Six
Oakham Mount
Darcy
Since arriving in Hertfordshire, the farthest Darcy had ventured was the east end of Netherfield's gardens.
There had been no occasion to go farther, for he had found there all the solitude he wanted, the household, Bingley excepted, having settled quickly into the habit of leaving him to himself.
Following the events of the previous evening, however, he rode out that morning with no particular destination in mind, only a restlessness that made the house, and everyone presently within it, intolerable to remain near.
He had lain awake a considerable while turning over the look upon Miss Elizabeth Bennet's face as she walked away from him, and had found no version of the memory that improved upon repetition.
He had spoken more harshly than he believed any gentleman ought.
It was true the remark had been intended for Bingley's ears alone.
His friend had only sought to persuade him towards an acquaintance Darcy had resolved, before ever entering the assembly, not to encourage.
Yet the discouragement had not been meant for Bingley alone.
The recollection of Miss Harwood, followed too closely by Miss Harper, remained too fresh in his mind for him to risk encouraging another attachment.
If distance could spare Miss Elizabeth Bennet whatever misfortune had attended the others, then distance was the kinder course.
He had never intended her to overhear him. That distinction, however, afforded little comfort. Whatever his reasons, he had wounded an innocent lady, and no private justification lessened the impropriety of it.
The remainder of the night had been spent upon another question altogether.
Who was the unseen enemy who had worked so quietly against him these past five years?
He had spent no small part of the night searching his memory for anyone who might reasonably wish him ill.
A handful of names presented themselves only to be discarded almost at once.
Minor disputes. Old resentments. Injured pride.
None possessed the weight to explain what Grey believed had been done, nor what Darcy himself had begun to fear.
One name, more than any other, lingered in his thoughts.
Yet even that refused to satisfy him. By his own reckoning, these reverses had begun some five years before, though he had not thought to connect them until scarcely six months ago.
The gentleman he now found himself considering had not, at that time, been anything approaching an enemy.
Men quarrelled. They did not ordinarily make a life's work of another man's ruin.
It was with this unfinished reckoning still turning in his mind that Darcy rose before the household was properly stirring and called for his horse. He wanted nothing so much as to be out of the house and away from his own thoughts, though he carried the greater part of them with him regardless.
For the better part of an hour he gave his horse its head, paying little attention to the road. Left to its own inclination, the animal carried him some considerable distance from Netherfield along a track he did not recognise.
At length the land began to rise. He drew rein before a low, grassy hill standing somewhat apart from the gentler country around it.
On an impulse he dismounted, left his horse to crop the grass at the foot of the slope, and began to climb.
If the summit offered nothing more than a wider view of the countryside, it might at least place some distance, however illusory, between himself and everything he had left behind at the house.
The morning was clear enough that the effort rewarded him.
Hertfordshire spread out beneath him in every direction, hedgerows dividing broad fields, church spires rising above clusters of trees, and the smoke of distant chimneys curling quietly into the autumn air.
None of it was familiar. None of it cared in the least for the troubles he had brought with him.
He stood for some time with his hands clasped behind his back, allowing the breeze to cool the weariness a sleepless night had left upon him. He had very nearly persuaded himself the climb had been worth the trouble when footsteps sounded upon the path below.
A figure appeared, ascending with the brisk, unhesitating step of someone well acquainted with the ground and wholly unaware of the company awaiting her.
She looked up.
Then stopped.
There was no mistaking her, even at that distance, and Darcy felt something tighten within him that had nothing to do with the climb. For one brief moment he imagined she might turn back rather than continue towards him.
She did not.
Instead, she came steadily onwards, her chin held with quiet resolution, until only a few paces separated them.
Elizabeth inclined her head. "Good morning, Mr. Darcy."
Darcy opened his mouth to answer her, only to discover that every word he had rehearsed during the night, against the chance that he might again find himself in Miss Bennet's company, had deserted him entirely.
