“Miss Bennet?” Darcy asked, his spoon clanging against his saucer. Why was the middle daughter visiting?
“Miss Jane Bennet. She is the eldest daughter of the Bennet family,” Penn said woodenly.
Darcy stared at him. Jane Bennet? Here? “Why was she visiting? Has something else occurred?”
Penn gave him a curious look. “Something else, sir? To my knowledge, she was visiting Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst.”
Darcy’s eyes widened. Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst were in residence and had deigned to see Miss Bennet—that did not harmonise with the exalted status they held in their own minds, nor their lack of compassion. “They are in residence?”
“Mr. Darcy, are you quite sure you are all right?” Penn’s fingers twitched as though about to test Darcy’s brow for fever—the hazards of having a manservant who had been with Darcy for more than a decade. “Perhaps you have caught the same illness as Miss Bennet. Talk below stairs is that her fever has climbed.”
Darcy shook his head. “I am well.”
“Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst arrived at the same time you did, sir.”
How was that possible? He had been at Darcy House the night before and Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst had apparently been here—yet they had arrived at the same time? Had he somehow lost days? His headache throbbed. If he was not suffering from the aftereffects of a night of drinking, perhaps he had been ill?
He glanced around the room, trying to note something that would anchor him to the date, but nothing was forthcoming. Nor would he have access to a newspaper until after breakfast.
Darcy turned back to Penn. “What day is it?”
“November 13th, sir.” he replied, his voice full of concern.
Darcy turned back to the window. Six weeks. It had been six weeks since Bingley had arrived in London with news of the Bennets. But why had he returned to Netherfield? It seemed the last place either of them would wish to be—it was a question only Bingley could answer. And how had he forgotten the last six weeks? Perhaps a ride would be just the thing to clear his mind. “I believe I will go for a ride this morning.”
“Are you certain you are well?” Penn asked.
The concern was both unusual in a valet and impertinent—yet valet and master had been together for so long that Penn was entirely justified in such a query. Darcy still remembered when the young man had become his valet shortly before George Darcy’s death. Both had lost their fathers and, in Penn, Darcy had found a staunch supporter and, in many ways, an aide-de-camp. Penn accompanied Darcy into every household he visited and provided assistance with whatever muddle Darcy found himself in.
Darcy nodded. “I am fit, merely a bit disoriented this morning. A good ride is just what I need to brush the cobwebs from my sleep-befuddled mind.”
“Very well, sir.” Penn moved to the wardrobe and began arranging Darcy’s riding breeches on one of the chairs.
Darcy fixed his coffee and moved to the window. Dew sparkled below like the facets of a diamond. The day was indeed fine weather for riding. Hopefully, a ride would be just the thing to sort him out.
Astride Apollo, Darcy urged his steed into a steady canter, directing him onto pathways that led towards Longbourn. He had no desire to see Collins, nor to reach the buildings. A Longbourn without Elizabeth was no Longbourn. But he could not stay away. He had to ride these pathways, paths she might have walked. It was the closest he could get to her.
A flash of yellow caught his eye. Through the trees he could make out a woman striding towards him. He urged Apollo to his left, moving into a copse of trees, hoping to get out of sight.
The woman came into view. Dark wisps had escaped her chignon, and her cheeks glowed from exertion. Sturdy walking boots completed the picture of a country maid.
Darcy’s chest ached. This woman reminded him of Elizabeth, tramping her way from Longbourn to Netherfield. Apollo whinnied, and the woman halted. She glanced towards the trees Darcy hid behind.
“I see you, sir,” the woman said. “You are trespassing. I suggest you leave this area at once.”
Darcy dismounted and led Apollo forward. “Good morning—” his breath caught in his throat. She was the image of Elizabeth.
“Mr. Darcy!” the woman exclaimed. “I did not think to meet you this morning.”
Darcy remained dumb, his eyes tracing her features.
“I am coming to Netherfield to inquire after my sister Jane. Perhaps you have heard news of her condition?”
Darcy’s limbs shook. “Elizabeth?” he whispered.
The woman arched an eyebrow. “I have not given you leave to use my Christian name, sir.”
