“Who were they watching?” Darcy demanded, stepping forward.
The innkeeper gave him a bemused glance. “Mr. Darcy, I am sure it was—”
“Tell me.”
The footman shifted his weight, glancing at the innkeeper before returning his gaze to Darcy. “Well, sir… I do not know exactly. But it seemed to me they were paying particular attention to the ladies out shopping this morning.”
A cold dread settled in Darcy’s stomach.
Elizabeth.
“Describe them,” he ordered.
The footman blinked. “Dark coats, looked like London men. Not officers—no regimentals—but they didn’t belong here. Too quiet, too still. I only saw them for a moment before they disappeared down an alley, but I could not shake the feeling that they were… looking for something. Or someone.”
Darcy’s mind reeled. If men had been in town watching… had they followed her? Had she been taken before he even knew to look? His body was rigid, his stomach twisting violently.
No.No, he would not let himself believe it.
His voice was tight when he spoke. “Where did you last see them?”
The footman hesitated before nodding toward the northern road. “Headed that way.”
Toward Longbourn.
Darcy did not wait. He was out the door in an instant, swinging himself atop his horse with a forceful motion. The beast, sensing his urgency, barely needed a nudge before launching forward, tearing down the lane in a blur of dust.
His heart pounded in his ears.
Let her be there. Let her be safe.
He had been too slow in everything—too slow to uncover the plot, too slow to find Alice, too slow to realize the danger Elizabeth still faced.
He would not be too slow this time.
The road between Meryton and Longbourn was mercifully quiet, save for a few farm carts making their sluggish way back from market. Darcy scanned every face, every movement. If someone had taken her—if someone had so much as touched her—
He gritted his teeth, forcing the thought away.
Just as he was coming over a ridge, he spotted an older man trudging along the side of the road. One of Longbourn’s tenants, judging by his well-worn clothes and slow, steady gait.
Darcy pulled up alongside him without hesitation.
“Sir.” His voice was rough, urgent. “Have you seen Miss Bennet?”
The man looked up, squinting against the sunlight. “Eh?”
“Miss Elizabeth Bennet,” Darcy ground out. “Or her cousin, Miss Jane. Did you see them in Meryton today?”
The man frowned, scratching his head. “No, sir, not in Meryton.”
Blast.
“But I did see them walkin’ t’other way this mornin’,” the farmer added. “Took a parcel with ’em, looked like they meant to spend the day in the fields.”
Darcy’s breath stilled.
The fields? Not Meryton. Not taken?
