Page 74 of The Long Road Back to Yesterday

But he could not draw his gaze from her unconventional costume. Still offended, he met her eyes. “Miss Elizabeth, such clothing is hardly proper where any man might come upon you. He might mistake you for a wanton, ma’am, and offer you insult or worse.”

Even to his own ears, he sounded critical, accusing. The deep blush that rose from her neck into her cheeks did not surprise him. His tone and no doubt his manner had been harsh.

She hastened to assure him of her innocence, but he reasoned that even if she had expected to encounter no one at such an early hour, she had nevertheless ventured out alone and indecently dressed. Worse, she appeared to feel no shame at having been discovered so. Her embarrassment arose from his censure rather than from any sense that her conduct had been improper.

He had greatly misjudged her character, and the discovery pained him.

He had thought better of her than she deserved. The realization brought another, equally unwelcome. He held this woman in even higher esteem than he had Miss Ramsbury, and her conduct had wounded him more deeply than it ought after so short an acquaintance.

She explained more fully what had brought her, dressed so indecently, to this lonely moor at such an unearthly hour and entirely alone.

Darcy glanced around. No chaperone. No servant. No companion of any kind.

His eyes returned to hers. They were innocent, pleading, distressed.

His outrage began to recede.

She was merely a young woman who knew no better. No, scarcely more than a girl, with little experience of the cold, hard world or of men like Wickham, who would take advantage of such innocence without a second thought.

He must speak to her uncle. Miss Elizabeth clearly had no notion of the danger in which she placed herself by venturing out alone and unprotected. How could Gardiner permit it? Perhaps he did not know.

She was searching for something in the grass, for she bent and retrieved some object. His curiosity must have shown, for she now held out her bare hand. In her palm lay a dainty feminine watch.

Dainty and fragile, like her. She made her excuses, and then she left him.

He had upset her with his harsh, accusing tone. Had he called her a wanton? Surely not. What precisely had he said?

No. He had only meant to warn her. And if he had frightened her into greater caution, perhaps it was for the best. A man like Wickham would show her no mercy.

If this morning’s encounter taught her prudence and moved her to greater caution in the future, if his warning might save her from a far greater injury, then perhaps the distress he had caused her served some higher purpose. For she had been distressed. Her eyes had shone suspiciously when she turned from him.

He whistled, and Rowan came to him. Darcy mounted and headed toward Pemberley.

As he rode, his thoughts remained with Elizabeth. Should he break off the acquaintance? Might her influence upon Georgiana prove detrimental?

Her face rose before him. Those dark eyes had held nothing but innocence.

No. She was an innocent who knew no better. Her fault had been one of judgment, not character. He would permit the acquaintance to continue.

Then he remembered. It could never be more than a passing acquaintance for him, a pleasurable idyll with a beautiful woman. His family name was ruined. He had nothing to offer a genteel, innocent woman such as Elizabeth, any more than he had Miss Ramsbury. The same was true for Georgiana. If she was with child, her condition could not remain concealed for long. She would lose her friendship with Elizabeth. How could his sister suffer another loss?

Despair settled over him, an emotion he had scarcely known before his family, his name, and everything he held dear had been brought so low.

* * *

Somehow, Elizabeth got through breakfast with her uncle and Mr. Radcliff. Uncle Edward scrutinized her face for a moment, but returned to his newspaper after she offered an excuse for her swollen eyelids.

“I have been missing Papa this morning, Uncle Edward. I shall be better once I bury myself in my books.”

She could hardly explain that her early morning encounter with Mr. Darcy had distressed her. Neither her aunt nor her uncle knew of her early morning runs or of the trousers she wore. Only Papa, Jane, and Hill had known. Papa had given his approval, along with strict instructions that she keep to secluded places. Jane had helped her fashion her running garments and shorten an old pelisse enough to prevent the fabric from entangling her legs, while Hill had laundered the garments herself to prevent the servants from gossiping.

Elizabeth considered her encounter with Mr. Darcy. He had been absolutely scandalized.

And now, with the mortification of the morning behind her, she began to understand that any proper gentleman would likely have reacted in much the same manner.

Perhaps this was not merely an eccentricity she had indulged since girlhood. Perhaps it revealed a fault in her upbringing, and worse, in her own judgment and character.

Not only had Lydia been brought up without proper restraint, but so had they all, herself included. She too was a product of that lax upbringing.