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He stood near a cluster of blue hydrangeas, holding a pair of pruning shears. He wore neither coat nor cravat, his broad shoulders encased only in a crisp white linen shirt and a dark waistcoat. The informal attire stripped away the intimidating veneer of the great landowner, leaving only the gentleman. The morning breeze ruffled his hair, ruining his usually immaculate style.
Elizabeth had sought solitude, yet she found herself unwilling to retreat.
Mr Darcy turned, the movement casual, until his gaze found her standing by the roses. For a fleeting second, affection flashed in his eyes, so powerful and unguarded that Elizabeth felt the impact of it all the way to her toes.
He recovered his composure, placing the pruning shears on a stone bench. He closed the distance separating them and bowed.
“Miss Elizabeth. Good morning.” His deep voice rumbled pleasantly in the quiet garden. “You are an early riser.”
Elizabeth curtsied, struggling to maintain a serene countenance while her heart had other plans. “Good morning, Mr Darcy. The beauty of your grounds tempted me. I hoped to enjoy the gardens before the heat of the day arrived.”
“The gardens are at your disposal.” He gestured to the blue shrubs he had just abandoned. “I was inspecting the hydrangeas. My aunt expressed severe dissatisfaction with their placement yesterday, and I wished to determine if her outrage had any horticultural merit. I found a damaged stem and was removing it.”
Elizabeth pressed her lips together, fighting an urge to laugh. “And what is your verdict, sir? Are the shrubs truly offensive to the eye?”
“They are innocent. However, I suspect my aunt will demand they be relocated to the opposite end of the estate before the week concludes. She does have an aversion to anything she did not personally arrange.”
“I am certain the hydrangeas will survive her.” Elizabeth moved onto the adjacent stone path, abandoning the roses to walk beside him. “Though I fear your poor footman might require a longer period of recovery. I have never witnessed a man appear quite so terrified of dogs.”
Darcy chuckled and fell into step beside her, maintaining the proper distance, yet his attention was fixed on her. “Bates is unharmed, though I suspect he will avoid the dining room for the foreseeable future. My hounds, however, consider him a hero of the highest order. They dined exceptionally well last night.”
“They are magnificent creatures.” Elizabeth recalled the surprising docility of the dogs when they rested near Miss de Bourgh. “They appear quite devoted to your cousin.”
“Anne indulges them,” Darcy murmured, his demeanour softening further. “They recognise that she demands nothing from them, and they reward her with their loyalty. It is a rare comfort for her.”
They walked without speaking for a minute. Elizabeth felt the weight of the letters in the pocket of her gown. She had carried the missives with her, yet she did not like the prospect of initiating an intimate conversation with him.
She studied his profile. She owed him the truth, she decided. She stopped walking and turned to face him, gathering every ounce of courage she possessed.
“Mr Darcy.” She levelled her voice carefully, ensuring it did not tremble. “I must speak with you on a matter of importance. It concerns my family, and it concerns an action I believe you have taken on their behalf.”
Darcy halted, his eyes guarded. He offered a slight nod.
“I received a letter from my eldest sister yesterday, shortly before Lady Catherine arrived at the inn to whisk us away. Mr Bingley has returned to Hertfordshire.”
Mr Darcy did not speak, nor did he offer any indication of surprise. He merely nodded and waited for her to continue.
“He arrived at Longbourn unannounced,” Elizabeth said. “He spoke with my father and he offered apologies to Jane for his long absence. He has officially requested permission to court her.”
“That is joyous news indeed, Miss Elizabeth,” he said. “Your sister is a lady of rare goodness and she deserves every happiness Bingley can offer her.”
Elizabeth moved a fraction of an inch closer, searching his eyes for the truth. “Did you bring about his return, sir? Did you undo the very separation you confessed to creating?”
Darcy lowered his gaze to the ground in front of him for a fleeting moment before meeting her eyes once more.
“I cannot claim to have brought about his return, Miss Elizabeth. Following our... conversation in Kent, I spent a great deal of time reflecting on my conduct. I realised the cruelty of my interference. I composed a very long, very honest letter to Bingley. I confessed my unwarranted actions, and I detailed the equally manipulative conduct of his sisters.”
Elizabeth gasped, her eyes widening in utter shock. To confess such meddling to a dear friend required a staggering level of humility. “You wrote the truth to him?”
“I did. I admitted my misjudgement of Miss Bennet’s affections, laying the blame for the separation on myself. I concluded the letter by stating I would understand if he wished to sever our acquaintance forever, leaving the matter in his hands.”
“And what was his reply?”
“He has not replied. I assumed he had chosen to sever the friendship and wash his hands of me. It appears he just packed his trunks and rode straight for Hertfordshire. I am so relieved.”
Elizabeth stared at the gentleman before her. The debt of gratitude she owed him was great, yet he asked for nothing in return. He had risked his most valued friendship to correct a wrong he had committed, because she had accused him of dishonourable conduct.
“You are an honourable man, Mr Darcy.” The words slipped from her lips before she could stop them.
