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The horse had settled into an easy lope. Darcy savoured the fresh, crisp air of Derbyshire—so different to the miasma that one was sometimes forced to breathe in London. Arriving at his favourite swimming spot, he tied his horse loosely so that it could graze and, enjoying the privacy afforded by living on his own estate in the wilds, dropped his clothes into a neat pile and waded into the river. He found the water still warm from summer, so after only a brief hesitation as it lapped at his nether regions, he dove in and began to swim to the other side with clean swift strokes. He had been an acknowledged champion of swimming at Cambridge, even beating Byron in a much-bruited contest in the River Cam. Reaching the bend in the river he was aiming for, Darcy found his favourite submerged rock and rested there, eyes closed, enjoying the sun on his face.

He was startled from his reverie by the snap of a twig. A lady was standing on the bank dipping her toe in the water. She held her skirts aloft, and after appreciating the curve of her calf and her dainty foot, Darcy saw that the hem of her skirt was quite dirty, as if she had walked a long way. Glancing surreptitiously up and down the bank, she began to peel off her clothes in much the same economical fashion as he had just done. Off came the pelisse and joined her boots, stockings and bonnet on the grass. She opened the bib of her dress, slipped her arms out and dropped the skirt to the ground. Her petticoat followed. Then she unlaced her stays, which were of an unusual design that allowed her to take them off without the need of a maid. Darcy knew that he should have alerted her to his presence, but he was struck mute. As the stays joined the other articles of clothing on the ground, he realised he was holding his breath in guilty anticipation. But she did not remove her chemise, wading into the water still wearing it. He expected her to stop once she had partially immersed herself, but to his astonishment she continued further in and then began to swim towards him like a frog, not splashing, but moving gracefully.

Adopting the same silent stroke, Darcy swam to meet her.

He heard her gasp when she realised she was not alone, casting an anxious glance at the shore.

“Hello, Miss Elizabeth!” he said cheerfully. “What a fine day for a swim that it is!”

“I am sorry, sir, to have disturbed you. I am visiting with my aunt and uncle and got hot. The water looked so refreshing. Excuse me, I must go,” she said, turning to make her way to the bank.

“Stay!” said Darcy, taking several quick strokes to close the gap and reaching out to grab her shoulder.

Then adopting a deeper, mocking tone, he said: “Miss Elizabeth, I am lord of these lands, and you must pay a penalty for swimming in my lake.”

She looked at him in shock, lips gaping, and before she could protest, he brought his mouth to hers and darted his tongue deep inside, bringing his hand behind her neck so that she could not flinch back.

“Mmmhh!” she struggled, submerging herself to slip from his grasp, and breaking free.

“You do not have a shirt on!” she spluttered in an outraged accent as she resurfaced, making movements with her arms to propel herself backwards.

“I do not have anything on,” he chuckled, pursuing her.

“What is so funny, Mr Darcy?” said an arch voice.

He woke to find Caroline Bingley hovering over him, too close for propriety, and started.

“Good grief!” he said, moving sideways instinctively. “You startled me!”

“You were laughing in your sleep, Mr Darcy!” Caroline declared coquettishly, not backing off. “May I enquire what is so amusing?”

“I dreamt that Charles and I were swimming in the River Cam,” said Darcy, inventing the first thing that came into his head.

He turned to his friend to find that Bingley was still sleeping.

“Charles!” Darcy said, shaking him violently, so that he might not be alone in Miss Bingley’s company.

“Wha-what? Steady on, Darcy! What’s the emergency?”

“Your sister wishes to speak to you!”

“I only came to say that tea is ready downstairs, Charles,” Caroline said sweetly. “Or below deck, or whatever it is!”

“Oh, well, thank you, Caroline. I see that you have recovered from your seasickness,” returned Charles slyly.

Caroline ignored her brother and proceeded to show the way. They found Louisa already seated at table arranging the plates, but of her husband there was no sign. Presumably he was still under the weather.

The ship’s cook had prepared an admirable morning tea of buttered scones and sardines on toast. Caroline viewed the beady eyes of the small fish with distaste but reconciled herself to their presence on the table when the gentleman ate them with relish.

“Well!” she declared as she poured Darcy another cup of tea. “Isn’t this cosy?”

On her way back to Ludgate Hill, Jane had tried to put all thoughts of Mr Thorne out of her head. She dutifully inspected the Latin primer, discovering she understood more of it than she had thought possible—Latin seemed to be not all that different to French. Considerably relieved, she began to plan her lessons for the following week. In no time, the swaying of her uncle’s carriage slowed, and she found herself in the lane outside the Garths’ house. Mick jumped down quickly to open the door and let down the step, just as Frederick opened the gate and greeted her cheerily. The two footmen acknowledged each other with a nod as Frederick closed the gate behind the governess. He was glad to see that Miss Bennet was punctual—Miss Fairfax had caused him many anxieties of a Sunday evening.

Jane made her way back to her room on her own, being sufficiently familiar with the labyrinth that was the Garths’ house by now. She had discovered its odd design was dictated by its origins as two distinct houses that had been joined as the family’s fortunes rose.

Meg bobbed a curtsy as she re-entered the nursery wing, telling her that the children had just sat down to supper if she wished to join them. Still feeling full from lunch, Jane politely declined and retired to her room.

It had been Jane’s intention to spend more time planning the children’s lessons for the week, but the sight of her bed suddenly enervated her. Quickly divesting herself of her bonnet and church clothes, she snuffed the candle and threw herself on top of the covers, staring into the dark canopy as she blinked back a tear she refused to shed. She appreciated that her aunt and uncle were only trying to look after her by arranging a match. She knew her mother would probably consider Mr Thorne and his wealth a prize, but the contrast between young, handsome Mr Bingley and the swarthy Mr Thorne, older than her uncle, was too great.