Page 21 of Mr Darcy’s Lakeside Romance

“Mr Darcy is a great man, miss.” Bates spoke with fierce loyalty. “When the floods took our winter wheat last year, my mother was afraid we would be turned out. We could not meet the quarter’s rent and she walked all the way up to the great house to beg the steward for time.”

Elizabeth stopped, turning to face the tall, gangly youth. “And what happened?”

“The master was in the steward’s office.” Bates swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. “He did not send her away, nor did he let the steward speak. Mr Darcy told my mother that Pemberley does not turn its family out into the cold. He forgave the quarter’s rent and he sent grain from his own stores to see us through the winter. And when Mrs Reynolds heard I was seeking a position to help with the coin, she hired me here. Even though I... I am not good enough.”

Elizabeth stared at the boy, the breath leaving her lungs in a silent rush.

Pemberley does not turn its family out into the cold.

The haughty, disagreeable man who had treated her neighbours with such freezing contempt was the same man who fed his starving tenants from his own table. He had a heart of staggering generosity, hidden beneath the armour of aristocratic reserve.

How blind she had been! She had prided herself on her discernment, on her ability to read character and motive, yet she had misjudged Fitzwilliam Darcy fully. She had eagerly believed Wickham’s lies because they flattered her own wounded vanity, and she had condemned a good man without a shred of evidence.

“He sounds like an excellent master, Bates.” Elizabeth’s voice trembled. She forced a smile to her lips, turning back to the path. “Your mother must hold him in the highest regard.”

“The village folks think him proud and sour, because he does not venture to their assemblies. They like his coin, to be sure. But here, there is not a soul on the estate who does not respect him, miss.” Bates resumed his careful marching beside her. “Though the maids say he requires too much quiet, and Fletcher says his riding boots are a tragedy.”

They reached the edge of the woodland, stepping out onto the grassy bank that sloped gently to the water. The lake was a mirror of blue and silver reflecting the few clouds above.

Suddenly, the sound of thundering hoofbeats shattered the peaceful morning air.

Elizabeth spun around, her parasol wobbling in her grip.

A black horse burst from the treeline at a breakneck gallop. Mr Darcy leaned low over the horse’s neck, his coat flying behind him, his face distorted in panic. He hauled on the reins as he neared the water’s edge. The horse reared up, his front hooves pawing the air, releasing a shrill, protesting whinny.

Mr Darcy threw himself from the saddle before the horse’s hooves had even touched the ground. He hit the grass running, his long legs eating up the distance between them.

“Miss Elizabeth!” He closed the final paces, his chest heaving, his eyes wide with alarm, sweeping over her dry gown, her unbroken parasol, and the calm water behind her.

Elizabeth took a startled step backwards. “Mr Darcy! Whatever is the matter?”

He stopped a mere foot away from her, breathing heavily. He closed his eyes, pressing the heels of his hands on his forehead. A long exhale ripped through his chest.

He dropped his hands, turning his gaze on the footman.

“Bates.” Mr Darcy’s voice was a low growl. “Take Orion to the stables.”

“Y-yes, sir!” Bates lunged forward, grabbing Orion’s trailing reins. In his haste he forgot to bow or offer an apology. He dragged the animal to the trees with speed, glancing over his shoulder as if he expected Mr Darcy to unleash the wolfhounds on him.

Elizabeth watched the boy flee, bewildered. She turned back to Mr Darcy, who was now sporting a flush in his ears.

“You scared him, sir.” She lowered her parasol, studying the man before her. “And you nearly trampled us both. I was told you were inspecting timber.”

Mr Darcy ran a ragged hand through his windblown hair, messing it further. “I was. I saw you from the high ridge. You were walking towards the deepest part of the lake.”

“I was taking the air.”

“You were walking towards the deepest part of the lake,” Mr Darcy repeated, his voice tight, “escorted by a young man who cannot carry a tray in a straight line without disaster. A young man who routinely trips over his own feet on a flat surface.”

Elizabeth stared at him. The absurdity of his logic hit her a moment before the staggering truth of his panic.

“You thought...” Elizabeth’s lips parted in astonishment. “You thought Bates would accidentally throw me into the lake?”

Mr Darcy’s flush deepened until his ears burnt crimson.

“I thought he might trip,” he confessed. “I thought you might attempt to catch him, and you would both tumble down the bank. I thought... A great many ridiculous things, Miss Elizabeth. My imagination is a cruel master when your safety is concerned.”

Elizabeth felt the ground shift beneath her feet. He had galloped across his estate because he feared a clumsy footman might accidentally cause her to ruin her hem in the water.