Another had begun directing two farmhands with unnecessary authority, behaving as though the land were already his to command.
The first “find” came quickly.
A shout rang out near the hedgerow.
A young farmhand held up a small object, his face flushed with excitement—a bronze coin.
It passed from hand to hand, examined with exaggerated reverence.
Someone declared it Roman.
Someone else insisted it was Celtic.
A third claimed it bore the likeness of an emperor.
Darcy saw Elizabeth glance away.
Soon afterward, broken pottery emerged—fragments of coarse ware, unmistakably ancient, but of little intrinsic value.
Still, they were greeted with cheers.
“Proof,” people said. “Proof that more lies beneath.”
“See?” Bingley exclaimed, clapping one of the men upon the shoulder. “I told you there was something to be found.”
There was a sharpness beneath the cheer that Darcy did not like—something less akin to enthusiasm than to insistence.
His hand lingered a fraction too long.
His smile remained too fixed.
The moment seemed to carry more weight than it ought.
Darcy said nothing. Elizabeth seemed to be avoiding him—or perhaps it was the general chaos around her. After some time, Darcy grew weary of the disorder around him and sought her out.
“Mr. Darcy.” She greeted him warmly, much to his pleasure.
“How do you do, Miss Elizabeth?” He offered her his arm, and she took it, allowing him to lead her further away from the noise.
“I wanted to stay home, but my mother insisted we come.” She frowned. “Though it is entertaining to see what has been unearthed.”
She sounded nonchalant, but Darcy noted the tension around her eyes—and the way her gaze flicked, unbidden, toward the areas being most vigorously dug.
“Entertaining,” he repeated quietly, his tone mild. “Yes. That is one word for it.”
Elizabeth glanced at him, quick and searching. “What word would you use?”
Darcy hesitated only a moment. “Expectation,” he said. “And expectation, once awakened, is rarely content to remain moderate.”
Her fingers tightened slightly upon his arm.
“Shall we keep to ourselves here?” he continued, more lightly. He gestured to a fallen log at the edge of the field. “We might sit here and observe the commotion on the common. I am certain we can find something diverting to speak of.”
She beamed and nodded, though the brightness did not entirely reach her eyes, and they took themselves a little off from the group. Happily, they engaged in conversation completely unrelated to ancient treasure—or so it appeared.
Yet even as they spoke, Elizabeth found it difficult to attend fully. Each shout from the field drew her attention, each murmur of discovery tightening something within her chest.
At one point, a man approached another group, speaking in lowered but urgent tones.
