Whether time might alter that balance remained uncertain.
Elizabeth turned toward the stairs.
There was still ample time before their departure, and her preparations, though straightforward, required attention.
She would go to Netherfield.
If she encountered him again that day, she would make no effort to avoid him.
Darcy rode out earlier than he had intended. The morning remained unsettled, with rain still threatening though the heaviest shower had already passed. The air carried a freshness that cleared the mind more effectively than any room at Netherfield had managed in recent days.
His horse followed the familiar path with little guidance, and Darcy allowed it, content for the moment to yield to inclination rather than conscious design.
The rise at Oakham Mount came into view.
He had not intended to return there, but he did.
The ground, still damp from the earlier rain, bore unmistakable signs of recent passage—small footprints, light and irregular, that required little imagination to interpret.
Darcy’s mouth shifted, almost against his will. He guided his horse upward.
They were already there. Thomas and Toby stood near the same place as before, their heads bent together in conference that broke the instant they heard his approach.
They turned as one.
“You have come back,” Toby said.
“I have,” Darcy replied, bringing his horse to a halt.
Thomas crossed his arms. “Well?”
Darcy dismounted, securing the reins before answering.
“Well?”
“Have you met with success?” Toby asked.
Darcy considered the question.
“No.”
Both boys frowned.
“None at all?” Thomas pressed.
“Your sister avoids me whenever we are in company.”
Toby’s expression hardened. “As she should.”
Darcy inclined his head. “I am beginning to accept that opinion.”
Thomas stepped closer. “You must try harder.”
“I have tried.”
“Not hard enough,” Toby said.
Darcy regarded them. “You judge quickly.”
