Elizabeth turned her head slightly, meeting his gaze. His expression held none of the hauteur others so readily ascribed to him—the very expression he had begged her to understand upon their first meeting. Instead, there was a sincerity that caught her off guard.
“I should like,” he continued, “to call upon you at Longbourn, if you would permit it. I would, of course, first seek your father’s approval. It would not be proper to do otherwise.”
For a brief moment, Elizabeth could not speak. A warmth spread through her, swift and undeniable, settling somewhere deep in her chest. She lowered her eyes, suddenly shy, and allowed herself a small smile.
“I believe my father would receive you civilly,” she said at last. “And I should be pleased as well.”
Mr. Darcy inclined his head, relief and quiet pleasure evident in the movement. “Then I shall call at the earliest appropriate opportunity. I would not wish to presume, but neither would I delay unnecessarily.”
She dared another glance at him and found his attention wholly fixed upon her, giving the appearance that the restless activity below no longer held any interest. The knowledge sent a flutter through her that she made no attempt to suppress.
They rose together a few moments later and began the descent from Oakham Mount at an unhurried pace. Though neither spoke again of obligation or law, Elizabeth felt that something important had shifted all the same. Amid uncertainty and unease, she had been offered something steady and genuine. Her thoughts were less heavy for the first time since the discovery on the common.
Chapter Fourteen
Darcy whistled a merry tune as he mounted his horse. It was an unguarded sound, one that surprised even him, and he cut it short with a small shake of his head. He had accompanied Elizabeth home with the intent of speaking to Mr. Bennet, only to find that the gentleman was not receiving callers. The refusal had been delivered politely by Mrs. Hill, but with a firmness that admitted no argument.
Elizabeth’s face had fallen. She bit her lip and glanced away, her disappointment quickly masked but not erased. Darcy had the distinct impression she knew why her father was not available—and that the reason was no trivial inconvenience. Something lay beneath the surface at Longbourn, something that weighed upon her more heavily than she felt free to admit. Rather than press for details, he bid her farewell, promising to call upon her on the morrow. The relief that flickered across her features at that assurance was enough to warm him through the cool afternoon air.
The ride back to Netherfield was pleasant and free of complications. His horse moved easily beneath him, the rhythmof hooves and wind lending order to his thoughts. There seemed to be an unusual amount of activity in the common land that ran along Netherfield’s border. Longbourn, too, shared a stretch of land with the common. People milled about with shovels and hoes, bending and straightening, stopping to confer in animated clusters. Yet no one seemed to be gathering anything of substance. There was a mix of classes as well—ladies with skirts lifted out of the dirt, gentlemen with walking sticks pressed into service as probing tools, farmers and their wives with practical determination etched upon their faces.
Darcy frowned slightly at the sight.
He shrugged and put it from his mind, kicking his mount into a gallop and racing toward Netherfield’s stables. Whatever frenzy seized the neighborhood would burn itself out soon enough. There, he handed the reins to a waiting groom and walked briskly toward the manor, his good humor already beginning to dull.
“Mr. Darcy! Pray, join us for tea.” Miss Bingley nearly accosted him in the entryway, looping her arm through his before he could evade her. “I have the most exciting news! Come, you must hear it all.”
Darcy suppressed a sigh and allowed the grasping female to lead him into the large parlor where tea was laid out. The fire crackled brightly, and the air smelled faintly of bergamot and fresh bread. Bingley was there already, speaking animatedly with his brother-in-law, his gestures broad and emphatic.
“I tell you, Hurst, that tenant likely found the coins on my land. I should pursue legal action.”
“You are being ridiculous, Bingley. It was a handful of bronze coins—hardly worth anything to anyone except antiquarians.” Hurst popped a biscuit in his mouth whole and chewed, crumbs scattering onto his waistcoat.
“That is beside the point. Anything else that is found ought to be handed over to the landowner—me.”
“Nothing was found on your land, Bingley.” Hurst sounded irritated now, his tone sharpened by impatience. “The gossips say it was found in the common. You would have to contest ownership with Mr. Bennet. I can tell you with whom the magistrate would side. Besides, it is not as if you need the money.”
Hurst’s sarcasm was not lost on Darcy. Bingley’s face went red, from the tips of his ears down to his cravat, and he clenched his hands at his sides. Darcy observed it all without expression, though inwardly he felt a twinge of concern. Miss Bingley still had her arm looped through his, and he wished to disentangle himself as quickly as possible.
“Is it not fascinating that so soon after we spoke of Roman treasure, someone actually finds it here?” Miss Bingley purred. “Can you imagine?”
Darcy carefully extracted his arm from his hostess’s vice-like grip. “Is that why there are so many people milling about in the common near the edge of Netherfield and Longbourn lands?” he asked. “I suppose they believe that if a little treasure is found, then a lot is still yet to be discovered.” Now that he thought on it, Miss Elizabeth’s questions, so carefully crafted, were strangely similar to her father’s. How well Darcy remembered Mr. Bennet’s words. They had painted right and wrong in such a light as Darcy had never contemplated.
“Indeed, that is precisely what everyone is saying. For the better part of a week now, the countryside has been in a state of restless excitement.” Miss Bingley fairly quivered with delight, like the chaos itself amused her. She showed no sign of vexation at the distance Darcy placed between them.
“If they are not careful, they will ruin the winter wheat planted in the fields.”
Bingley laughed. “Of course, that is what you consider, Darcy. Who cares about wheat when gold is to be had?”
“I can guarantee that the tenants and the landowner care greatly about the winter harvest.” Darcy took a seat and accepted the cup of tea Mrs. Hurst offered, though he scarcely tasted it.
“Wheat may be planted again. It is not as if one poor harvest in a single field can affect the overall success of an estate.”
Bingley’s ignorance grated on Darcy’s nerves. “It can, in fact. Suppose that field has a crop that brings in a large amount of the estate’s income? What will become of the tenants and those dependent upon the land—especially if the master has not enough funds to weather such a storm?” He had not been referring specifically to Bingley but noted how his friend’s posture stiffened and the scowl that marred his usually agreeable expression.
“What is this? Do you accuse me of not caring for my property properly? I assure you, my fortune can support any calamity!”
“You mistake my meaning, Bingley. I spoke only in generalities.”
