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“Yes, the exercise would be welcome. Very well, I shall go.”

However, when I sought Mrs. Hurst not twenty minutes later, a footman informed me that she had already left. So, I set out alone.

Rather than indulge in one of my usual extensive tours, I restricted myself to the areas near the house, intent upon returning to Jane after no more than an hour. When I entered a path lined with maples, a sizable brown dog trotted towards me, wagging his tail. He appeared to be a blood-hound and carried a stick in his massive jaws. I stroked him behind the ears, and a soft humming noise emanated from the hound, which I took to be a sign of contentment. He shifted his head to ensure I reached his preferred spots.

A young groom approached from the house and waved to me. “Miss, I’ll take Sampson back to the barn if ’e’s bothering you.”

“Not at all. I adore dogs, and he seems to be quite amiable.”

“Yes, miss, ’e is.” The lad pointed towards a horse tied in front of the stable building. “I’ll be working yonder, so call out if you change your mind.” With a nod, the groom continued towards the steed.

I straightened and patted the blood-hound. “Would you like to walk with me?”

Samson dropped the stick at my feet and emitted two hearty barks.

“Ah, you must want to fetch-and-carry.” I raised the branch, which bore marks from Samson’s canine teeth, and tossed it as far as I could manage. With a high-pitched bark, he raced after his toy and carried it back. We repeated the process.

The third time Samson returned with the stick, he failed to drop it; rather, he thrust his mouth towards me. Ah, the smart boy wanted to place his toy in my hand.

Yet when I reached for the branch, he failed to release his hold. I stepped away from him. “Well, I guess you do not want to play any longer.”

Again, he came forwards and pressed the stick against my hand. “Oh, now I understand. You want to play a bit of English and French. Very well, I accept the challenge.”

I grabbed one end of the branch and pulled, but Samson proved to have a stronger grip. I bent closer and used both hands for a more secure grasp. I stepped backwards at an angle to wrangle the stick free, but he held fast. I repeated my efforts and pulled this way and that. At last, he released the toy, propelling me backwards with potent momentum. My foot slipped on some loose stones, and I tumbled down, landing roughly upon my backside.

“Oh!” A throbbing pain stung my posterior. With my knees bent, I used my feet and hands to rise.

“Miss Elizabeth!”

Startled, I plunked back to the ground. Gracious Heavens—Mr. Darcy! Of all people, of all times, why did he have to come upon me? My chin sank. If I disregarded him, would he leave me to die of mortification in privacy?

Samson lumbered closer, lowered his head, and licked the tip of my nose. Ugh, had he not done enough? “Hey, stop that!” I gently pushed him back.

“Dear me, I hope you have not injured yourself.” And Mrs. Hurst as well. This could not be worse, unless—

“My goodness, Miss Eliza, we entered the path moments before your shocking misadventure.” I flinched at Miss Bingley’s distinctive articulation, which imparted more glee than sympathy. I caught a glimpse of her when she raised her hand to obscure her smirk.

With a sigh, I locked my gaze towards my feet. Mr. Darcy’s polished Hessians appeared before me. He had caught me at my worst moment. Had my unladylike romp extinguished any admiration he might have acquired for me?

“Are you injured?”

My sight raised towards him. “No. Unless, of course, you count my dignity.” I attempted to sound facetious.

He extended his hand. “Allow me to assist you.”

When I accepted his aid to stand, his warmth conferred an electric thrill, distracting me from my embarrassment—until Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley appeared on either side of him, and I dropped his hand. Nevertheless, a flume of heat continued to radiate from my palm as I sneaked a quick backwards look at my dress. Fie, residual mud from the recent showers had soiled the back of my skirt.

Miss Bingley veered to the side of me to inspect the damage. “Oh my, your gown is filthy! Thank goodness you chose to wear a worn, older dress this morning. I should have hated to see you soil a fine one.”

“Indeed, I am fortunate.” I spoke through gritted teeth. And how dared she disparage my gown!

“Whatever possessed you to tussle with Charles’s dirty old hound?” Miss Bingley rested her palm upon her bosom.

I glanced at Samson. The panting, open-mouthed, blood-hound appeared to be quite contented with himself, his wagging tail a blur of movement. “He wanted to play, and I obliged him.”

“To indulge the whims of a mangy beast is an uncommon concept for a lady, at least in my experience.” Miss Bingley released a short laugh.

“My sister has been known to participate in similar activities for the entertainment of our dogs.” Mr. Darcy’s baritone drew my attention.