Elizabeth gripped the reinstighter, her patience wearing thin as her horse resisted yet another attempt to steer it down the road to Netherfield. The morning air was crisp, the sky a dull grey that matched her blackening mood. The roads, still bearing the scars of the recent flooding, were rutted and uneven, but Elizabeth knew better than to think of cutting through the fields as she might have done in better weather.
She nudged the horse forward with her left leg, trying to compensate for the pain in her right ankle, but the creature baulked, its head jerking as if determined to return to the safety of Longbourn’s stables.
“Come on, you obstinate beast,” Elizabeth muttered through gritted teeth. “If you think I’ll let you turn back now, you’ve got another thing coming.”
The horse tossed its head as if in response, its ears flicking back defiantly. Elizabeth sighed, her patience fraying, and tried to soothe the creature with a gentle pat on its neck. “I’ll have you know, I am reconsidering your future. Perhaps as a cart-horse? Or maybe pulling a dray? Keep this up, and we shall find out.”
The horse, unimpressed, continued to resist, and Elizabeth’s annoyance flared. She had left her riding crop behind, but now she regretted the decision. Without the crop, she had only her legs to guide the horse, and the weakness in her right ankle made that nearly impossible.
“Of all the days for you to grow a spine,” Elizabeth grumbled, trying to nudge the horse forward again. “If you refuse to get moving, I’ll sell you to the nearest farmer as a plough horse, and you can spend your days dragging iron blades through mud instead of taking pleasant little jaunts with me.” The horse flicked its tail but otherwise ignored her threats.
She shifted her foot within the stirrup, and a sharp pain shot up her leg, making her wince. Biting back a groan, she lifted her foot out of the stirrup and let it dangle, hoping the relief from the pressure might ease the ache. And, of course, the horse took advantage of the weakness in her right leg to duck in that direction.
“Oh, no, do not concern yourself with me,” she muttered, her irritation bubbling over as she tugged his head back toward Netherfield. “Just managing to stay in the saddle, no thanks to you.”
The horse snorted, its ears twitching as it continued to resist her guidance. Elizabeth tightened her grip on the reins and forced herself to take a steadying breath. The last thing she needed was for the horse to pick up on her agitation and make a dash back toward Longbourn.
As she finally managed to guide the horse closer to Netherfield, Elizabeth’s thoughts raced, panic rising in her chest as she realised she had no clear plan for what she was about to do. “Brilliant, Lizzy,” she muttered to herself. “Ride out here with no plan, no crop, and no common sense. What could possibly go wrong?” The horse twitched its ears, as if mocking her self-recrimination.
In the past, she had often come across Mr Darcy during her walks, their encounters seeming almost serendipitous. But today, with the weather colder and the threat of rain in the air, there was no guarantee he would be out walking. His departure from Netherfield was imminent, and she had heard nothing to suggest he intended to linger any longer than necessary. Time was not on her side.
Elizabeth glanced up at the grey sky, her breath clouding in the chilly air. “If this turns into a wild goose chase, I’m blaming you,” she told the horse, who seemed utterly unbothered by the accusation. The creature suddenly snorted, tugging on the reins in a clear attempt to turn around. “Oh no, you don’t,” Elizabeth snapped, pulling back and guiding the horse toward the driveway that led to Netherfield. “I’ll drag you by the reins if I have to. You’re getting me to that house, or so help me, I’ll—” She cut herself off, realising she had no real threat to offer.
The horse, sensing her determination, seemed to relent a little, but Elizabeth knew better than to trust it. “Better,” she muttered. “But don’t think I’m above bribery. There is an extra apple in it for you if we make it there without incident.”
As Netherfield finally came into view, Elizabeth’s heart pounded with a mix of apprehension and determination. She needed to think, to find a way to approach Mr Darcy without drawing too much attention. But how?
“Are you well, Darcy?”
Darcy dropped his hand, clearing his throat. “Perfectly.”
Wickham’s eyes narrowed faintly. “Indeed. Well, I am sure reflecting on such memories can still be painful. Your father was the very best of men.”
Darcy thinned his lips in a forced smile.
“You always did have it easier, Darcy,” Wickham continued, his voice softening. “Principled as a church deacon, even in your infancy, I declare. Whereas I…” He broke off with a chuckle and another puff of smoke. “Well, you might say that I had to take the harder way at every step. Though, I daresay I learned my fair share—more so, I fancy, than you, who never dreamed of straying from the path of rectitude.”
Darcy bristled. “Are you saying that a youth squandered in vice and sloth could possibly be better preparation for assuming the mantle of duty later in life?”
Wickham laughed heartily as he removed the cigar from his mouth to flick off a bit of ash. “I see I have provoked you. I only meant that a man learns from his mistakes, but if he has never made any considerable missteps, why, he may well possess the same wisdom but perhaps lack the depth of understanding that a man only gains by dragging himself back to the straight and narrow inch by painful inch.”
Darcy shifted in his chair. “What do you truly want, Wickham?”
Wickham half-smiled. “I am still learning, Darcy. Even now, at nearly thirty years of age, I find myself in need of your guidance—your approval. I am now navigating a world that is still new to me, and as valuable as some of the mistakes of my past have proved to be, I would rather not make them now while I have others who depend on me. I could use a steady hand like yours to help me see it through.”
Darcy’s unease solidified into something colder, more decisive. He might not have the ability to stop whatever was happening, but he had no intention of lending his support to Wickham’s endeavours. The thought of being manipulated into doing so only hardened his resolve. “I appreciate your confidence in me, Wickham,” he said, his voice carefullymeasured, “but I am not convinced that my involvement would be of any real benefit. For one thing, I harbour my own doubts about this candidate you ask me to support. And for another, there are far too many questions you yourself have left unanswered.”
Wickham’s eyes darkened, and for the first time, a flicker of irritation crossed his face. His tone hardened, losing some of its earlier warmth. “You know, Darcy, your pride is still as formidable as ever. I’d hoped that you might have seen beyond the past by now, that you might recognize when someone is trying to make amends, to build something better.”
Darcy’s jaw tightened at the accusation. He met Wickham’s gaze evenly, refusing to be baited. “I am not opposed to change, Wickham, but I am cautious about where I place my trust. You ask for my support, yet this is not a cause I can fully endorse.”
Wickham’s expression soured, the mask of geniality slipping ever so slightly. He leaned forward, his voice dropping to a near-whisper. “You’ve always prided yourself on your principles, Darcy, on your sense of justice. But what good are those principles if they keep you isolated—if they prevent you from seeing what’s right in front of you?”
“Oh, I see it.” Darcy leaned forward in his chair, locking eyes with the man. “I see a candidate of no qualifications and murky history. I see a man who sidesteps every blunt question put to him, and I see fabrications presented as facts. I want nothing to do with any of it.”
Wickham’s eyes flashed with something akin to anger, but he quickly masked it with a tight smile. “I apologise if you misconstrued my words, Darcy. I have not deceived you, although we… ahem… appear to ‘remember’ things differently.”
Darcy’s expression had fractured—even he could feel the dead-white pallor seeping into his complexion, the shocked stare he could not seem to break. “What… what are you saying, Wickham?”
