“…Heard of a farmer near Bath—kept his find to himself and was the better for it…”
“…The Crown takes the lion’s share if it is told. A man would be a fool to invite that sort of attention…”
Her unease deepened with every step. The gossip was not malicious, nor even unusual. It was spoken lightly, almostcheerfully, which made it worse. There was no outrage, no reverence for law or history. Only speculation. Opportunity. Fortune.
By the time she had circled Meryton’s main street and reached the edge of town, Elizabeth turned her steps away from the lane to Longbourn’s front drive and toward the familiar rise of Oakham Mount. The path was narrow and well-worn, and she climbed with more haste than care, her skirts brushing against dry grasses and low branches.
At the summit, she paused, breathless, not from the climb alone.
From there, she could see it all laid out below her. The patchwork of Longbourn’s fields, orderly and familiar. Beyond them, the common, uneven ground dotted with scrub, rocks, and thin stands of trees. And past that, just visible through the autumn haze, the outer reaches of Netherfield’s park.
Movement caught her eye—people. More than there ought to be at that hour.
Men crossed the common with spades slung over their shoulders. Boys lingered, pretending idleness while watching where others dug. A woman stood with her skirts gathered, pointing animatedly at the ground as though directing an excavation. The land she had always thought of as neutral and unremarkable was suddenly alive with purpose.
All because of me.It was a nonsensical thought, for no one knew her role in this fever that seemed to be overtaking the community. Elizabeth sank onto a fallen log near the crest and dropped her head into her hands. Her thoughts raced. Her father’s stubborn resolve. The law she could not forget. The careless way strangers spoke of melting history into coin.Is it wicked to wish to protect those you love, or wicked to show no regard?
“Miss Elizabeth?”
She startled and looked up.
Mr. Darcy stood a few paces away, his coat unbuttoned, his horse tethered farther down the path. Concern was plain upon his face, unguarded and immediate.
“You look distressed,” he said gently. “May I ask what troubles you?”
Elizabeth hesitated, then forced a small smile. “I was thinking.”
“So I gathered.”
She exhaled slowly. “Do you believe, sir, that moral obligation and the law are always aligned?”
His brow furrowed. “In principle, I should hope so. The law is meant to codify moral duty.”
“But when it does not?” she pressed. “When obedience to the law would materially harm those to whom one is bound by affection or responsibility to protect?”
Mr. Darcy was silent. He considered the question with evident seriousness, his gaze drifting back toward the common below.
“In such cases,” he said at last, “one hopes the law allows for justice. And when it does not…” He paused. “I have always believed that the moral course and the lawful one rarely diverge for long.”
Elizabeth’s lips pressed together. “And if they do?”
He looked at her then, truly looked, and she saw that he had no easy answer to give.
“I cannot say,” he admitted quietly.
The honesty of it struck her more deeply than any certainty could have done. She turned her gaze back to the land below, where spades rose and fell in a hopeful rhythm.
Neither spoke for a moment.
At last, Mr. Darcy said, “Whatever weighs upon you, Miss Elizabeth, I do not think it a small matter.”
She nodded, grateful and troubled in equal measure.
Elizabeth remained seated upon the fallen log, her gaze still fixed upon the activity below, when Mr. Darcy stepped closer. After a moment’s hesitation, he lowered himself onto the end of the log at a respectful distance, careful not to crowd her. The quiet between them was not uncomfortable, but thoughtful, almost like both were reluctant to disturb it with careless words.
The breeze stirred the leaves overhead, sending a faint rustle through the branches. From their vantage point, the sounds of digging and distant voices carried upward in softened echoes. Elizabeth folded her hands in her lap, drawing encouragement from the solid presence beside her. It occurred to her how little exertion was necessary to share his quietude, how instinctively comfortable it was, as if they were already familiar with each other's presence.
Mr. Darcy broke the stillness at last. “I hope you will forgive my frankness,” he said, his tone measured but earnest. “Our acquaintance is of short duration, and yet I find myself wishing it were otherwise.”
