Page 11 of The Heroic Mr Darcy's Bad Manners
“Thank you, Father.”
Elizabeth ate a hearty breakfast before she rose, grabbed her bonnet from the ante room, and hastened out of the door.
The air was warm, and the sun was shining in a clear blue August sky. She set out at a brisk pace but soon realised there was no reason for haste and slowed her walk to a leisurely stroll. She passed the path leading to Oakham Mount, which would leave her too exposed to passers-by in her current attire, and chose to venture farther towards Netherfield. She had not walked that far since the previous year and thought it a splendid idea to see whether anything was amiss. Avoiding her exasperating sister for as long as possible was another incentive.
Uncle Henry had purchased Netherfield after his sister married the late Mr Bennet and had used it himself in the intervening years when he visited from Ireland. Recently, however, he had chosen to stay in London more and more, and although he had muttered about leasing the estate to someone who would occupy it, the event had never happened. Netherfield had stood empty now for nearly a year. A visit to the forsaken house would give her something to write about in the next letter to her grandmother. That would in turn oblige her to return a letter, and if fortune was on Elizabeth’s side, she would mention Mr Darcy.
It was to be hoped that he was searching for her, and making enquiries with Grandmother and Uncle Henry would be the best place to begin. If only they had remained in town… The heat, stench, and the return of undesirable acquaintances had unfortunately sent them packing to Áth Dara, and the chance of Mr Darcy travelling as far as Limerick to seek her out was slim to none.
No. Her best chance was that he had enquired about her to someone who kept a correspondence with her grandmother or with Uncle Henry.
Elizabeth’s inattention was about to cost her dearly. She was walking on an exposed path along the side of a pond when two gentlemen riders approached from afar. They had not noticed her yet because their heads were turned towards Netherfield House whilst pointing and gesticulating. There was something vaguely familiar about the posture of the taller gentleman that set her heart racing in her chest. Could it truly be Mr Darcy?
In the next blink of an eye, she remembered her dreadful attire, and the need to escape notice was of the utmost importance.
Of course, there was only one place that would conceal her whereabouts but also offer an unobstructed view…
It was a decent scheme that struck her as her only choice, but it came at a price, and in this instance, it was her dignity that would suffer. It was neither proper nor wise, but she flattered herself that she was quite proficient, albeit out of practice. It must have been ten years since she had last climbed a tree. Yet, it was better than to be caught in this hideous, ill-fitting dress. A copse beckoned, and she ran until she reached a low-hanging branch and hauled herself up into the protection of the dense verdure. Her skirt caught and ripped as she climbed, but she did not have time to be cautious.
When she could no longer see more than a glimpse of the ground below, she deemed herself safe enough and found a sturdy branch to sit on with a picturesque view of the pond. The glance down made her cling to the trunk in sheer fright. She closed her eyes and willed her breathing to slow and her racing heart to calm. This had been a terrible idea. Heights had not bothered her at ten, but age had obviously made her fearful. The gentlemen were closing in, and she had better remain in her precarious position or face mortifying embarrassment. Between the two choices, a potential fall did not intimidate her quite so much as falling in Mr Darcy’s esteem. She had made her bed and must lie in it, but for the fact that she was sitting, and most uncomfortably so. If only she had had the wherewithal to position herself astride the branch, that would certainly have made her feel safer than she was now. She tucked her skirt under her bottom as the colour did not blend well with the trunk.
She could hear their voices, and they had moved close enough for her to distinguish their words.
“If you decide upon Netherfield, you will have to mend the fences first. Especially if your intention of breeding horses comes to pass. It would cost you dearly if one should escape. I wonder at the value of the endeavour if you will not be able to purchase the property in the not-too-distant future, though.”
Elizabeth would have recognised that voice in a chorus of a hundred people. It was Mr Darcy, and he spoke as if his friend was interested in leasing Netherfield. Uncle Henry must finally have put the property for let.
But why here of all places? Mr Darcy must have discovered her whereabouts and had come to find her under the guise of adviser to a friend looking for an estate. How clever of him to arrive with such a plausible excuse. He had thought about everything and made certain they could become better acquainted without raising too much suspicion in the neighbourhood. She was not surprised; the gentleman she had encountered at the Argyll Rooms was intellectually superior to everyone she had ever met.
“I agree. Mr Phillips answered evasively when I enquired. I shall not move forward with my business before I know for certain that a purchase is possible, but that will not prevent me from leasing the place. What do you say, Darcy. Do you approve?”
Elizabeth held her breath in anticipation. Mr Darcy’s reply would say much about his future plans—and his intentions towards her in particular.
“The house is modern and well kept, it is an easy distance from London, and the location is excellent for your purpose.”
Elizabeth’s heart soared in joy. The giddiness forced her to compose herself and to quash the desire to laugh. If she had not been caught in such an embarrassing situation, she would have scrambled down the trunk, welcomed him to Hertfordshire, and congratulated him on his astuteness. A quick glance towards the ground revealed a head of dark hair directly beneath her, and she prayed he would not look up or she would surely be discovered. The foliage was by no means rich enough to conceal her from below.
“It is a terribly warm day,” his friend lamented.
“Bingley!” Mr Darcy barked.
For reasons unknown to Elizabeth, he was not amused, but at least she now knew the name of his friend. It might prove a useful piece of information in the future.
“Oh, come on! Our survey is done, and it is sweltering out here. May I remind you that we have been riding since the sun broke the horizon?”
“We enjoyed a pleasant respite at Mr Phillips’s office,” Mr Darcy said.
“If you prefer to reek of sweat and horse while we ride back to London, I cannot help it. But I prefer the pleasant odour of water lilies and reeds above the foul stench I smell at the moment.”
“What if someone happens to see us?” Mr Darcy protested.
“And who would that be?” Mr Bingley’s voice heightened in exasperation. “According to Phillips, it is two miles from Netherfield to Meryton, and we are at least half a mile from the house.”
“Netherfield abuts other estates…”
Mr Darcy must be speaking about Longbourn, Elizabeth surmised, and it pleased her that he had taken the trouble to find her home.
“There is only Longbourn village on this side of the estate, and it is more than two miles west. I dare say the only person we might encounter is Mr Bennet surveying his boundary, and we have nothing he has not seen before. As for the reputed beautiful daughters, I seriously doubt any of them would walk this far.”
