Page 20 of Chasing Shadows
“I thought I heard you speaking earlier,” Jane murmured, her voice faint but steady.
Elizabeth smiled and smoothed her sister’s hair. She told her all about Mr. Darcy’s sister and her presence at Netherfield. “She came most kindly to enquire after you.”
Jane’s lips curved in a weak smile. “She must be very good indeed, if she is like her brother.”
Elizabeth didn’t know exactly how to respond, and she didn’t need to, for Jane’s eyes had already closed again.
Not long after, Mrs. Hurst entered the chamber. She lingered briefly, offering polite words of concern. An already dozing Jane was scarcely aware of it. The draught had plainly made her drowsy. With her sister now in deeper rest, Elizabeth found herself at leisure but restless. She sat for a time by the window, staring out at the mist that crept across Netherfield’s lawns, but idleness soon grew intolerable. She resolved to take a turn below stairs, if only to stretch her legs and clear her mind.
Descending quietly, she arrived in the hall just as a small party was gathering at the door, bonnets and cloaks at the ready. They were preparing for a walk about the gardens.
Mr. Hurst, Mr. Bingley, and Colonel Fitzwilliam, she was told, had already departed to call upon Colonel Forster for a game of pall-mall. It seemed Mr. Darcy had declined to jointhem, for there he stood a little apart, hands clasped behind his back, his tall frame marked by its familiar reserve.
Miss Bingley, as though to prevent any private discourse between Elizabeth and Miss Darcy, had secured the younger lady's arm firmly within her own. Mrs. Hurst claimed Miss Darcy's other side with equal determination, creating an impenetrable barrier of silk and calculated propriety. Between them, Georgiana appeared rather like a prize caught between two determined captors, her natural shyness rendering her quite powerless to extricate herself from their possessive escort.
Elizabeth, perceiving that her presence was decidedly unwelcome among their party and finding herself uncertain whether to retreat with dignity or press forward despite their evident displeasure, hesitated on the threshold. It was at that precise moment of indecision that Mr. Darcy's eyes met hers. His gaze was steady and unreadable, yet somehow arresting her retreat before she could effect it.
“Miss Elizabeth,” he said at once, “may I have the honour of your company for the walk? That is, if you want to join us.”
She blinked, startled. She had thought to excuse herself and withdraw, yet his request left her no room to refuse—and, frankly, no desire to. “It will be my pleasure, sir.”
To her astonishment, he extended his arm toward her. She slipped her hand through the crook of his elbow without conscious thought, and the solid warmth of his arm beneath her touch sent an unaccountable flutter through her very being. From behind, she was certain she heard Miss Bingley's sharp intake of breath followed by a cough—rather more pronounced than politeness required—but Elizabeth would not turn her head to acknowledge it
They stepped out upon the gravel path together.
“I am happy sir,” Elizabeth said, after a moment, “to see you more at ease these past days. The sombre affairs that have so afflicted the neighbourhood seemed to weigh upon you greatly.”
Darcy’s gaze was steady, his manner grave. “I will not surrender myself to gloom because others seek to blacken my name. Yet you must understand, with lives already taken, it would be unseemly to appear light-hearted. That I withdrew into silence was only natural.”
Elizabeth’s tone softened. “Quite natural, sir. No one could blame you for such reserve. Yet I am glad to see it lifting. I understand the gentlemen rode out earlier, yet you did not join them?”
A faint smile touched his lips. “The men of the militia have lost one of their own. Together with the parish constable, the losses weigh heavily. I think they would not have me amongst them for sport.”
“Surely, some must see the folly of such suspicion. You are no less a victim than any other. Indeed, the killer seems determined to point all reproach in your direction—and I must confess, he has nearly succeeded. Had you not proven beyond doubt that you could not be the culprit, even I might have thought you capable of such things.”
Darcy’s brow lifted, his expression touched with ruefulness. “I am gratified you think better of me now. It was not so, I recall, when we met upon the walk after Bingley’s ball.”
Elizabeth coloured slightly. “Perhaps your first opinion of me at the Meryton assembly soured mine of you. After the first two murders, I allowed my prejudice to grow unchecked. And you must recall, sir, that I had already met Mr. Wickham, and listened far too readily to his tales.”
“You must allow me to apologise for my words at the Meryton assembly." Darcy's jaw tightened, though his voiceremained contrite. "The late Mr. Harper had made an unseemly remark to me concerning Miss Bingley. He was intoxicated, insistent upon some business schemes, and uncommonly importunate in his manner. My temper grew short with him, which drew the unwelcome attention of the company. When Bingley pressed me to dance, I felt all eyes already fixed upon me. My words to him were intended merely to discourage his insistence. In retrospect, they were ill-chosen and wholly undeserved by you."
Elizabeth's laugh, though soft, was genuine. "Not handsome enough to tempt me," she repeated in a mocking whisper.
"Pray forgive me.” His gaze caught hers, intent and unguarded. “I do not think of you so—I never did. In truth, your eyes were the very first thing I noticed upon entering that assembly.
Elizabeth's cheeks grew warm, and she turned her gaze quickly aside. "You are too kind, sir."
As if sensing her discomposure, Darcy altered the subject with gentle tact. "How does your sister fare?"
“Her fever broke this evening. With rest, I trust she will soon be well enough to return to Longbourn, though Mr. Jones—or perhaps his assistant—must first pronounce her fit for travel.”
“His assistant,” Darcy said quietly. “Mr. Reeds?”
Elizabeth looked at him with some surprise. “Yes, sir. Or does he employ another?”
“I only wondered why you did not name him directly. I recollect seeing you dance with him at Mr. Collins’s wedding. I assumed you were better acquainted.”
Elizabeth’s eyes widened at his words. Was that jealousy she heard? There was an edge in his voice that she couldn’t place. The notion startled her, yet she could not wholly dismiss it. “Mr. Reeds is but a polite neighbour—or dare I say, afriend. We were formally introduced at that wedding, and I have scarcely seen him since. He came only this morning to deliver the draught for Jane. Indeed, your sister entered the room just as he was leaving.”
