Bingley followed immediately.
Darcy took his time. There was no hurry. He would have her attention soon enough, and it would be one of their less pleasant conversations.
Elizabethhadneverknowna man so easy to manipulate.
Well—perhapseasywas not the right word. Mr. Darcy was a suspicious, contrary, and dreadfully stubborn creature. But when he wanted something—when he was single-mindedly pursuing a goal—he became remarkably predictable.
Which was why, as they walked, she had little difficulty nudging Bingley ahead with Jane. A murmured comment here, an innocent question there, and before long, Bingley had taken Jane’s arm and was leading her several paces ahead, entirely engaged in conversation about—oh, something or other. Elizabeth did not particularly care what.
She glanced up at Darcy, who was watching Bingley’s retreating form with wary interest. He had not even noticed that she had maneuvered him. Or if he did, his purposes happened to align with hers.
Perfect, either way.
She clasped her hands behind her back, affecting an air of supreme innocence. “I do hope you have recovered from your heart seizure of yesterday.”
Darcy’s head snapped toward her. “I beg your pardon?”
She tilted her chin. “You know. The one that left you pale and trembling and in serious danger of expiring right there in the hedgerows.”
His nostrils flared. “I was not—” He exhaled sharply. “I was concerned.”
“Concerned. How very sweet.”
Darcy’s gaze darkened. “It was not a baseless concern.”
She sighed. “Very well. I grant you that I was not where I said I would be.”
He scoffed. “A gross understatement.”
“And yet, here I am, perfectly well, having suffered no great misfortune beyond a rather wasteful afternoon spent in excellent company. Yet, your face still looks somewhat gray around the corners. I daresay, even if I had been shot by some ne’er do well, His Highness would only be slightly put out with you and would recover quickly enough. He can hardly afford to lose such a useful fellow.”
Darcy said nothing to this. A few steps passed in silence as his face seemed to be tortured with a kaleidoscope of thoughts.
At last, he said, “There were men loitering about Meryton yesterday.”
Elizabeth’s brow furrowed. “I am sure there usually are.”
Darcy’s voice was even—too even. “Men I had not seen before. Strangers. They were not shopping, nor were they conversing with the townsfolk. They were simply… watching.”
Her amusement faded entirely.
“That could mean nothing,” she said carefully.
“It could,” he admitted. “Or it could mean everything.”
Elizabeth pressed her lips together. She was no fool.
The idea that she was being hunted, that someone still sought to silence her, was not a new fear. It had lurked in the corners of her mind since the day she arrived at Longbourn.
But hearing it put to words, seeing the quiet intensity in Darcy’s gaze as he relayed the information…
It unsettled her.
“You could speak to Colonel Forster,” she suggested.
Darcy nodded. “I did. He came to dine at Netherfield last night. He has noticed the same. And he has made inquiries.”
A cool breeze stirred the air, ruffling the edges of Elizabeth’s bonnet.
