A man came hurtling across the lawn, arms flailing, shirt untucked, and with no waistcoat or jacket, screaming at the top of his lungs.
It took me a moment to realize it was… good heavens, it wasMr. Darcy!
His breeches were muddy, his hair in wild disarray, and his chest heaved as he ran. I stood frozen in place, blinking at the sight before me. Was someone attacking him? I squinted into the distance but saw… no one. There was not a soul to be seen except for Darcy, fists pumping like a bellows, his face pale as though he had just seen the devil himself.
“Get away from me!” he thundered into the empty air, skidding around a bush with all the grace of a madman in flight.
I stood rooted to the spot, my mind racing to catch up with what my eyes were seeing. Surely, there was someone after him. Therehadto be. But no matter how hard I squinted into the distance, I saw… nothing. No one.
I stared, mouth slightly agape. I had seen Mr. Darcy look many things in the one evening of my acquaintance with him—aloof, brooding, proud—but this was… unexpected. He roundeda bush, skidding slightly on the wet ground, and suddenly found himself face-to-face with me.
We both froze.
His chest heaved, and his wild, panicked eyes locked onto mine. For a long moment, neither of us moved. I opened my mouth to say something—what, I wasn’t sure—but the words died in my throat as he straightened, attempting to look dignified despite the mud and the fact that his shirt was barely hanging on his shoulders. His hair clung to his forehead, his shirt flapping and covered in mud. He looked utterly… undone.
I blinked, trying to make sense of the situation. And then I blushed because, well… his attire hid very little.
“Miss Bennet,” he rasped, trying to smooth his hair with one hand, though it did little good. He tugged at his shirt as though that would magically restore some shred of dignity. “Good… good morning.”
I blinked. “Good morning to you, Mr. Darcy.” I glanced around the empty lawn. “Ah… out for some exercise?”
His nostrils flared. “Do I look like a man out enjoying some sport this morning?”
I pursed my lips. “You look like a man running for your life. I only ask because… well…whoexactly were you running from?”
His eyes darted wildly over my shoulder, and without warning, he let out a high-pitched yelp, pointing just past me. “Him!” he cried, his voice cracking. “Right there!”
I whipped around, my heart surging against my ribs in sudden terror.
There was no one. Just an empty lawn, the trees swaying gently in the breeze. I turned back to him, eyebrows raised. “Mr. Darcy… there is no one there.”
His eyes went wide as though I had just suggested the moon was made of cheese. “What do you mean, no one? He’s—he’sstanding right there!” He jabbed his finger toward the empty space behind me, his face flushed with panic. “Look! He’s—”
He stopped short, his jaw dropping.
I glanced over my shoulder again, seeing nothing but open air. “Mr. Darcy… have you perhaps taken ill?”
Mr. Darcy let out a strangled sound and pointed even more frantically. “He’s—he’s gone! He was just standing there, I swear! Right over your shoulder!” He backed up a step, his eyes darting around like a hunted animal. “Where did he go?”
I looked at the empty space, then back at Mr. Darcy, who was now pressing a hand to his forehead like a man trying to wake himself from a nightmare. “You’re certain there’s someone after you?”
“Certain?” he nearly shrieked. “He was right—oh no. Oh, no, he’s back. He’s—”
Mr. Darcy’s eyes widened in horror, and before I could ask another question, he pointed directly at me, his voice dropping to a horrified whisper. “He’s behind you again.”
I stiffened, feeling a shiver run down my spine. “Behindme?”
“Yes!” he exclaimed, eyes bulging as he took another step back. “He’s standing right over your shoulder, staring at—good God, he’s peering around your face and down… Back I say, sir! Youwillrespect the lady’s dignity… Egad, howdareyou, sir!”
I wheeled around so fast I nearly tripped over my own feet, but again, there was nothing. Not even a whisper in the treetops.
Mr. Darcy let out a pitiful groan, clutching his hair. “Why can’t you see him?” he moaned, more to himself than to me. “He’s right there, I swear. He’s—he’s looking at you! He was going to touch your hair!”
I stared at him, half-expecting him to collapse on the spot. “Mr. Darcy,” I said slowly, “there is absolutely no one standing behind me.”
Mr. Darcy’s breathing quickened, his eyes flicking back and forth as if the invisible man were playing a game of hide-and-seek. “He’s gone again!” he gasped, staring at the empty space over my shoulder. “Howdoes he keep disappearing? And why am I the only one who sees him?”
I blinked, utterly baffled. This was not the Mr. Darcy I had met at the Assembly. The proud—conceited, even—impossibly self-assured and utterly in-control-of-the-world man I’d seen at the ball was nowhere to be found. Instead, he looked like a man on the brink of complete collapse, shouting at invisible attackers in his half-buttoned shirt and mud-covered breeches.
