The thought hurt less this morning.
No, that was not true.
It hurt differently.
She continued up the path, faster now, as if speed might carry her beyond both sorrow and indecision. The summit was close, the turn in the path just ahead where the ground rose between two old oaks before opening toward the view. She would stand there, breathe, and decide the words she must say. Then she would return to Longbourn before breakfast and find some way to speak with her mother before Mr. Collins attached himself to her side and called it providence.
She rounded the bend.
Darcy stood at the top of the path.
“Oh!”
Chapter 24
Elizabeth stopped so abruptly that the hem of her gown brushed against a frost-stiff clump of grass.
For one wild instant, she thought she had imagined him. She had been thinking of him too much; perhaps fatigue and cold had fashioned him from mist and longing. But no. He was there, tall and dark against the pale morning sky, his hat in his hand, his horse tethered a little way off near the trees. He looked as though he had been waiting, though whether for her or for courage, she could not tell.
Her heart gave one hard, painful beat.
“Mr. Darcy,” she said, because no one else was there to require formality.
His expression changed at the sound of his name—not much, for he was still Darcy, still guarded by habit and discipline—but enough that she saw it. Relief. Fear. Hope.
“Miss Elizabeth.”
The name, spoken so quietly, undid every careful thought she had gathered on the walk. For several seconds she could only stand there, the cold air between them, her plans for her mother, Netherfield, Mr. Collins, Longbourn, and every prudent future swept aside by the unbearable fact of him.
He took one step toward her, then stopped, as though he feared coming nearer without permission.
“I hoped I might find you here,” he said. “You once spoke of walking this way.”
“I did.”
“I know I have no right to intrude upon your solitude.”
“No,” Elizabeth replied, though the word emerged less steadily than she intended. “I suppose you do not.”
He bowed his head slightly, accepting the rebuke. “Then I must ask your pardon and your patience. I have been a coward, and I have hurt you. I cannot let another day pass without saying so.”
The wind moved between them, stirring the dry leaves at Elizabeth’s feet.
She had imagined many things on the climb to Oakham Mount that morning.
This had not been among them.
∞∞∞
Darcy had intended to begin with an apology.
He had rehearsed one, in fact. Several times. On the ride from Netherfield, while waiting at the top of the path, even in the moment before she rounded the bend and stopped short at the sight of him. It was to be plain, humble, and orderly. He would say he had been wrong. He would say she had deserved better. He would ask permission to call upon her properly, and only if she allowed it would he speak of anything more.
But Elizabeth stood before him in the pale morning light, her cheeks touched by cold, her eyes wary and wounded, and every ordered sentence deserted him.
“I have behaved abominably,” he said.
Her lips parted, but he pressed on before courage failed.