~
Elizabeth
Elizabeth Bennet woke with rather less anger than she had carried to bed the night before, though she suspected this owed more to a good night's sleep than to any real change in her opinion of Mr. Darcy.
She had resolved not to think about the disrespectful gentleman, but her mother had made such moderation difficult.
Before the assembly had even broken up, Mrs. Long had somehow contrived to repeat a sizeable portion of Mr. Darcy's slight to Mrs. Bennet—though Elizabeth could not imagine how she had heard it, for she did not remember the lady standing anywhere near enough to overhear the conversation herself.
By the time the carriage reached Longbourn, Mrs. Bennet had recounted the story so often, lamented Mr. Darcy's behaviour so loudly, and congratulated Elizabeth so repeatedly upon escaping a dance with him, that Elizabeth believed she might have delivered the whole speech herself, complete with every indignation and exclamation.
It had been a small mercy that her father had already retired for the night.
Elizabeth had escaped to bed grateful to postpone his inevitable questions until morning, only to wake knowing breakfast would undoubtedly furnish him with every particular her mother had failed to exhaust the evening before.
Hoping to reach the breakfast table in rather better spirits, she dressed, buttoned her pelisse against the morning air, and set out along her favourite path.
Exercise had always succeeded where brooding failed, and she generally found her thoughts arranged themselves far better in motion than they ever did sitting still.
Beyond wondering what her father had perceived in Mr. Darcy to describe him as a gentleman carrying a burden, and whether such a burden could excuse his conduct at the assembly, she found there was little else to occupy her thoughts.
Before long, the quiet of the morning and the familiar beauty of the countryside reclaimed her attention.
By the time she reached the foot of Oakham Mount, she had almost persuaded herself the whole affair signified little enough to deserve no further consideration.
Mr. Darcy had formed a poor opinion of her looks and been careless enough to say so within her hearing.
It was unmannerly, certainly, but hardly the conduct of the worst of men.
She had known sharper insults delivered with considerably more intention.
A horse stood cropping the grass at the foot of the hill, saddled and left to itself. Elizabeth slowed, wondering idly which of the neighbouring farmers had left his mount while attending to some business on foot. The thought passed almost as quickly as it came.
Oakham Mount was seldom visited at so early an hour, which was one reason it had long been a favourite walk. She had nearly reached the summit before she became aware she was not alone.
A gentleman stood some distance ahead with his back towards her, gazing across the countryside. At the sound of her footsteps, he turned.
Elizabeth stopped, a sudden warmth rising to her cheeks.
Mr. Darcy.
Of all the people she might have expected to encounter upon Oakham Mount, he was assuredly the last. Why was he there? And why did he look at her with such an odd expression.
Questions crowded upon one another so quickly that she scarcely knew which to consider first.
Her first inclination was to turn back the way she had come.
Nothing in his expression suggested he had expected her any more than she had expected him, and Oakham Mount was no more her private domain than it was his.
Yet she had no particular wish to spend the better part of her morning in the company of the gentleman who had declared her not handsome enough to tempt him.
She hesitated only a moment.
Some contrary spirit, the same which had carried her from the assembly room the previous evening with her dignity still intact, refused to surrender the hill merely because Mr. Darcy happened to stand upon it first. Besides, curiosity, once awakened, was not so easily dismissed.
Was he truly as disagreeable as first impressions suggested, or had she happened to encounter him at his very worst?
She found she would rather know than continue wondering.
She walked on.
"Good morning, Mr. Darcy."
For a heartbeat he only looked at her, all composure abandoned before he mastered himself once more.
"Miss Bennet." He inclined his head. "Good morning."
For an instant it seemed he meant to leave it there. Elizabeth herself was determined to walk past. She had achieved her aim of not giving him the satisfaction of seeing her retreat a second time.
Elizabeth was determining to begin walking away when, he drew a quiet breath and began speaking.