Darcy took a shaky breath. “Forgive me, Miss Elizabeth,” he murmured automatically. What manner of spectre was this?
Elizabeth nodded. “Have you news of my sister?”
Darcy hesitated, then gave a short nod. This—ghost believed Miss Bennet was at Netherfield, and he could not bear to dispel the illusion. Even if they only talked of commonplaces until she disappeared into the netherworld, he would cherish the moment. “My valet informed me she is ill with a cold.”
“So said Jane’s note.” Elizabeth sighed, then gave him a polite smile. “I will continue to Netherfield to see her for myself.”
“I would expect no less of you,” Darcy said, his lips quirked up. “I was about to turn around,” he fibbed. “May I accompany you?”
Elizabeth pursed her lips, looking past Darcy to his steed. “And lead your horse?”
Ignoring her hint, Darcy patted Apollo affectionately. “He will be quite content to follow us.” Darcy dropped the reins. “Apollo, heel.” Daringly, he held out an arm for Elizabeth.
Reluctantly, Elizabeth took it.
Darcy suppressed a start as her fingers rested on his arm. Pressure. Warmth. This was no phantom—at least not of any sort he had heard of. He walked forward, Elizabeth’s scent filling his senses, leaving him almost giddy. Recalling her instructions at Rosings to practice small talk, he cast about for a topic of conversation, preferably one that would provide information. “Have you been to London recently?”
Elizabeth shot him a puzzled look. “No, not since January.”
Darcy suppressed a frown. Not since January. Had this—whatever she was—forgotten the trip that had resulted in her death? “And how is the rest of your family?”
“Well,” Elizabeth said.
Darcy missed her witty banter. He was tempted to bait her just to see her reaction. But no, the sharp-edged banter had been evidence of dislike. And her short answers indicated discomfort. She had clearly preferred to walk on her own, but he could not acquiesce to her wishes—not when it meant leaving her. “I was sorry to hear of your sister’s illness. Being sick in someone else’s house is never comfortable.”
Elizabeth’s gaze whipped towards his face as though shocked. She studied him, measuring his sincerity. “Have you much experience with such circumstances?”
“Only a little.” Darcy hesitated, then plunged ahead. “I rarely stay at someone else’s home. Though I have begun to work on being more approachable, I have few friends. It is difficult to tell whether someone is desirous of a friendship or a connection to the Darcy name.”
Elizabeth arched an eyebrow. “Are so many people fawning over you? I would have thought your—aloofness would shield you against such interlopers.”
Darcy’s lips quirked up. Direct as always, yet so sweetly done that he could not take offense—he doubted anyone could. “Perhaps among honest country folk. In the ton, however, amiability is not a necessary virtue in one who may raise your status.”
“Honest country folk?” Elizabeth repeated. “I had thought you a town gentleman at heart.”
“I am a gentleman farmer at heart, as attached to my land as you are, no doubt, to yours.”
“Mr. Darcy, I find your character difficult to sketch. Such a response seems out of character for you.”
Darcy smiled. “Perhaps you have not had the requisite ti
me to sketch my character.”
“Perhaps. One might argue that a month, after all, is not so very long,” Elizabeth reasoned.
Darcy’s chest clenched. A month? This Elizabeth had never received his proposal. Nor had she been to Netherfield. He started. Of course! This Elizabeth believed the Miss Jane Bennet sick at Netherfield was the same who had been sick the first time. Had Miss Bennet’s—or whatever her married name was—arrival triggered some phantom to attempt the part of Elizabeth, thus repeating events as they had occurred?
“You disagree?” Elizabeth asked.
Darcy cleared his throat. “Not at all. One may begin a rough study of another’s character from the moment they meet, however, to complete a more accurate representation requires a length of time. Do you enjoy character study then?”
“It is something of a hobby. People change so much that there is always something to observe.”
“Rather like watching crops grow,” Darcy agreed. “I never tire of riding my fields in the spring when every day brings some new change.”
Elizabeth shot him another puzzled look. “Do you often ride through your fields?”
“One must—to see what problems need addressed.”
