Chapter 8
Afternoon Breeze
Elizabeth was better prepared the next time she saw Mr. Darcy. But barely so.
“Goodness!” She yelped when he appeared beside her on the garden bench the very next afternoon. Then she harrumphed in indignation as she looked at him.
“I apologize for startling you, Miss Bennet.” The tips of his ears were turning red. Elizabeth wondered at that. But then sighed.
“Well, I suppose, you cannot help it.”
It was a lazy afternoon with the sun slanting across the west side of the parsonage, illuminating the dun brick walls and wooden window frames. Charlotte's peony bushes looked exceptionally beautiful in the light. As did Mr. Collins’ vegetable garden a little further away.
Elizabeth had come outside to sit on the bench in the shade and read a book. Well… she could hardly read now. Not with Mr. Darcy sitting beside her. She shut the book with a snap.
“The dream persists,” she said, turning her full attention to him.
He gave her a wry smile. “Unfortunately.”
They were silent for a moment.
“Have you wondered why you are… the way you are?” Elizabeth could feel her cheeks heating as she fixed her gaze on his face.
The slight translucency of his features against the sunlight was not enough to hide the handsomeness of his features. His dark, expressive eyes. The slightly arrogant, roman nose. The sharp line of his jaws with the perfectly groomed sideburns. Elizabeth looked away quickly.
“I do not know,” Mr. Darcy said.
“Perhaps you have some unfinished business?” she hedged.
“I cannot imagine what that might be.”
“Well, since you are at Rosings…” she said. “Might it have something to do with Lady Catherine?”
Mr. Darcy visibly grimaced. “I do not think so.”
“How about your cousin? Miss de Bourgh,” she asked. “I heard you were to marry her.”
He shook his head. An annoyed flush appeared on his face. “That is a figment of my aunt’s imagination.” Then he sighed. “It does not explain why I can only see you.”
Their eyes met and held.
Elizabeth could feel her cheeks heating even more. She cleared her throat and stared at the book in her hand. The two of them were silent for the longest time, with only the sound of rustling leaves and the occasional chirp of an afternoon bird.
“What if I wrote a letter to your cousin?” she asked suddenly.
Mr. Darcy looked surprised. “My cousin?”
“I meant Colonel Fitzwilliam. We could find out what happened to you.”
He was silent for a moment longer.
And then he fixed his gaze on her again. There was a deep sadness in them.
“I am willing to try anything,” he said softly.
Elizabeth felt her heart twist in her chest.
“And perhaps, once we find out…” Mr. Darcy continued. “I would be much obliged to you, Miss Bennet, if you could write a letter to my sister for me.”