She turned. "I have preserved myself."
Darcy came to stand beside her, his tone mild but not entirely without amusement.
"Bingley would be disappointed."
"He is very well supplied with encouragement. He will not miss mine."
"That is true."
Behind them, Bingley’s voice rose again, bright and certain, and Jane’s softer replies followed it with patient regularity.
"You do not admire the ditch?" Darcy asked.
"I admired it sufficiently from a distance," she said. "I see no reason to be instructed in them at close quarters."
"A practical decision."
"I thought so."
A shout cut across the field.
"The Gate!"
Elizabeth turned in time to see several sheep pressing with determination through a gate Bingley had swung open in his exuberance.
What followed was immediate confusion. Bingley attempted to intercept them with enthusiasm and no clear plan. The farmer called directions that were not obeyed. Jane tried to assist and found herself gently but firmly outpaced by a creature with greater conviction than herself.
"Oh—no, perhaps if I—no, that is not helping—"
Darcy exhaled and stepped forward. "Stay here," he said.
Elizabeth did not.
The ground was uneven and she had scarcely taken three steps into the field before her footing gave way. She caught herself once, then failed to do so again.
Darcy’s hand closed around her arm before she could fall.
"I am perfectly—"
She was not. The ground shifted under her again and she pitched forward, her hand catching at his coat. His grip tightened at once, steadier now, one hand firm at her waist as he drew her upright., although not quickly enough to prevent the splatter of mud decorating her gown.
They moved back instinctively, out of the path of the animals, finding partial shelter behind a low outbuilding that stood just beyond the wall.
"You should have remained back," he said.
"You should not give instructions you expect to be followed," she returned.
"That is becoming clear."
"You are holding me," she said.
"Yes."
There was no attempt to withdraw it.
"Are you going to stop?"
"No."
