“I usually spend September through December with my Bennet relations.”
Mr. Darcy looked both perturbed and relieved, as though the information unsettled and reassured him in equal measure. The combination puzzled Elizabeth, but she chose not to dwell on it. Instead, she turned her gaze back to the view, silently reasserting her claim to the afternoon.
You pry because you do not understand,she thought.And because you cannot bear not to understand.
Aloud, she said nothing more, content to let the moment hang—an unspoken boundary drawn as clearly as any line on a map.
Mr. Darcy lingered a moment longer than necessity required, as though weighing words he was unaccustomed to offering. Elizabeth sensed it before he spoke—the subtle shift in his stance, the way his gaze returned to her face with renewed attention, no longer searching for fault but for something he had not yet named.
“I ought not to detain you,” he said at last, his tone more subdued than before. “You came here for solitude, and I have intruded upon it.”
“You have not intruded,” Elizabeth replied politely, though she was uncertain whether the statement was entirely true. “The mount is public ground.”
A faint smile touched his mouth, quick and restrained. “You are very gracious.”
He hesitated again, then inclined his head. “I find…our conversations stimulating, Miss Elizabeth. You possess a clarity of thought that is—” He paused, clearly dissatisfied with the word that followed. ”—uncommon.”
Elizabeth blinked, taken aback despite herself. Praise from Mr. Darcy was not something she had been prepared to receive, and certainly not praise delivered with such careful deliberation. “I cannot decide whether that is meant as a compliment or a warning, sir.”
His smile deepened, just perceptibly. “Perhaps it is both.” He met her eyes fully now. “In any case, I admire candor where I find it. Even when it challenges my own convictions.”
Admire.The word echoed uncomfortably in her mind. She had expected dismissal, condescension, even irritation—but not this measured acknowledgment, offered as though it cost him something to say it aloud.
“I wish you a pleasant walk, Miss Elizabeth,” he continued, stepping back toward his horse. “And…I hope we may speak again.”
“So do I,” she answered automatically, though confusion had begun to coil in her chest.
He mounted effortlessly, gathered the reins, and before turning away, looked back once more. There was no arrogance in his expression now, only something thoughtful, almost searching. Then he nodded, sharp and decisive, and rode off along the path, the rhythmic sound of hooves fading into the distance.
Elizabeth remained where she stood long after he had gone.
What am I to make of that?she wondered, pressing her gloved hands together inside her muff. His manner had been courteous, his words respectful—more than that, sincere. And yet sincerity from a man who so plainly believed himself superior was unsettling in a way outright disdain never could be.
Admiration from him is not something I should welcome,she told herself firmly.It complicates matters that are already delicate enough.
Jones and Weston emerged fully from the trees at a discreet distance, ready to resume their places. Elizabeth turned back toward the path leading down the mount, her thoughts anything but settled.
Mr. Darcy thought very well of himself—of that she remained certain. But now, disturbingly, she was no longer certain what he thought of her.
Chapter Nineteen
Darcy rode back toward Netherfield with little attention to the path. His horse knew the way well enough, and Darcy allowed it its head while his thoughts churned.
You are a fool.
The judgment came sharp and immediate, and he accepted it. He had lingered when he ought to have taken his leave. Worse, he had spoken—had allowed admiration, that most dangerous of impulses, to color his words. He could still hear his own voice, still recall the unexpected lightness that had attended her surprised expression.
Admire candor where I find it. What nonsense.
His admiration would lead nowhere he was willing to go.
He urged his horse into a faster pace and forced himself to examine the matter as he would any other problem.
Let us be clear. Miss Elizabeth is unsuitable.
First: her position. She was an unconnected gentlewoman, the niece of a minor landed gentleman with an entailed estate. Her dowry was unknown. She had no connections of consequence. A marriage to her would invite remark and quiet disparagement.He had obligations—to his name, his estate, and his parents’ memory—that did not allow such indulgence.
Second: her independence of mind. She did not defer where deference was expected. She questioned assumptions others accepted without thought. Such a disposition might be praised in a man, but in a wife it promised difficulty.
