And why had the newly arrived colonel been so shocked to see both Mr. Darcy and Mr. Bingley? For Elizabeth had read surprise on his face.
Or was the surprise at finding Mr. DarcywithMr. Bingley? She sought back, trying to pinpoint who had seen what, and when. Everything had taken place rather quickly, and in rapid succession, and all she had observed jumbled together in her mind: Would be abductors. Mr. Bingley’s face white with strain. Miss Bingley’s whispered confession. Mr. Darcy’s suddenly commanding demeanor.
The arrival of a tall, serious colonel who had a strong jaw, dark hair, and even darker, tormented eyes.
Elizabeth let out a sigh, the air before her clouding. The wind gusted, scattering the puff of her breath and bringing a hand up to check that the ribbons on her bonnet were tightly tied.
Movement caught her attention and she turned to take in a rider on the other side of the field that spread out beside her, the soil dark and turned under so late in autumn. She raised a hand to shield her eyes from the still low sun and realized she stood on Netherfield Park’s land. While her thoughts were occupied by the afternoon before, her legs had taken her down the oft-trodden trails. If she carried on, she would soon be atop the low hill that offered a fine view of Netherfield’s manor house. Something she’d never considered a transgression when the house stood empty, but which now seemed like spying.
The figure on the horse raised an arm in greeting, angling to meet her. Even from a distance, and even though she had met him but once, and briefly at that, she knew Colonel Fitzwilliam rode the large bay that crossed the field, drawing ever nearer. There existed something about how well he sat his horse, the exacting correctness of his posture, his broad shoulders clad in somber black, that she could not mistake.
Anticipation swirled in her gut.
He drew up a few yards away, rather than charging up to her as Charlotte’s brothers or young Mr. Goulding would have. Instead, Colonel Fitzwilliam halted at a safe, responsible distance and swung effortlessly from the saddle. He adjusted the reins, then walked his mount over at a careful pace, with an eye for the plowed under earth. Apparently, the tall colonel was not one to endanger woman or beast.
Reaching her, he bowed. “Miss Bennet.”
The man had no right to be so devastatingly handsome and an officer. A flutter went through Elizabeth and it was all she could do not to look up at him through her lashes as she dipped, as Lydia or Kitty surely would. “Colonel Fitzwilliam.”
His left eye twitched.
Elizabeth tipped her head, studying the seriousness of his expression. “You do not care to be reminded of your rank, sir?”
His eyebrows rose slightly. “I did not realize I wear my feelings so openly.” Behind him, a stray gust carried a whirl of leaves across the field, red, orange, brown, and yellow dancing gaily on the breeze.
“Perhaps I am simply a student of such things.” Or perhaps she was a rapidly learning student of this man. “And I apologize. My question was overly bold. We are hardly acquainted.”
He raised his gaze from her face, looking past her, his eyes lacking focus as lines of thought creased his brow.
Elizabeth waited, pleased with the opportunity to study his visage.
Finally, he said, “I would prefer if you address me as Fitzwilliam. At least in such informal circumstances as this.”
“Then you do find some flaw in your rank, Mr. Fitzwilliam?” How odd. Most would be proud of the title of colonel. Did his rank speak merely of money, not accomplishment, and so embarrass him?
“Not Mr. Fitzwilliam.” Those lines re-formed on his brow. “Simply, Fitzwilliam.”
Elizabeth considered that. From another man, such informality, the sort usually reserved for use between well-acquainted gentlemen, would seem far too familiar and flirtatious, but from this tall, upright-seeming, serious colonel, it felt more in the nature of a gift. And it was not as if he’d asked her to address him as Richard, his given name. Even from the man before her, that would have constituted an overture.
His mouth twitched into a half smile. “Now it is I who am too bold.”
“No,” she hastened to assure him. “I merely seek to understand the impetus behind your wish.”
“It is no great secret. Merely that Fitzwilliam is how I would prefer you to address me, Miss Bennet.”
“Then you must at least call me Miss Elizabeth. Miss Bennet is my older sister.” Whom he had yet to meet, and who men preferred over Elizabeth. Something that had never mattered to her before.
With ease, she pictured Jane, tall and fair, on Colonel Fitzwilliam’s arm. They made a very pretty picture. Elizabeth’s throat constricted.
“Do you often walk here, Miss Elizabeth?”
Blinking away visions of Jane with the man before her, Elizabeth nodded. “I am in the habit, which is what drew me here now. Had I given the matter thought, I would not have come this way.”
He frowned. Behind him, the bay snorted, shaking his mane. “You would not have come this way?”
“While I know the tenants of Netherfield Park well, no one has resided in the manor house for years. It has always seemed harmless to walk these lands.” Her sweeping gesture took in the surrounding countryside of ploughed fields, low walls of piled stone, and sparse copses, thinned by autumn. “Now, Mr. Bingley has taken up residence and I realize that I trespass.”
“Bingley would not begrudge you your morning walk,” Colonel Fitzwilliam said with quiet certainty.
