Page 18 of A Most Unwelcome Acquaintance

“I did not mean to interrupt your walk,” he said. “I was riding the boundary to see what repairs the field needs.”

“It needs less than you were told,” Elizabeth said. “Longbourn’s hedges are not ornamental, but they hold.”

“Except where they do not,” Darcy said.

Elizabeth nodded. “There are some points of weakness.”

He glanced at the gap, the broken stems, the ground where she had knelt. “Your hands show the work.”

She flexed her fingers. “The fence does not mend itself.”

Darcy straightened. “I respect the approach. Not all landowners see the benefit in managing their own repairs.”

Elizabeth smiled. “My father prefers efficiency to idleness.”

He nodded, but his attention went to Sarah, who had begun to sniff the air in Darcy’s direction, tail at half-mast.

“I suppose she patrols this lane as often as you do.”

Elizabeth considered her answer. “She likes the boundaries. There is always something to chase or keep in order.”

“And you?” Darcy asked. “Do you walk this way every day?”

“I walk wherever it is useful.”

He seemed dissatisfied with the answer, but did not press. Instead, he looked past her to the far side of the hedge, where the field fell away in a gentle slope toward the distant river.

“Bingley intends to host a gathering when the weather improves. You will receive an invitation.”

She nodded. “Mama will not rest until the day arrives.”

He allowed the smile to return. “Then I expect we will see the best of Longbourn’s society.”

Elizabeth did not look away. “That is a modest hope. From what I saw at the assembly, Mr. Hurst’s appetite is difficult to rival.”

His expression shifted, and the laugh that followed was abrupt but genuine. “You noticed.”

Sarah, emboldened by the change in tone, moved ahead and paused at Darcy’s boot. She sniffed it once, then returned to Elizabeth’s side without being called.

“Is she always so obedient?” he asked.

“Only when she respects someone,” Elizabeth said. “She is cautious of strangers, and cannot tolerate those she does not trust.”

He looked at Sarah. “That is a useful quality.”

“For a dog, yes.”

Darcy studied the hedge, then ran his gloved hand along the gatepost, as if testing its grain. “You repaired the gap yourself?”

“I did what I could until we can replace the wood.”

He inspected her work. “It is sound.”

Elizabeth looked at the fence. “It is not ornamental.”

Darcy examined the wedged board once more before turning back to her. The morning’s light filtered through the bare hawthorn stems, landing in thin shadows on the ground between them.

“If you will excuse me,” Elizabeth said, “I must bring Sarah back to the house before she finds a scent to follow.”