"Miss Bennet... I owe you an apology." He removed his hat and held it before him.
Elizabeth stopped. For a moment she could only stare at him. Of all the things she had expected Mr. Darcy to say, an apology had not numbered among them.
“What I said last evening ought never to have been spoken. It was unkind, and I have regretted it ever since I discovered you had heard me.”
“Ever since you discovered?” Elizabeth repeated, a faint crease appearing between her brows.
His expression altered at once. “That was poorly said. I did not mean that I regretted it only because you overheard me.” He glanced aside, seeming to search for words which would not further worsen his offence.
“Bingley was determined that I should dance, and I was equally determined that he should leave me in peace. I spoke without consideration, choosing the first answer that I believed would end the matter.”
“And did it?”
“For the moment.” His mouth tightened with something very near self-reproach. “At rather too great a cost.”
Elizabeth had not expected that answer. Neither had she expected him to appear so thoroughly uncomfortable beneath her scrutiny.
“I did not think you beneath my notice, Miss Bennet,” he continued. “I had resolved not to encourage an acquaintance with any lady, and in my impatience, I made you bear the insult of that decision. It was unjust, and I ought to have apologised before leaving the assembly.”
Elizabeth searched his face almost against her own inclination. She had expected pride, perhaps embarrassment, even some polished excuse intended to make his conduct appear reasonable. Instead, his explanation had made him look rather worse, and he seemed perfectly willing to endure it.
“I confess,” she said at last, “I had not expected the matter to trouble you so greatly.”
“It has troubled me a great deal.”
"That is a handsomer apology than I expected, sir. Most gentlemen would have trusted a lady to forget the insult before they remembered it themselves."
The corner of his mouth lifted very slightly.
"I do not believe that would have improved my character. Only my comfort."
She laughed, almost despite herself. It was a brief sound, but genuine, and she fancied she saw some measure of the strain leave his countenance.
"Then I accept your apology, Mr. Darcy."
"You are very generous."
"I would not go so far as generosity." She smiled faintly. "Only that you have made it exceedingly difficult to continue thinking quite so poorly of you."
Something eased in his expression. "I am relieved to hear it."
Elizabeth hesitated. She had intended to take her leave the moment the apology was made, yet curiosity had quietly displaced every earlier resolution. Mr. Darcy had revealed just enough of himself to make the mystery of him rather more compelling than before.
"Your words and countenance at the assembly gave everyone in Meryton a very decided opinion of you," she said. "My father, however, formed quite another."
His brows lifted. "Indeed?"
"He thought you a gentleman carrying a burden that would naturally lead others to misunderstand you. I begin to think he judged you more justly than the rest of us."
For several moments Darcy said nothing. His gaze drifted beyond her to the valley below before returning. "Your father judged me more accurately than I imagined."
She waited, expecting him to explain himself.
He did not.
Whatever burden he carried, it plainly belonged to a confidence neither of them had yet earned.
"Forgive me," she said with a small smile. "I ought not to have repeated it."
"No." He shook his head. "I am glad that you did."
They regarded one another in an unexpected silence, far less uncomfortable than the one which had greeted their meeting only minutes before.
At length Elizabeth glanced towards Longbourn.
"I ought to return home. If I delay much longer, my mother will conclude I have been carried off."
The hint of amusement returned to his face.
"Then I should not wish to be held responsible for the alarm."
She laughed softly. "Good morning, Mr. Darcy."
"Good morning, Miss Bennet."
Elizabeth had gone only a few paces before she paused and looked back.
"I generally favour this walk of a morning," she said with studied carelessness. "Perhaps we shall not be obliged to begin with apologies should we meet again."
For the first time since she had known him, his reserve gave way to an unmistakable smile.
"I sincerely hope not."
She returned the smile with one of her own before inclining her head and continuing down the path.
As she walked towards Longbourn, she found herself wondering not whether she had misjudged Mr. Darcy, but by how much.