Chapter 7
CLOUDS COVERED THE sky, though the mist above the lane had thinned since first light.
The hedgerow bordering Longbourn and Netherfield ran in a wavering line, its hawthorn stems still marked by the breach where sheep had pressed through several days before.
Elizabeth walked the lane with Sarah at her heel.
The dog’s black and white coat looked clean in the flat morning light.
The mud had dried along the edge, but the prints of hooves and the scuffed earth remained.
Elizabeth examined the gap as she passed.
The fallen fence board remained wedged across it, though the broken branches and churned sod showed where the sheep were forcing their way through.
At the spot where the hedge dipped to the ditch, Elizabeth paused beside a hawthorn trunk that leaned against the lowest fence rail.
The air smelled of moss and damp wool as she pressed one hand to the bark and tested the rail with the other.
Sarah waited beside her, watching her face, until Elizabeth felt both hold firm and straightened to brush the dirt from her skirt.
Sarah trotted forward, then paused, ears shifting.
Elizabeth followed the dog’s attention up the lane and saw a figure on horseback, the Netherfield chestnut moving at a slow walk.
Darcy sat motionless in the saddle. His coat was close cut, the color dark enough to be almost black.
Even at this distance, the polish on his boots and the even shine of the horse’s mane caught her eye.
He brought the horse forward at a walk, the reins in one hand.
His posture matched what Elizabeth remembered from the Meryton assembly, but his gaze moved over Sarah, the broken hedge, and her beside it.
He drew up a few paces away, dismounted, and looped the reins over the gatepost. His boots met the ground with a quiet thud, and the mud did not mark them.
Elizabeth felt Sarah move to her side, then a pace ahead, her body low and expectant. When she said, “Here,” the dog halted. Darcy’s gaze moved from Sarah to Elizabeth’s face, then to her hands, loose at her sides.
“Good morning, Miss Elizabeth,” he said.
“Good morning.” She adjusted the cuff of her glove, exposing the roughness at her knuckles. “I see the Netherfield pastures survived their invasion.”
“They did.” Amusement entered his voice. “The only casualty was a length of hedge, and your dog made quick work of the rest.”
“Then I am glad the trespass was temporary.”
Sarah stepped in a half-circle, her nose to the ground. Darcy kept his eyes on the animal.
“She seems well trained,” he said. “What is her breeding?”
“Her parents came from working stock in Scotland. Mr. Hart kept the best pup from the litter for us.”
Darcy smiled, though it did not reach his eyes. “She manages well. Some dogs need years to learn that sort of precision.”
“She required little teaching.” Elizabeth allowed the words to settle before adding, “When the work is clear, she manages without confusion.”
He studied her for a moment, then shifted his weight. “And when it is not?”
Elizabeth’s mouth turned, the ghost of a smile. “She finds some.”
Sarah, sensing the pause in conversation, came to heel and sat beside Elizabeth’s left boot. Darcy regarded the dog, then the woman, and seemed to find the resemblance worth noting.
“I did not mean to interrupt your walk,” he said. “I was riding the boundary to see what repairs the field needs.”
“It needs less than you were told,” Elizabeth said. “Longbourn’s hedges are not ornamental, but they hold.”
“Except where they do not,” Darcy said.
Elizabeth nodded. “There are some points of weakness.”
He glanced at the gap, the broken stems, the ground where she had knelt. “Your hands show the work.”
She flexed her fingers. “The fence does not mend itself.”
Darcy straightened. “I respect the approach. Not all landowners see the benefit in managing their own repairs.”
Elizabeth smiled. “My father prefers efficiency to idleness.”
He nodded, but his attention went to Sarah, who had begun to sniff the air in Darcy’s direction, tail at half-mast.
“I suppose she patrols this lane as often as you do.”
Elizabeth considered her answer. “She likes the boundaries. There is always something to chase or keep in order.”
“And you?” Darcy asked. “Do you walk this way every day?”
“I walk wherever it is useful.”
He seemed dissatisfied with the answer, but did not press. Instead, he looked past her to the far side of the hedge, where the field fell away in a gentle slope toward the distant river.
“Bingley intends to host a gathering when the weather improves. You will receive an invitation.”
She nodded. “Mama will not rest until the day arrives.”
He allowed the smile to return. “Then I expect we will see the best of Longbourn’s society.”
Elizabeth did not look away. “That is a modest hope. From what I saw at the assembly, Mr. Hurst’s appetite is difficult to rival.”
His expression shifted, and the laugh that followed was abrupt but genuine. “You noticed.”
Sarah, emboldened by the change in tone, moved ahead and paused at Darcy’s boot. She sniffed it once, then returned to Elizabeth’s side without being called.
“Is she always so obedient?” he asked.
“Only when she respects someone,” Elizabeth said. “She is cautious of strangers, and cannot tolerate those she does not trust.”
He looked at Sarah. “That is a useful quality.”
“For a dog, yes.”
Darcy studied the hedge, then ran his gloved hand along the gatepost, as if testing its grain. “You repaired the gap yourself?”
“I did what I could until we can replace the wood.”
He inspected her work. “It is sound.”
Elizabeth looked at the fence. “It is not ornamental.”
Darcy examined the wedged board once more before turning back to her. The morning’s light filtered through the bare hawthorn stems, landing in thin shadows on the ground between them.
“If you will excuse me,” Elizabeth said, “I must bring Sarah back to the house before she finds a scent to follow.”
He nodded. “I will not detain you.”
Elizabeth clicked her tongue twice. Sarah followed at her heel as she walked the lane, her stride brisk but not hurried. She did not turn as she passed the bend and disappeared behind the hedgerow.
Darcy remained at the gate, the reins slack in his hand as they passed from sight. He did not mount the horse or move from the spot, but looked after Elizabeth, the line of his body unmoving as the dog’s figure receded into the gray of the morning.
When she was gone, he took a breath and glanced at the hedge again. The gap, though braced and fixed, was visible from where he stood, and the dog’s prints marked the fresh crust of mud.
He released the reins from the post, mounted, and rode away at a pace slower than he had arrived. The sky above remained overcast, holding its color and its silence.