Chapter Three
Elizabeth strolled through the freshly harvested field that bordered the edge of Netherfield’s land.
Workers loaded the last of the harvest into wagons, tipping their hats to her as she walked by.
This little plot of land belonged to Longbourn and was the only spot where her family estate shared a border with Netherfield.
The late September day was warmer than in past years.
Elizabeth’s pelisse provided ample protection from the slight breeze that ruffled the curls peeking out of the side of her bonnet.
There was something about autumn’s approach that made her giddy, and she pulled in a deep breath, savoring the crispness in the air.
Carefully, she climbed a stile and meandered onto Netherfield’s lands.
Curiosity drove her forward, and she turned her steps toward the manor house.
Perhaps my new neighbor is there even now.
Had not the gossip stated Mr. Bingley would take possession before Michaelmas? Was Michaelmas not three days away?
The land here sloped gently downward, dotted with hawthorn bushes and the occasional ancient oak.
The grass had turned a gold-tinged green, shimmering under the warm afternoon light.
There was something peaceful—almost enchanted—about Netherfield in its solitude.
Even empty, the estate had the air of a place waiting for life to return to it.
She stopped on a small rise that looked out over the estate grounds.
Netherfield Park stood regally in the distance, the white stone glistening in the afternoon sunlight.
The drive was fully visible, and to her disappointment, quite empty.
She sighed and turned her steps back toward Longbourn.
It would not be proper to meet him without an introduction, she reasoned.
The sound of hoofbeats alerted her to someone’s approach, and she turned instinctively toward the noise. A man on a great black horse thundered toward her, reining in his mount as he approached. The beast tossed its head, seemingly displeased at having had its exercise curtailed.
Elizabeth took a step back, her heart pounding. Horses were not her favorite creatures, and she tried valiantly to school her features as the gentleman dismounted.
“Good day.” He doffed his hat, and Elizabeth almost gaped.
The man before her was the handsomest man she had ever beheld—tall, with dark curls and blue-green eyes.
His clothing attested that he was a gentleman, but not Mr. Bingley, if she had a guess.
Had not her aunt said Mr. Bingley had reddish hair?
“Good day, sir.” She dropped a curtsy, and he responded with a shallow bow. Suddenly tongue-tied, she glanced away, cursing her pounding heart and the flutters in her stomach that rendered her speechless.
“I seem to have become turned around on my ride,” he continued. “Might you point me toward London?”
Relieved at being given a way out of her befuddled state, Elizabeth nodded. “It is that way,” she replied, gesturing in the correct direction. “You are not so far off.” She smiled brightly, glad that her tongue had been loosed and that she now felt more at ease.
He paused, looking thoughtfully in the direction she indicated. “Ah. I must have followed a more…creative path than intended.” His voice held the barest hint of self-deprecating humor, so subtle she almost missed it.
“I thank you. May I ask who I have the pleasure of addressing?” His smile nearly disarmed her again. It went straight to his eyes, causing them to sparkle with good humor. “I realize this is untoward, but I would like to know.”
“My name is Elizabeth Bennet, sir. My father’s estate is that way.” She pointed toward Longbourn. “One of our fields abuts Netherfield Park, upon whose lands you now stand.”
“Yes, my friend has lately purchased the estate. He asked that I ride over it before he takes residence.” A cloud fell momentarily upon the man’s face before it cleared.
Elizabeth, observant as ever, noticed the shift—the tightening around his eyes, the brief press of his lips. Something troubled him about this place. Or perhaps about the friend who purchased it. Her curiosity flared, but she schooled her features into polite attentiveness.
“The neighborhood is very pleased that Netherfield will have a permanent resident,” she ventured, hoping they could return to the former ease of conversation.
“It is always better for an estate to be occupied continuously.” He murmured the words as if deep in thought.
“Forgive me—I have neglected to introduce myself. I am Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley in Derbyshire.” He bowed again.
“This beast is Nightshade, affectionately called Shade by myself and my sister. I am sorry he startled you.”
“It matters not, Mr. Darcy. Had your horse been five hands shorter, I still might have stepped back in fright. I fear I am not the best horsewoman, nor have I experience with the animals as most gentlewomen ought. Your apology is appreciated nonetheless.” Charming, conscientious, polite, and a gentleman.
