing it.
"I ought to return," she said. "My family will wonder where I have gone."
"Of course." He stepped back. "Good morning, Miss Bennet."
"Good morning, Mr. Darcy."
She began down the path. Her pace remained steady, and she did not look back. She was nearly halfway down the slope before she allowed herself to dwell once more upon his words from the previous evening.
Others manage it with considerable skill.
He had been in Hertfordshire scarcely three weeks. She had concealed the matter most of her adult life. There was no conceivable way he could know.
And yet there he had been, upon her favourite path, at her preferred hour, on the very morning she had chosen because she wished to think without interruption. The expression that had crossed his face when she shifted to place him on her better-hearing side troubled her more than she cared to admit.
It had looked remarkably like recognition.
Elizabeth reached the gate at Longbourn and pushed it open.
Then she informed herself, very firmly, that she was being foolish.
She did not entirely succeed in believing it.
˜ ˜ ˜
Darcy
He had known where he was likely to find her, or at least hoped he did. Only the previous evening, Bingley had remarked that Miss Elizabeth was fond of walking out regardless of the weather. Georgiana, on the drive home from Lucas Lodge, had quietly observed that Miss Elizabeth had spoken of Oakham Mount as her favourite place for walking in the neighbourhood.
He had stored away both pieces of information without examining too closely why he had done so.
That morning, rising before the rest of the house, he had told himself only that the ride would be beneficial. The air wasclear, the ground firm beneath the horse's feet, and there was no particular reason not to take the Oakham road. It had been little more than a conjecture, one he had not been entirely certain would prove correct.
It had.
The ride back to Netherfield passed quickly. Darcy paid very little attention to the road.