“Does not your steward inform you of difficulties?”
“He does, however, I like to see with my own eyes. We all have our particular interests and sensitivities. One of my hobbies is innovation. I cannot know what may benefit from change if I am not intimately familiar with the land. Familiarity with my land allows me to immediately notice pertinent information.”
Elizabeth remained silent, and Darcy gave her space as he tried to decipher what was occurring. Penn had informed him of Miss Bennet’s illness. Now that he considered the matter, he did not understand. If Jane Bennet were married to her uncle’s clerk, Penn would not have used her maiden name. Furthermore, the matter of where he had been last night remained unresolved. When Miss Bennet had been sick at Netherfield the first time, he, Bingley, and Hurst had dined with the officers. The facts remained clear in his memory—largely due to Bingley’s complaints about how his sisters had invited Miss Bennet to dine with them when they knew he would not be present.
Miss Bingley, however, would never throw her brother together with Miss Bennet, regardless of any protestations of fondness on her part. The woman was determined to gain permanent entrance to the first circles of the ton—something Miss Bennet could not help her with.
Though he was aware of Miss Bingley’s position, Darcy had suggested to his friend that Bingley’s sisters might wish to get to know Miss Bennet free of Bingley’s influence.
And now Elizabeth claimed they had known each other for but a month, rather than the year he had known her. Though he hadn’t seen her since Easter, they had met in October at the assembly. Well, he hadn’t met her—he had seen her. And been abominably rude. He had never apologised for that insult. Only later had it occurred to him that she might have heard him, a fact that left him flushed with embarrassment. He ought to have been a gentleman. Elizabeth had been so right to call him to task for his pride and selfish disdain.
He would never have the opportunity to apologise now. He glanced down at Elizabeth, her face a study in concentration. If only she were his Elizabeth. If only she were more than a pale shadow of a memory, more than the phantom she must be. He tightened his arm, drawing her closer to himself. Not polite, but oh how he longed to continue holding this woman to him. Would she vanish when they reached Netherfield? Or would the phantom remain until Jane Bennet healed?
How much time did he have? Hours? Days? Or only seconds?
Apollo nickered as Darcy slowed.
Elizabeth glanced up at him. “Are you well, Mr. Darcy?”
Darcy forced a smile, a hundred answers racing through his brain. He was in agony and ecstasy. The woman he loved was at his side and dead. Exquisite pain filled every moment as his senses swam with her presence. Though she was here, he would lose her all over again. “Yes, Miss Elizabeth. Just a touch tired. Mr. Bingley and I were up rather late.”
Elizabeth nodded as though unsurprised, and Darcy forced himself to continue his previous pace. His heartbeats counted out the moments until she would vanish, much like the beats counted down the moments of his life. Years, days, did it matter? Perhaps he was as good as dead without her alive?
Georgiana’s face flashed through his mind. No, she needed him, as did many others under his care. He would remain steadfast. Now was not the moment to wallow in loss, not when he could be storing up memories. Darcy stole glances at Elizabeth, noting the way her hair shone in the sun and the few freckles that sprinkled her nose and cheeks, evidence of her time outside.
The frown of concentration did not leave her face as they walked in silence.
Apollo pushed forward, nuzzling at Darcy’s back as though he had hidden sugar cubes there. Darcy stumbled and caught himself. “Apollo!” he admonished.
Elizabeth giggled. “May I ask why ‘Apollo’?”
“Because he is the light of my life?” Darcy suggested with a hidden smile.
Elizabeth stared at him.
Darcy chuckled. “Georgiana, my fifteen-year-old sister, was reading the classics. I allowed her to name our newly borne foal, and, as he had been born at dawn and”—Darcy indicated a splotch of white on Apollo’s left shoulder—“she thought this similar to a musical note, she chose the name ‘Apollo.’ ”
Elizabeth eyed the splotch dubiously.
“Yes. I do not see it either, but she insisted Apollo had been marked from birth with light and music.”
“I suppose that is an appropriate name for such a horse.”
“So I am told.”
As they approached the rear of the stables, the scents of horses wafted towards them. Elizabeth tugged her hand free, ensuring a decorous distance between Darcy and her.
