Page 33 of Penned By Mr Darcy
“I am going for a walk before breakfast.”
“Might I accompany you?”
When Elizabeth had first heard that Mr Collins had confided to their mother his intention to marry one of the Bennet sisters, she had been horrified. Now, such motivation provided her with a perfect reason to refuse his offer.
“It would not be proper, sir, to walk with a man so early in the morning – let alone without a proper chaperone. I am quite familiar with my surroundings. I know the grounds as well as I know myself. I often walk alone at such a time.”
“I see. I have not encountered a woman who is so bold in their endeavours, Miss Elizabeth – but exercise is good for the soul. Time in God’s creation, the exertion of the body and spirits; one cannot fail to be invigorated.”
“Quite. If you’ll excuse me, Mr Collins.”
She slipped away before he could engage her in any further conversation, darting through the door to the kitchen and slipping her beloved boots by the back door. Then, she was out – wrapped in the embrace of the crisp, late autumn air.
She left Longbourn as quickly as possible, lest Mr Collins find an excuse to waylay her and keep her within the respectable bounds of the garden. She slipped through the garden gate and out into the fields that surrounded the estate without a backwards glance.
She did not stop walking until she found herself staring at Netherfield from a distance. Here, she sat down in the damp grass against a tree, staring out.
If she had had the good sense to bring the diary with her, she might have feigned its discovery – Mr Darcy would know nothing of her deception, and she could continue her life without the terrible temptation to delve into the forbidden pages.
“Miss Elizabeth?”
A voice behind her startled her, and she turned quickly - almost guiltily - to see Mr Darcy atop his dark steed. She rose at once from the mossy bank where she had been seated, brushing her skirts with a swift, embarrassed hand. The morning mist had not yet lifted, and the imposing figure of horse and rider seemed almost spectral in the pale light.
“Mr Darcy,” she said, steadying her voice.
“It is barely eight,” he observed, dismounting with practiced ease.
His horse remained perfectly still, as regimented and as stoic as its master. Mr Darcy walked towards her, letting go of the reins and leaving his steed where it stood. She took a step back, her shoulders straightening.
“Yes,” she replied, uncertain whether it was accusation or concern in his tone.
“You should not be walking alone at such an hour.”
Her jaw tightened, irritated at the second man this morning who took it upon himself to tell her what she ought to do.
“I often do,” she said with a faint lift of her chin. “And you, sir, are out riding just as early.”
“Yes. I was…” He paused, avoiding her gaze as he led his horse a few steps closer. “I was looking for something.”
Her brows lifted slightly.
“Have you lost something?”
He hesitated, glancing away toward the woods.
“A book.”
“A book?” she echoed.
“My diary.”
A silence followed.
“You keep a diary?” she asked, her voice light and inquisitive, though her heart gave a sudden, guilty flutter.
“I have kept one since I was a boy,” he said, still not meeting her eyes. “I believe we have already discussed this in detail, Miss Elizabeth.”
“How did you come to lose such a thing all the way out here? We are far from Netherfield’s library.”
