Page 54 of Dear Friend

He had slept badly and risen before the rest of Netherfield, telling himself that a long walk might restore some order to his thoughts. There was truth enough in the excuse. He had seen almost nothing of the surrounding country since his arrival, and a man could hardly claim to know a neighbourhood from the inside of its drawing rooms, however much he might have read of it in another person's letters. What he was less willing to acknowledge was that he remembered precisely which hill Elizabeth had once described to Julia as her favourite prospect in Hertfordshire.

Oakham Mount.

He had no reason to suppose she would be there that morning. The knowledge, however, did not prevent him from asking a stable boy which path led towards Oakham Mount.

The walk carried him beyond the more cultivated grounds surrounding Netherfield and along narrow lanes bordered by hedgerows already beginning to show the colours of autumn. Oakham Mount itself proved less imposing than its name suggested, a long, steady rise above the surrounding countryside, its upper slopes broken by scattered trees and a well-worn path that suggested Elizabeth was not the only person who favoured the prospect. As Darcy climbed, the country opened behind him, fields and distant rooftops appearing between the thinning trees until, near the summit, much of Meryton and the neighbouring estates lay spread below.

He had nearly reached the top when a figure ahead caused his steps to slow.

For one absurd instant, Darcy thought his own expectation had supplied what his eyes wished to see. Then the woman shifted slightly, the morning breeze catching the skirt of her gown, and he recognised the dark curls beneath her bonnet.

Elizabeth.

Darcy stopped.

He had known she loved this place. He had even allowed that knowledge to determine his direction that morning. Yet actually finding her there produced a shock entirely disproportionate to an event he had privately hoped might occur.

Elizabeth stood a little apart from the path, looking across the fields below. The sound of his boot against loose stone caused her to turn, and surprise immediately crossed her expression.

“Mr. Darcy.”

“Miss Elizabeth.” Darcy inclined his head and moved a little nearer, though he left a proper distance between them.

“It would seem coincidence is determined to keep crossing our paths, or perhaps Hertfordshire is rather smaller than I had supposed.” Her surprise gave way to amusement. “We have contrived to meet three times in four days.”

“I hope you do not hold me responsible for all three.”

“Not entirely. You may be forgiven the assembly, since half the neighbourhood was there, and yesterday you had Mr. Bingley to answer for. This morning, however, I am less certain.”

Darcy felt the justice of the accusation rather more keenly than she could possibly intend.

“I set out to see something of the country,” he said with half a smile.

“And found Oakham Mount?”

There was nothing suspicious in the question, yet Darcy felt its accuracy more than she could know. “I had been told there were several good walks in this direction.”

Elizabeth regarded him for a moment before turning back towards the prospect. “Then whoever advised you did well. Since you have climbed this far, you ought at least to be rewarded for it.”

Darcy moved nearer at her invitation, following her gesture towards the fields and hedgerows below. Longbourn was partly concealed behind a copse of trees, while Meryton lay farther off, its church spire rising above the clustered roofs.

“It is a fine prospect,” he said.

“Only fine?”

Darcy glanced at her. “Have I offended local pride already?”

“Very nearly. I should warn you that I am excessively partial to this place.”

“Then I shall amend my judgement. It is an excellent prospect.”

“That is worse. Now I know you are merely being civil.”

“You leave me very little opportunity of pleasing you, Miss Elizabeth.”

“On the contrary. You need only agree with me sincerely.”

“A demanding condition.”