“Mr. Darcy!” a groom said, dropping a shovel to touch his hat.
Darcy sent him a small smile. The staff here knew he was apt to run with Apollo until it was almost too late to eat breakfast. Returning so quickly was quite out of the ordinary.
The groom turned and saw Elizabeth. “Miss Elizabeth,” he said, touching his hat.
Darcy started. He had not expected anyone but him to see Elizabeth. He would never have tried to rid himself of such a hallucination, but he had expected that she would not be real to anyone but him.
“Tommy,” she said with a smile. “How is Annika? I haven’t been to see your mother the past few days.”
“She’s all right, ma’am. My mum let her go outside yesterday mornin’.” He glanced up at the sky. “Looks to be fair today so she’ll prob’ly be up and about.”
“I’m glad to hear it.”
Tommy took Apollo from Darcy.
“Thank you, Tommy,” Darcy said. He had always treated his servants well, but after attending to Elizabeth’s reproofs, he began to use the small courtesies even with those outside his employ. They were, after all, people too. And everyone worked harder when they were noticed and appreciated.
Darcy noted another sideways glance from Elizabeth.
“Shall we?” Mr. Darcy said, gesturing towards the house.
“As it is so early, I believe I will speak to Mrs. Winters, the housekeeper, first,” Elizabeth said.
Darcy glanced up at the sun. “Breakfast shall be served soon—the Bingleys and Hursts will be available shortly.”
Elizabeth nodded. “It would be rude to demand their presence without ascertaining their availability first.” She gave a small sigh. “I had not intended to arrive so early.”
Darcy’s chest twinged. She had rushed her walk in order to escape his presence. A hundred details had testified to her dislike yet he had been oblivious, so convinced of his worth as a potential suitor that he had implied flirtation where there had only been animosity.
They walked up to the house, Elizabeth aiming towards the servants’ entrance. Darcy hesitated but followed her. He had never entered through the
servants’ door at Netherfield; however, he could not bear to leave Elizabeth yet—not until the last possible moment.
Elizabeth seemed familiar with the house, her strong steps striding without pause. How did she know it so well? Had previous occupants been companions of hers?
“Has Tommy been a stable boy here for long?” Darcy asked.
Elizabeth turned wide eyes on him. “I am certain he is doing an exemplary job.”
Darcy nodded. “He has done so for me. I was merely curious how you knew him.”
“Fraternising with the servants,” Elizabeth muttered under her breath.
What must she think of him if she believed he cared so little about servants? It was she who had taught him that all people were valuable—all different, all unique with unique stories and concerns. The world had become a much larger place once he heeded her suggestion to practice, once he became a man who tried to put others at ease rather than standing back and demanding to be pleased.
“Pardon?” Darcy asked, certain he wasn’t supposed to have heard her comment.
“His mother is one of our tenants,” Elizabeth said clearly.
“I see.” So Elizabeth visited the tenants. How had he dismissed her as being unworthy to be mistress of Pemberley? She was eminently capable of the duties and responsibilities of the position, despite the larger scale of Pemberley. Beyond that, she was the love of his life.
Upon reaching the servants’ entrance, Elizabeth knocked and one of the maids let her in. Elizabeth bestowed a bright smile on her, asking how the girl’s mother was and admitting she had come to see her sister, but thought she ought to pay her respects to the Bingleys first and so wished to speak with Mrs. Winters. The girl bustled off, while Darcy stood awkwardly, attempting to keep the blush from his cheeks. Servants gawked at him as though his presence were a greater marvel than an airship. Perhaps it was.
Darcy cleared his throat. “I shall take my leave,” he said to Elizabeth, unwilling to leave this apparition, but knowing he ought to change into proper breakfast clothing. If he hurried, he might arrive in the breakfast-parlour at the same time as Elizabeth—if the ghost remained or the dream continued, whatever the source of Elizabeth’s presence. He bowed over her hand. “Thank you for your company this morning. I enjoyed our conversation and hope you find your sister in better health.”
A Vision of the Path Before Him Page 2
