In her chamber, Elizabeth loosened her gown and let her hair fall from its pins. Alone at last, the evening replayed in her mind—Mr. Darcy’s earnest gaze, his sober attentiveness, the warmth of his hand when it brushed hers.
Is it possible that he admires me? The thought fluttered through her chest like a soft-winged bird.
She blew out her candle and slipped beneath the covers.
“I hope he does,” she whispered into the darkness, surprising herself.
Sleep overcame her quickly, but not before her final conscious thought formed:
We shall see what tomorrow brings.
Chapter Eight
It was a lovely day. Elizabeth secured her bonnet as she stepped outside, the morning air cool upon her face. Much to her disappointment, she did not encounter Mr. Darcy on her stroll.
Dew lay upon the fields and trees like scattered jewels, and the ground crunched lightly beneath her feet. The movement quickly warmed her, driving away the lingering chill.
Elizabeth inhaled deeply, delighting in the clean, bracing scent of cold earth and woodsmoke drifting from distant chimneys. Her breath came out in soft white puffs, vanishing as soon as they formed. She walked with purpose, though her thoughts lingered on a certain gentleman with dark curls and earnest eyes.
Had he risen early as well? Had he changed his mind about riding? She tried not to dwell upon it—it would be unseemly to appear so eager—yet disappointment tugged at her, nonetheless.
Moving almost instinctively, she crested Oakham Mount and descended the other side. As she neared the base of the rise, she turned toward her father’s fields that bordered Netherfield’s lands.
It was not a large stretch of land—only a few acres. This particular plot was part of the home farm, out of the way as it was. Its location was peculiar. The rise of Oakham Mount kept it shielded from the elements to a point. Crops in that area often sprouted sooner and were harvested earlier as a result. It was ideal for winter wheat, but the seed had not yet been spread.
Elizabeth picked her way over the freshly plowed field, treading carefully so as not to roll her ankle or stumble. The sun began to climb over the trees, bathing her path in a soft morning glow. The dew sparkled in the light, adding brilliance to the day.
Despite her earlier disappointment, the surrounding beauty lulled her spirits into peaceful contentment. Birds called faintly from the hedgerows; a farmhand far off shouted to another, their voices muffled but cheerful.
She smiled to herself.Even without Mr. Darcy, the morning holds its pleasures.
Something flashed out of the corner of her eye, and she turned.
That is not dew.
She moved cautiously toward something glimmering in the dirt. It was at the very edge of the field. A large boulder marked the boundary between Netherfield and Longbourn. Just beyond was a tract of public land the villagers called ‘the common.’ Carefully, she crouched down, shifting dirt away from whatever shimmered in the ground. Gasping, shelifted a golden object from the soil.
It wasweighty, and she felt certain it was solid gold.And old, if I had a guess.Roman, perhaps.
Her pulse quickened wildly. Gold—real gold—in her hand! The metal was cold from the earth, its intricate design half-worn by time but unmistakably ancient. Her breath seized as a hundred possibilities raced through her mind:was it a lost treasure? A burial site?A feeling of exhilaration spread through her, and she tugged off her bonnet. Elizabeth stuck the object—a bracelet—into its depths. Cautiously, she moved more dirt away. With every handful, more treasure was uncovered. Soon, her bonnet was full.
I cannot leave it here. No, that would be unwise.
Elizabeth removed her cloak, shivering slightly, and proceeded to add the contents of her bonnet to it. She continued to dig in the soil, adding more and more to her garment, draped across the ground. Meticulously, she searched the surrounding area, and after a half hour’s search, she felt confident she had found it all.
Her fingers were numb from the cold, dirt streaked her gloves, and her breath came fast with exertion—and excitement. The gleam of gold and silver scattered across her cloak seemed almost unreal in the morning light, as though she had stepped into the pages of a fanciful tale.
I have never seen the like,she thought.
Worried someone might discover her, she did not take inventory; instead, she wrapped the cloak into a bundle and hefted it. It was heavy, but nothing she could not handle. Resolved to get everything to her father as quickly as possible, Elizabeth took a shortcut through the trees, circumventing the mount in favor of getting back to Longbourn quickly.
Her feet moved over the fallen leaves as quickly as she could with her cumbersome bundle, her heart hammering—not from fear, but from a giddy, breathless sense of wonder.
“Papa,” Elizabeth said breathlessly, pushing her father’s library door closed behind her. “I have something to show you.”
Mr. Bennet glanced up and gave his daughter a wry smile. “If you have a cat in that cloak, you had best hide it from your mother. You know how she feels about hair on the furniture.”
Elizabeth shook her head mutely, setting the bundle at her feet. “Clear your desk, if you please, while I lock the door.”
