As for Mr. Darcy—
Elizabeth pressed her lips together firmly at the direction of her thoughts.
This would not do.
She was allowing herself to become entirely too aware of one gentleman’s opinions, expressions, and apologies.
Even so, when she finally extinguished the last candle and settled beneath the blankets, it was not Alfred Barnett Wilson who occupied her thoughts as sleep slowly claimed her.
Darcy escaped Netherfield shortly after noon beneath the perfectly reasonable pretense of exercise, though honesty compelled him to admit—even if only privately—that physical movement had very little to do with the ride.
Restlessness drove him out.
The previous evening had passed tolerably enough on the surface. Mr. Bingley maintained a cheerful disposition despite Miss Bingley's incessant grievances about Hertfordshire society. Mrs. Hurst seemed satisfied as long as cards and supper were consistently provided, and the household resumed its normal rhythm after Miss Bennet's departure.
Darcy’s thoughts, however, had not calmed.
Quite the reverse.
He found himself increasingly conscious of Longbourn’s absence from his immediate surroundings. The realization was absurd enough to irritate him thoroughly. A few days earlier, he would have welcomed quieter company and fewer emotional complications. Now the house seemed emptier merely becauseMiss Elizabeth Bennet no longer occupied the breakfast room, the gardens, or the sitting room chair nearest the fire.
That awareness followed him onto horseback.
The late autumn air carried enough chill now to redden the edges of the hedgerows, though the afternoon itself remained mild. Darcy guided his horse along the familiar rise overlooking Netherfield’s eastern fields, allowing the animal an easier pace while his thoughts drifted once more toward Longbourn.
Toward Elizabeth.
And, increasingly, toward the alarming realization that his interest no longer resembled simple admiration.
He had crossed well beyond admiration several days ago.
The knowledge ought to have unsettled him more than it did.
A sudden crashing noise from somewhere beyond the hedgerow interrupted his thoughts.
Darcy reined in and glanced around.
The sound came again—branches snapping, followed by hurried whispering and what appeared to be a muffled argument.
Then two familiar heads emerged from behind the hedge.
“Mr. Darcy!”
“There he is!”
Thomas and Toby scrambled through the gap almost simultaneously, both flushed from exertion and speaking before they had properly reached the road.
“You must help—”
“Because this man—”
“He talks constantly—”
“And Lizzy cannot even—”
Darcy raised one gloved hand.
“Gentlemen.”