Would this man accompany Mr. Bingley to his new estate? She certainly hoped so.
He nodded in understanding, patting his horse fondly on its neck. Nightshade snorted, stamping once as if to remind them he was still present and somewhat offended at this sudden pause.
Elizabeth smiled at the animal. “He seems rather spirited.”
Darcy’s lips twitched. “He would object to the word ‘spirited.’ He prefers magnificent.”
Elizabeth’s laughter bubbled out before she could stop it.
“How did you find the estate?” she asked, eager to keep his company for a few more moments if she could.
He frowned again. “It is sound enough, though there are certain repairs that will need attending as soon as may be.”
His tone, though measured, hinted at deeper frustration. His gaze drifted past her shoulder toward the fields beyond, as if calculating what repairs would cost and how quickly they must be done.
Something vexed the gentleman, and though Elizabeth wished to know, she could not prevail upon his confidence on so short an acquaintance. “We are eager to meet Mr. Bingley,” she said tentatively. “You said he is your friend?”
Mr. Darcy nodded. “Yes. I believe he plans to occupy the place in two days’ time. He will come alone for now, though his sister will keep house for him.”
Elizabeth smiled, pleased. “So, the rumors are true, then. He will arrive before Michaelmas.” She scuffed her foot a little, biting her tongue against the question that threatened to spring forth. Would Mr. Darcy accompany his friend?
“I shall join him in October,” he offered up without provocation. “My friend has never had the management of an estate before and wishes for my expertise.”
Her heart leaped. “Then I shall look forward to furthering our acquaintance. It is not very often that we have newcomers in the area. Your company will please a great many people.” And it would add another single man to their midst. The ladies would go distracted.
Mr. Darcy shifted awkwardly. “Given the…unusual manner of our acquaintance, I shall tell you honestly that I do not enjoy social functions. I am often not myself in sizable crowds. I ask your forgiveness in advance if I seem…taciturn and proud.” He looked rather chagrined.
“It is my habit to hide my uneasiness in company behind a stoic mask, and others often mistake it for pride or arrogance.” He paused for a moment before he continued.
“It would be a boon to have another who understands that—someone whom I need not worry would judge.”
Elizabeth blinked. Such honesty—unvarnished, humble, and deeply human—was not what she expected from a gentleman so handsome and imposing.
Her heart beat painfully for him. He sounded very much like Jane, though people often mistook her mask for complacency rather than a cover for her discomfort.
“Your secret is safe with me, sir. I shall help you feel at ease, if that is your wish. I am adept at managing prying questions and overly flirtatious ladies. My skills at societal conversation and small talk cannot be bested!”
His mouth curved up into a half smile. “Is that so, Miss Bennet? Then I have found a formidable ally.” He put his hat back on his head. “It has been a pleasure to make your acquaintance, but I fear I must depart if I am to reach London before nightfall.”
“Meryton has an inn if you are not of a mind to return to Town just yet.” The accommodations were likely not up to his standards, if his fine attire and expensive mount were anything to go by, but Elizabeth wished to prolong their discussion.
“I confess I had considered it.” He paused, staring into the distance. “It is best if I return, however. Bingley will be waiting for my word.”
“Then I shall have to be satisfied with our brief conversation.” She hoped she did not sound too forward. Mr. Darcy seemed like an amiable gentleman, and she was eager to know him better.
Mr. Darcy mounted his horse. “I bid you farewell until such time as I return to Hertfordshire, Miss Bennet. Thank you for the stimulating conversation…and the directions, of course.”
“Good day, Mr. Darcy.” She curtsied and watched as he nudged his mount into a trot. As he rode away, he glanced back at her once more, and she drew in a slow breath, steadying herself.
The future will be interesting indeed.
Elizabeth remained rooted to the spot long after Mr. Darcy disappeared behind a small copse of autumn-tinted trees.
The stillness of the countryside seemed suddenly alive—crackling with the possibility his presence had stirred within her.
A light breeze brushed her cheeks, carrying with it the faint scent of hay and distant wood-smoke, as though the world itself released a contented sigh at the meeting that had just transpired.