I tilted my head, studying him for a moment. He still wasn’t looking directly at me. Instead, his gaze kept wandering to the trees, the sky—anything that wasn’t my face. I half expected him to apologize to a bush at any moment.
“Well, if you’re quite sure,” I said, letting the words trail off as I took a step back. This entire conversation was a disaster, and I wasn’t sure how to rescue it.
Mr. Darcy nodded sharply as though agreeing with himself. “Yes. Quite.”
I began to walk past him, certain I should leave before anything stranger happened. But then, just as I was about to escape, he spoke again.
“Miss Bennet?”
I paused, half-turning back to him. “Yes, Mr. Darcy?”
He stared at me for a moment, his lips parting as if he was about to say something important. But then he snapped his mouth shut, blinking rapidly, and whatever it was, he seemed to abandon it.
“Enjoy your walk,” he said stiffly, sounding as though the words had physically hurt him.
I blinked at him, unsure whether to laugh or feel concerned. “Thank you. And you as well.”
I didn’t wait for a response. Instead, I hurried down the path, glancing back only once to see him still standing there, staring at nothing in particular like he was waiting for the ground to swallow him whole.
Darcy
The moment Elizabeth Bennetturned her back, I all but bolted down the garden path. What the devil had I been thinking, standing there like some sort of tree, my mouth moving but saying nothing? I practically fled to the farthest corner of the grounds, willing my legs to carry me as far from that awkward mess as possible.
“Ach, ye run like a hare wi’ its tail on fire!” came the familiar brogue, and before I could even groan, Ewan appeared out of nowhere, strolling alongside me, his arms crossed, a look of puredisappointment on his face. “After the way that lassie danced in yer arms last night?”
“Youmade me do that!” I snapped. “A reel… what the devil, man?”
“Aye, an’ ye almost looked like a man for a moment there. A pity ye turn tail in the daylight. Blind fool, ye are, lad. A fool, an’ a coward, tae.”
I clenched my jaw and kept walking, eyes fixed ahead. Maybe if I ignored him, he’d disappear.
“Ignorin’ me now, eh? Aye, that’ll fix everythin’,” Ewan continued, undeterred. “Ye get a lass like that lookin’ ye in the eye, an’ ye skitter off like she’s got the plague! Where’s yer backbone, man?”
“I didn’t skitter,” I muttered, quickening my pace. “I merely... departed. Sensibly.”
“Sensibly?” Ewan threw his head back and let out a bark of laughter. “Ye’ve got the sense of a sheep herdin’ itself into a river! She was right there, lad! Bold as brass, and ye ran! What kind o’ ‘gen’leman’ does that?”
I rounded a hedge, determined to put distance between us, though I knew it was pointless. He was dead; I wasn’t getting away.
“A wise gentleman,” I snapped. “Who knows when a situation is too far gone to salvage.”
Ewan shook his head, keeping pace with me, his boots making no sound against the gravel. "Ye’re aff yer heid, lad. Ye had her interest—an’ that’s more than most men’ll ever get. But instead o’ takin’ the chance, ye ran off wi’ yer tail between yer legs like some green lad meetin’ his first lass.”
I stopped, turning to face him, my patience officially gone. “What would you know of being a gentleman? You’ve spent most of your time barging into my life, hovering like a cretin over women who can’t even see you, and making indecent remarks.”
“Och, I see. So ye’re a master o’ manners now, are ye? Tell me, lad, how gentlemanly was it when ye stood there gapin’ like a fish in front o’ Miss Bennet, sayin’ nothin’? Eh? Aye, thought so.”
I groaned, running a hand through my hair. “I didn’t know what to say! She... catches me off guard.”
Ewan snorted. “Aye, catches ye off guard ‘cause ye’re too busy hidin’ behind yer precious propriety. Always those books wi’ ye. Ye wouldn’t ken what tae dae wi’ a real woman if she slapped ye across the face.”
I glared at him. “I suppose your idea of a fitting encounter with a woman involves inappropriate comments and lurking about like a lecherous specter?”
“A lecherous specter!” Ewan laughed again. “Ach, that’s a fine joke, comin’ from a lad who scarpers at the sight o’ his own shadow. Naw, lad. Ye’ve got tae stop thinkin’ an’ start feelin’. But ye wouldnae ken much aboot that, would ye?”
“I feel plenty,” I snapped, probably too loudly. A nearby gardener glanced in my direction, and I quickly coughed, pretending I’d swallowed a bug. “I ‘feel’ quite well, indeed.”
Ewan raised both eyebrows now, looking thoroughly unimpressed. “Aye, ye feel plenty, do ye? Then why’s it ye’re standin’ there wi’ yer neck straighter than a ship’s mast whenever she’s about?”
