They dismounted in front of Longbourn and rang the bell. A middle-aged woman answered, curtsying and welcoming them inside. They were escorted to a large parlor. The west-facing windows allowed winter light and warmth into the room.
A quick glance around the room showed that the Lucases were not there. Mrs. Bennet greeted them warmly, her three elder daughters standing with her.
“Shall I order a tea tray?” the matriarch asked as they seated themselves.
“Tea sounds lovely, Mrs. Bennet. Perhaps the ladies would be willing to accompany us on a walk. It is a pleasant day—tea would be restorative after.” Bingley grinned in his usual charming way. Mrs. Bennet agreed instantly.
The youngest of the three girls quickly voiced her desire to remain behind, citing a need to attend to another matter. Darcy could not have been more pleased with the arrangement.
The foursome hurriedly gathered their things and set out. The air was cool, but not unpleasant. Bingley and Miss Bennet quickly paired off, and Darcy offered his arm to Miss Elizabeth.
She accepted with a light touch, her gloved fingers warm against his sleeve. Though they began their walk in companionable silence, Darcy soon found himself eager—unusually eager—to hear her thoughts.
“It is a beautiful morning,” he ventured. “Hertfordshire possesses a tranquility I had not anticipated.”
Elizabeth smiled. “We are fortunate with the weather today. Autumn often brings mist and mud. I am glad you were not dissuaded from calling.”
“Nothing could have dissuaded me,” Darcy said before he could stop himself. He cleared his throat. “I mean to say—Bingley was determined.”
Her eyes sparkled. “Of course.”
They walked a few more paces before Elizabeth spoke again, her tone thoughtful. “You must find Longbourn a humble estate compared to what you know in Derbyshire.”
“I find it charming,” he said honestly. “And full of welcome.”
She inclined her head, but a faint tension crossed her features. “I am glad. My father takes great pride in it, though…” She hesitated. “Though it is not to remain in our family.”
Darcy slowed his steps, concern pricking his thoughts. “Forgive me if I presume, but—is Longbourn entailed?”
“It is.” Elizabeth’s voice was steady, but her eyes carried a shadow. “When my grandfather arranged the entail, perhaps it seemed wise. My father had no sons, but they believed more children would come.” She smiled faintly. “Instead, he was blessed with five daughters.”
“That must be a great burden to your household.”
“My mother frets over the entail, naturally, but my father believes happiness of more value than advantage. It is a reality,” she said simply. “Papa and Mama were a love match. They wish the same for us.”
Darcy felt something warm unfurl in his chest. “It is rare,” he said softly, “to find parents who desire love over wealth for their children.”
“And your parents?” she asked gently.
He paused. “They were a love match as well. My mother adored my father. I hope,” his voice softened, “that my sister will know such affection someday.”
Elizabeth’s expression warmed. “You have a sister? Miss Darcy is fortunate to have a brother who cares so deeply for her happiness.”
They walked on, the path winding between bare hedgerows, the soft crunch of leaves marking their steps. Conversation flowed easily—literature, country life, traveling, even a few light jokes that made Darcy laugh more freely than he had in months.
When they turned out of the garden gate, Darcy realized in shock that he had not once felt awkward or restrained.
With Elizabeth Bennet, he simply…was himself. And he wanted very much to stay.
The walk lasted far longer than propriety usually allowed, though never once did it feel improper. The path wound through a copse of thinning trees, across a narrow footbridge, and along the edge of a meadow where the last of the autumn birds chirped their individual farewells. Bingley and MissBennet lingered behind them, conversing softly; Darcy caught occasional fragments—gentle laughter, a delighted hum from the lady, Bingley’s exuberant responses.
But for Darcy, the world existed in the space between his arm and Elizabeth’s hand.
He could not recall the last time conversation had come so easily. They spoke of books—she favored the wit of novels; he appreciated the rigor of histories. Then the pair debated the merits of city life versus country life. They shared observations on their family, on duty, on the strange paths life chose for people who least expected it.
In one moment, Elizabeth made a wry remark about her mother’s nerves, and Darcy nearly laughed aloud.
How am I to resist a woman whose humor so perfectly matches my own?The realization unsettled him—in a thrilling way.
