I swung into the saddle and stared straight ahead, my pulse spiking. “I might as well be,” I muttered through gritted teeth.
Ewan was suddenly sitting backward on my horse’s neck, arms crossed and staring at me. “Where ye off tae, lad? Gonna go ask yer lass’s da for help? Och, that’ll go well.”
“Egad, you smell foul,” I grumbled. “How the bloody devil do yousmell?”
He wrinkled his nose and got a vague expression. “I reckon the same wayyedo. Wi’ my nose.”
“Get off my horse!” I thundered.
And he actually did. I couldn’t say where he went, but I didn’t care. I spurred my horse into a gallop—not that it would do any good—but a woman carrying a basket was giving me the strangest look as she passed, and I had made myself “odd” enough in town.
He only laughed and kept up. I couldn’t see him, but I could hear his boots clunking along beside my horse. “Dinna be so sour. Yer makin’ a right fool o’ yerself, ye know. What’s the worst that could happen? Bennet might spin ye some tale about Highlanders and laugh ye out the door. But ye’ll get tae see the lass. Aye, an’ that’s no’ the worst fate, is it?”
I kept riding, refusing to rise to the bait. But my hands were clenching tighter on the reins with every stride.
And then, just as I turned the corner near Longbourn, I saw her.
Elizabeth Bennet.
I pulled my horse up so quickly his hind feet locked and slid on the slick road. All thoughts of asking Mr. Bennet forhelp evaporated. All sense of composure vanished. And for the first time in days, I wasn’t thinking about books, or ghosts, or Highland superstitions. I was thinking about how quickly I could get out of there before she saw me.
Ewan, naturally, saw her too. “Aye, there she is. Lookin’ like a storm in a teacup, ready tae rattle yer cage again.”
“Shut. Up,” I muttered, trying desperately to avoid making eye contact with her as I changed course, pretending I had somewhere else to be.
But she was already heading my way.
And there was no escape.
Elizabeth
It wasn’t as thoughI was actively seeking out Mr. Darcy, but there he was, sitting in the saddle stiff as a post by the corner of the road, looking like someone had told him his horse just insulted his mother. Whatdidthis man have against horses?
I couldn’t exactly avoid him—well, Icouldhave, if I hadn’t been spotted already, but there was a limit to how uncivil I could be, even to Mr. Darcy. And so, as fate would have it, we were walking directly toward each other, his face growing tighter with each step.
Wonderful. I always like starting out a walk by getting waylaid by the local lunatic.
“Miss Bennet,” he greeted me, with the same strained courtesy as always. The man couldn’t have looked more uncomfortable if he were being measured for a noose.
“Mr. Darcy,” I replied. He looked… well, agitated wasn’t the word for it. Agitated was too mild. He looked like he was either going to burst into flames or collapse into a pile of anxious, brooding stares.
“Are you out for a pleasure ride, Mr. Darcy?” I asked, trying to mind my manners, even though I wasn’t quite sure why I was making the effort. “It’s such a fine day.”
He blinked at me, as if he’d forgotten how conversations worked. “A... ride? Yes. Yes, I was just… riding. At a walk. A pleasure ride.”
“Oh, good,” I said lightly, resisting the urge to sigh. It was clear he hadn’t been walking anywhere. His horse was dripping sweat and still blowing, and Mr. Darcy was practically pop-eyed and twitching like a hare that had just seen its own doom.
And, for not the first time, I wondered if it was because ofme.
An awkward silence followed. He shifted in the saddle, glancing around like he was half-expecting something to jump out and bite him. And I, trying my best to keep the conversation alive—for reasons unknown even to myself—blurted, “You’ll be attending the Netherfield Ball, I suppose?”
His face twisted for a second, like I’d just slapped him. The Netherfield Ball—a simple question, I thought. Naturally, he would attend, because he was a guest at the house… unless he thought to spare us all the bother of watching him swat at shadows and take himself back to London. But judging by his reaction, you’d think I’d asked him to dance with a tiger.
“Y-yes,” he replied slowly, though his voice was taut. “I will.”
I smiled as best I could. “And I expect Lieutenant Wickham will be there too. He did mention it when he called the other day.”
If Mr. Darcy had looked uncomfortable before, he now resembled a man who had just been told he was about to be thrown off a cliff. His jaw tightened, and for a moment, I was sure he was going to snap his riding whip in half.
