Page 40

That evening, Elizabeth escaped the parsonage the moment the sun began setting, before Mr. Collins could launch into his nightly recitation of "Things Lady Catherine Said Today That I Must Remember Forever." She had told Charlotte only that she meant to walk toward the eastern grove. Charlotte had given her a long look. "The eastern grove? Alone? At sunset?"

"I need fresh air."

"Mr. Darcy must require a remarkable quantity of fresh air too," Charlotte said. "Take care not to come back dripping over my best carpet."

"Charlotte—"

"The carpet takes two days to dry. Go, before Mr. Collins decides to accompany you."

Elizabeth fled before she could decipher whether Charlotte was aware or just exceptionally observant. In the hall she reached for the umbrella, whose handle was hooked through Mr. Collins's walking stick. Both slid with a clatter. "Cousin?" came from his study. She set them back and escaped empty-handed.

In the grove, she found Darcy waiting beneath an ancient oak, pulling a notebook from his coat.

"You came," he said.

"Did I have a choice?"

"Honestly? I don't know anymore." He held up the notebook. "But I have data."

"Data?"

"Several weeks of it." Darcy opened the notebook so promptly that Elizabeth suspected he had rehearsed the movement. "I have put the more useful observations first. There is an index, if you would prefer to begin there."

Elizabeth bent over the notebook while Darcy turned its pages of meticulous handwriting. "You've... made spreadsheets?"

"That is what the borrowed knowledge calls them. I've ruled the pages into columns." He unfolded one to show her. It extended well beyond the cover of the notebook. "Perhaps rather more columns than I needed."

"You've nearly reached the oak."

Darcy brought the outer edge back before it caught on the bark. "The useful part is here. When we resist a meeting, something else generally brings it about. Very often rain."

"How many rainstorms?"

"Seventeen entries since the assembly. Twelve before I left Hertfordshire, several of them solitary at Netherfield, and five more here while you remained at Longbourn. The alarming part is their timing, not an assertion that England cannot be wet."

"Wait—seventeen? Your letter from Netherfield said twelve. My own count stopped at eleven."

"You were not under every one of my clouds. These five were in Kent, while you were at home." He held the pages together against the breeze. "There is something else. I've drawn the shelters. Look at the posts."

Elizabeth squinted at his sketch. "Is that... the same gazebo from three different scenes?"

"The same carved posts. Even the bench is the same." Darcy tapped the sketch with his pencil. "Someone has been very economical with the architecture."

"Has it only bought the one?"

"It seems determined to obtain its full use." Darcy turned another page, then had to turn it back when the breeze took two. Elizabeth held the loose corner. "And that word we keep being given, hyperaware. It occurs most often just before something important is forced upon us. Three times in five minutes has generally meant trouble."

Elizabeth laughed. "You've made an account of our misfortunes. I hope there is room to enter a favorable balance."

"Someone had to. I was going mad listening to Lady Catherine describe curtains." He pulled out another page. "Oh, and I've been rating the rainstorms. The last was an eight out of ten—excellent dramatic timing, aggressive precipitation, and no shelter until I turned toward Rosings."

"You rated the rainstorms?"

"I had to do something. I am required to spend a great deal of time looking troubled beside windows. It leaves the mind free for other work."

As if summoned by their discussion, thunder cracked overhead. They both looked up at the perfectly clear sky.

"No," Elizabeth said. "No. Absolutely not."