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I bit my lip. That is not necessary. Yet my agreement would be a small price to pay in order to ease his mind. “Very well. Both Stone and Sarah enjoy taking walks. When you and Georgiana are not available, I shall take one of them with me.”

“Thank you.”

“You are welcome.” My sight shifted at the sound of leaves rustling on my right. Rollo and Rachel had followed us. They stopped upon a nearby elm branch. I tapped Fitzwilliam’s arm to get his attention and pointed to them. “I believe they want to join us on our ramble.”

My husband raised his sight to the pair. “They are welcome to come along.”

Later that day, Mrs. Thorne examined me and declared me to be “almost certainly” with child.

In the following days, whether or not Fitzwilliam, Georgiana, or one of my maids accompanied me, either Rollo or Rachel followed along on my daily walks like self-appointed, feathered sentries.

Tuesday, 13 September

Elizabeth

The path ahead ascended at a sharp incline, and I leaned forwards, my hand supporting the slight swell in my stomach. According to Mrs. Thorne, the baby would be born on or about Christmas Day.

“Madam, pray allow me to help you up the hill.” Sarah held out her arm.

I resisted the instinctive urge to refute her implication that I might require assistance, for in truth, I tired much more easily these days. “Thank you.” I slipped my arm around hers.

With a glance behind me, I spotted a pair of black wings fluttering in an oak tree. Earlier, we had encountered Rollo in the courtyard, and he continued to follow us. The first time Sarah had accompanied me on a walk, the ravens took her aback, but she soon grew accustomed to their presence.

We paused at the summit to take in the view of the moorland and adjacent woods below. Rollo flew overhead and practised his aerial gymnastics. I pointed his antics out to Sarah.

She raised her hand to block the sun. “Your raven friend is a singular creature.”

“Yes, both he and Rachel are noteworthy.” The sound of hooves on the dirt path drew my sight. A man on a sway-backed roan horse ascended the track towards us. He did not seem at all familiar—a rather stout, unkempt man in a coarse ill-fitting coat. When he neared us, Sarah gasped and tightened her grip upon my arm. Her whispered utterance sounded akin to, “No, please no.”

“All is well.” I used a low, soothing tone. My assertion bore the strength of logic—even a man lacking in morality would scruple at harassing the mistress of Pemberley, would he not?

The stranger stopped his horse ten feet from us. His gaze settled upon Sarah, and his mouth warped in an unsavoury grin. “At last, my search is over.”

I mustered up an authoritative air. “You, there. Who are you, and what business do you have on Pemberley land?”

His attention shifted to me, and he touched his shabby, brown hat. “I’m Mr. Price, ma’am.” He indicated Sarah with his index finger. “And that there’s Mrs. Price, my wife.”

Beside me, Sarah gulped, and her hand that still clutched my arm trembled. She knew—and feared—that man.

“You must be mistaken. I am Mrs. Darcy, the mistress of this estate, and this woman is my maid, Sarah Jones.”

Mr. Price guffawed. “That’s not ’er name. It’s a lie.” He dismounted, left his horse to graze on the nearby grass, and stepped closer. “’Er name is Mary Price. I’ve been looking for ’er these past thirteen months. I ’appened to ’ear from the post office clerk in Lambton that your estate employed a new maid as a seamstress last August, so I came ’ere on the chance it could be my Mary.” His eyes drifted to Sarah. “I spoke to one of the kitchen maids, who said you’d gone out to walk with the mistress, so I set out to find you.”

Fie, our maid ought to have been more discreet! Later, I should direct Mrs. Reynolds to admonish them. I tugged Sarah towards the path while increasing our distance from the man. “As I said, you have the wrong person. If you persist in pushing forth this erroneous claim, then you may take the matter up with my husband.” I bent my head near Sarah to employ a whisper. “Let us return to the house.”

“Don’t you move, Mary.” Mr. Price darted in front of Sarah and thrust his finger at her. His visage contorted into a ferocious scowl. “That lady may go where she pleases, but not you. Now that I have found you, I’ll not wait another hour, not another minute, to take you with me.” He shot me a quick look. “I’ve no need to speak with your ’usband or anyone else. Mary’s my wife and she’s leaving with me.”

Sarah released my hand. “Madam, I don’t want to cause you any trouble.”

No, I would not let him take her! “Allow me to handle this.” I stepped between the man and Sarah. “She will not go with you.”

His nostrils flared, and a russet hue overspread his complexion. “If you know what’s good for you, lady, you’ll stay out of my way. By God, I’ll not leave ’ere until I take what’s mine!” He charged forwards and shoved me aside with such force that I staggered and, to my chagrin, could not regain my balance. My arms whipped through the air as I tumbled to the ground, landing roughly upon my bottom. The fiend!

A high-pitched scream came from Sarah. “Oh, Mrs. Darcy, I’m so sorry!”

My buttocks smarted as did my palms, for I had reached out instinctively to break my fall. Still, I suffered nothing beyond minor injuries and would have assured Sarah of my well-being had the shock of the man’s aggression not left me out of breath and immobile for several moments.

“No!” Sarah shouted the word as Mr. Price gripped her wrist and dragged her towards the horse.