The next Sunday provided Darcy with an unforeseen opportunity. After church, when the entire Bennet family returned home, each individual fatigued and irritable due to Mr. Collin's continued presence, Darcy ignored breakfast and instead engaged in one of Elizabeth's famous nature walks.

He sidestepped Jane's worrying looks, and sticking two scones in his pocket, retied Elizabeth's worn boots and hurried to be outside.

"That's our girl," Mr. Bennet said aloud to no one in particular before he slipped outside. "It is good to see Lizzie back to her walks."

Darcy tried not to flinch, as he loathed anyone commenting on his person or whereabouts, although the elder Bennet was within his rights to comment on his favored child. But Mr. Bennet was not quite the preposterous man Darcy thought him to be upon first introduction.

Darcy lengthened his strides as he headed past the barn and away from the house where hopefully no grooms were likely to see him. The spring air cooled his face pleasantly, even if the wind still blustered about him. Damned shame Elizabeth Bennet did not ride, he considered a hundredth time, but then he knew a sudden interest in horses was likely a bridge too far even for the unobservant Bennet family. That would stir suspicion, so it was best for him to walk. Still, he could be at Netherfield, if he hurried, within a quarter of an hour.

Despite the many annoyances being trapped at Longbourn, including, but not limited to the Bennet family, and particularly in Miss Bennet's vexingly unexpectedly small corporal self, Darcy had to admit spring in Herefordshire was remarkably lovely. Not quite as nice as Derbyshire–but not too far below it either.

He left the Longbourn property and passed through a field of newly-budding beech trees, surrounded by a carpet of white snowdrop flowers. Above this, the sky was a deep, lovely blue, with white clouds scuttling by. He stopped and inhaled, thinking this venue likely a favorite spot of Elizabeth's and that he should admire it out of duty to her.

He walked on, dew wetting his skirts hems. it was not an easy ramble. Particularly in a dress. Because he was alone, he held his skirt immodestly high so it did not catch on the flowers and brambles and tried to move more quickly, but it was little use. There was almost no way to move easily through nature in a dress. Women's skirts were so damned impractical. Still, he'd never heard Miss Bennet complain. No, she'd only spoken of the marvels of nature while out walking. Still, she might be a more gracious person than he. He tripped in a small animal hole in the ground and swore to himself. Gracious, indeed.

In a meadow, he noted tiny fragile green tree buds sprouting on bare branches and heard birds chirp and call in the morning air. Spring was coming, despite the still cool air. All around tiny signs of life rose from the cold ground. Despite his discomfort–-the too thin dress and pelisse-–he was touched by the spring's hopefulness. And, yes, Hertfordshire's beauty. Different from Darbyshire, less rugged, but he could see it was a lovely green, lush county of England. He could understand why Miss Bennet took such pride in it.

He climbed another hill and once he was atop it was able to look out down on the county for miles. There, below him another half mile or so was Netherfield, its grey stones untouched from when he'd left weeks ago. Abandoned now. He quickened his pace.

A moment later, a stick cracked behind him. Dash it, was he followed?

"Who's there?" He called, but saw no one behind him in the trees. He again lamented the loss of his natural baritone voice as Miss Bennet's soprano, though lovely, did not inspire the same fear.

A bush behind him shook and Darcy readied himself. Highwaymen? An unfriendly animal? He clenched his fists as he had been taught to do to ready himself for a fight. He would not be taken unprepared.

The bush shook again as a huge yellow beast—a dog nearly as large as a pony—he recognized it as the groom's Great Dane, trotted toward him from the shrubs.

Relief passed through him. He hadn't realized how fearful he had been at the moment. He patted the dog's huge blocky head, avoiding the string of slobber that hung from the dog's lip. "Have you followed me all this way from Longbourn?"

The dog licked his lips amenably. Darcy thought him a fine canine, and had admired him several times as he had ambled around the stables. "You must return." He pointed in the direction of Longbourn and tried to be stern. 'I cannot take you to Netherfield. Home. Now."

