Page 12 of Fitzwilliam Darcy, Exile

“We learned of it today.”

“You worry overmuch, Lizzy.”

“I worry because no one else does!” She bit her tongue and bowed her head.

Papa’s face softened. “Think of your sisters’ happiness, Lizzy.”

That was all she ever did. She whispered, “It is unjust, Papa.”

“I know it, my dear, and you have borne it admirably.”

Weighty praise, indeed. Elizabeth could not stay in the stifling study a moment longer. Fetching her borrowed copy of Annals of Agriculture and her warmest shawl, she slipped out of doors. She would walk until she could think clearly… or until her steps led her to Lucas Lodge, where she might give vent to her woes to her best friend Charlotte.

One thing was for certain: once she finally met Fitzwilliam Darcy, she would tell him precisely what she thought of him and his father’s wretched arrangement.

CHAPTER 5

Darcy pulled his bag from the coach’s luggage carrier and took in his surroundings. Canvas awnings fluttered over makeshift booths, women in white caps arranged produce, the smell of apples and earth and freshly baked bread scented the breeze… they produced a distant memory familiar to Darcy that tugged on his heartstrings. He might have been in Lambton. Close to home.

The ache in his chest intensified. If he possessed any wisdom at all, he would catch the next coach, to leave before⁠—

“Fresh eggs! New laid this morning!”

“Best mutton in the county!”

The vendors’ clamors pulled him out of his thoughts to the market town where no one knew his name or his connection to Elizabeth Bennet.

He had refused Reynolds’s attempts to persuade him to observe Miss Bennet, but that had been before his father’s funeral service. It had been well-attended. All of White’s was there to pay their respects. Avoiding detection had been easier than Darcy had anticipated, he being one man in a sea of black-clad gentlemen.

His family had been there. Uncle Matlock, stouter and ruddier than before; Richard’s eldest brother, Viscount Lisle, softer and rounder. If they saw him, they did not recognize him. Nobody had.

After the funeral, he had met with Wrayburn. To Darcy’s shock and dismay, he added his support to the scheme Reynolds and Richard had proposed, even arranging to delay the reading of the will until the twentieth of November, which would give Darcy exactly six weeks and one day to live in the country without any expectation of an attachment.

He had no intention of remaining near Meryton for that long. A day, two at most, was all he had agreed to.

Why had he come here? Curiosity? No doubt. Rebellion? Lord, how juvenile!

Footsteps clambered behind him, and Darcy immediately tightened his grip on his bag and tucked his arms against his sides to protect his pockets. A small figure bounced off him, twirling around and laughing. “Apologies, mister.”

The boy—he estimated him to be about ten years of age—was shoved by another boy about the same age, who was hushed angrily by a third boy. The pack of three huddled together at the edge of the square, eyes darting, voices dropping. Pure trouble in torn trousers and muddy boots.

Darcy watched them, waiting to see where they would direct their mischief. Too slowly not to raise suspicion, they meandered to a sheep pen where the farmer haggled with a prospective buyer. Their intent became clearer when they grabbed a rail and pulled it loose.

Darcy strode across the street, but not before a young lady brushed past him from the side. She moved with quiet authority, reaching the boys just as one of them tossed the board to the ground. Snatching it up, she held it between her and the boys, backing them against the hole they had created.

Intrigued, Darcy leaned forward to listen even as she leaned forward to whisper something that made the boys’ eyes widen and their faces redden. Then, before any one of them could protest, she said loudly, “How kind of you boys to notice the board rail coming loose! Mr. Hammond will be grateful you prevented his sheep from escaping and trampling over unsuspecting souls in the market.”

The boys, caught between embarrassment and trepidation, found themselves fastening the board they had loosened under her watchful eye, their initiative being praised by Farmer Hammond.

Darcy watched, amazed, as she then guided them to a merchant struggling to load several heavy sacks of grain onto a cart. “As you are so eager to help, I am certain Mr. Peters could use strong lads such as yourselves to help arrange his goods.” To the merchant, she said smoothly, “Such industrious boys deserve an appropriate reward for their trouble, do you not agree?”

“A farthing each and a piece of hard candy!” agreed Mr. Peters.

The boys’ frowns turned into grins, the would-be troublemakers transformed into helpful assistants who were praised for their enterprise and good manners by all the villagers present. Their parents would hear of this, and they would be proud. Darcy applauded (albeit inwardly so as not to draw attention to himself).

The young lady turned to leave. The boys called out unanimously, “Thank you, Miss Lizzy!”

Mr. Peters added, “God bless you, Miss Bennet!”