Netherfield Park was not a catastrophe—but it was grossly overpriced. And Bingley could not afford another foolish mistake.
Darcy cast one last look over the quiet, empty estate and tightened his gloves.
This place will not ruin him,Darcy thought grimly,but he will not survive it unscathed unless someone steps in.
And Darcy knew exactly who that someone must be. He would assist his friend as promised.
Chapter Three
Elizabeth strolled through the freshly harvested field that bordered the edge of Netherfield’s land. Workers loaded the last of the harvest into wagons, tipping their hats to her as she walked by. This little plot of land belonged to Longbourn and was the only spot where her family estate shared a border with Netherfield.
The late September day was warmer than in past years. Elizabeth’s pelisse provided ample protection from the slight breeze that ruffled the curls peeking out of the side of her bonnet. There was something about autumn’s approach that made her giddy, and she pulled in a deep breath, savoring the crispness in the air.
Carefully, she climbed a stile and meandered onto Netherfield’s lands. Curiosity drove her forward, and she turned her steps toward the manor house.Perhaps my new neighbor is there even now.Had not the gossip stated Mr. Bingley would take possession before Michaelmas? Was Michaelmas not three days away?
The land here sloped gently downward, dotted with hawthorn bushes and the occasional ancient oak. The grass had turned a gold-tinged green, shimmering under the warm afternoon light. There was something peaceful—almost enchanted—about Netherfield in its solitude. Even empty, the estate had the air of a place waiting for life to return to it.
She stopped on a small rise that looked out over the estate grounds. Netherfield Park stood regally in the distance, the white stone glistening in the afternoon sunlight. The drive was fully visible, and to her disappointment, quite empty. She sighed and turned her steps back toward Longbourn.It would not be proper to meet him without an introduction,she reasoned.
The sound of hoofbeats alerted her to someone’s approach, and she turned instinctively toward the noise. A man on a great black horse thundered toward her, reining in his mount as he approached. The beast tossed its head, seemingly displeased at having had its exercise curtailed.
Elizabeth took a step back, her heart pounding. Horses were not her favorite creatures, and she tried valiantly to school her features as the gentleman dismounted.
“Good day.” He doffed his hat, and Elizabeth almost gaped. The man before her was the handsomest man she had ever beheld—tall, with dark curls and blue-green eyes. His clothing attested that he was a gentleman, but not Mr. Bingley, if she had a guess. Had not her aunt said Mr. Bingley had reddish hair?
“Good day, sir.” She dropped a curtsy, and he responded with a shallow bow. Suddenly tongue-tied, she glanced away, cursing her pounding heart and the flutters in her stomach that rendered her speechless.
“I seem to have become turned around on my ride,” he continued. “Might you point me toward London?”
Relieved at being given a way out of her befuddled state, Elizabeth nodded. “It is that way,” she replied, gesturing in thecorrect direction. “You are not so far off.” She smiled brightly, glad that her tongue had been loosed and that she now felt more at ease.
He paused, looking thoughtfully in the direction she indicated. “Ah. I must have followed a more…creative path than intended.” His voice held the barest hint of self-deprecating humor, so subtle she almost missed it.
“I thank you. May I ask who I have the pleasure of addressing?” His smile nearly disarmed her again. It went straight to his eyes, causing them to sparkle with good humor. “I realize this is untoward, but I would like to know.”
“My name is Elizabeth Bennet, sir. My father’s estate is that way.” She pointed toward Longbourn. “One of our fields abuts Netherfield Park, upon whose lands you now stand.”
“Yes, my friend has lately purchased the estate. He asked that I ride over it before he takes residence.” A cloud fell momentarily upon the man’s face before it cleared.
Elizabeth, observant as ever, noticed the shift—the tightening around his eyes, the brief press of his lips. Something troubled him about this place. Or perhaps about the friend who purchased it. Her curiosity flared, but she schooled her features into polite attentiveness.
“The neighborhood is very pleased that Netherfield will have a permanent resident,” she ventured, hoping they could return to the former ease of conversation.
“It is always better for an estate to be occupied continuously.” He murmured the words as if deep in thought. “Forgive me—I have neglected to introduce myself. I am Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley in Derbyshire.” He bowed again. “This beast is Nightshade, affectionately called Shade by myself and my sister. I am sorry he startled you.”
“It matters not, Mr. Darcy. Had your horse been five hands shorter, I still might have stepped back in fright. I fear I am notthe best horsewoman, nor have I experience with the animals as most gentlewomen ought. Your apology is appreciated nonetheless.” Charming, conscientious, polite, and a gentleman. Would this man accompany Mr. Bingley to his new estate? She certainly hoped so.
He nodded in understanding, patting his horse fondly on its neck. Nightshade snorted, stamping once as if to remind them he was still present and somewhat offended at this sudden pause.
Elizabeth smiled at the animal. “He seems rather spirited.”
Darcy’s lips twitched. “He would object to the word ‘spirited.’ He prefersmagnificent.”
Elizabeth’s laughter bubbled out before she could stop it.
“How did you find the estate?” she asked, eager to keep his company for a few more moments if she could.
He frowned again. “It is sound enough, though there are certain repairs that will need attending as soon as may be.”