The dog's liquid brown eyes blinked at him twice, clearly disappointed his adventure was being thwarted.

"Home," Darcy said again. The dog lowered his head and he turned his large, tawny body to walk away, looking back once to be sure, but Darcy only nodded. He would try to remember to nick a greasy, fat bone from the kitchen and slip it to him for his obedience. The dog was sweet, despite his imposing, gangly appearance, but he could not take with him to Netherfield today. Not if he was to sneak in and out unnoticed.

Finally at the house, He spied a row of baskets inside lining one side of the wall. The kitchen, finally. Where was that dutch door? He knew it was likely to be disguised from the outside. Pemberley's own kitchen had a similar door so cooks might easily toss out waste for chickens. Another step took him into a deeper puddle. He sighed. He had a feeling Miss Bennet would be much better at this than he. Anything that took fortitude and resilience, she would excel at.

He removed his gloves and felt along the wall past window panes jutting against bricks until he reached a small door. He turned the knob. It was locked.

But his fingers found the window above it that might swing open. He prayed it was unlocked, running his fingertips along the edges to feel for an opening. He glanced around to make sure no one was observing him. Finally, his fingers found a dent and pulled the window open.

The window swung open, finally, and Darcy nearly laughed aloud in relief. He reached inside, unlatching the lock on the door and opening it. After a moment, he was inside the darkened, empty kitchen, the bright world outside extinguished behind him.

He blinked as his eyes adjusted to the cool room, which now seemed large with no cooks or servants in it. The kitchen downstairs. The library was on the second floor. He hurried out of the kitchen and into the main hall.

Finally, upstairs, he stepped inside the darkened Netherfield library. A wash of memories of Miss Elizabeth Bennet flooded over him. It seemed so long ago. Had it only been a few months? It did not signify, as he needed to hurry. The tables in the library, now covered in eerily ghostlike dustcloths. He tried to remember where he had found the book. But today in the silent, empty library, it seemed like a completely different room. It had none of the energy he had felt that day.

He walked around one side of the room's tables, quickly lifting dust cloths and searching for the slender book. It was a small light-colored book, he remembered. How might he ever find it here with the added layer of dust cloths?

Just then, he heard footfall outside the door. He froze, seeing Mr. Collins stepping, nearly slipping as he came up the stairs outside the library. What was that simpleton doing here at this moment?

"Dash it," Collins said, loud enough for Darcy to hear, as he lifted the bottom of his shoe to examine it as if he'd stepped in something. Darcy took the moment to slip behind a tall curtain to hide from the odious man. Collins wiped his shoe on the carpet–-ill-mannered worm–-and ascended. Collins glanced around Netherfield's empty halls, spied the open library door and marched to it.

Collins must be seeking him–or, Miss Bennet. Anger welled in Darcy. Collins would take the opportunity to follow her to a remote location. The impropriety!

He could not see much behind the gauzy curtain, but he heard Collins traipse into the library. Darcy quieted his breathing to stay undetected. Collins moved closer to where he hid, he stopped before a table not far from him while Darcy held his breath. Then Collins glanced up toward the window mere inches from where Darcy was hidden.

Collins pursed his lips, frowning as though deep in thought and stepped to the window, crossing his arms and tapping a finger against his fleshy lips.

Darcy stopped breathing.

Collins was only inches away from him now, separated only by a thin muslin fabric. If he turned his head an inch to the right, he would surely see Darcy there beneath the gauzy curtain. Collins raised his finger from his lips and slipped it to the windowpane. Darcy's heart beat wildly.

Collins's brows furrowed as he ran his finger along the pane and rubbed his index finger and thumb together to check for dust. "Tsk, tsk," he said quietly, shaking his head.

Then Collins spied Darcy through the curtain. He gasped and jumped back from the window, gasping, his hand to his mouth. "Cousin! How you have surprised me! I saw you walk to Netherfield, and I came to find you. But I did not see you hidden next to the window. How my heart flutters." He laughed awkwardly at himself. "You have caught me quite unawares."

Collins swallowed air and tried to calm himself, as Darcy watched, satisfied.