Chapter 2

By half past seven, Darcy had risen, despite the fact that he had never managed to shut his eyes. After an unsuccessful attempt at composing some letters of business had evolved into stalking restlessly back and forth in the library, he had resolved to take a ride to help clear his agitated mind. As he strode purposefully towards the stable, his thumb stroked the brass knob of his riding crop absently – his fidgeting hands the only anxious mannerism not schooled out of him by his gentleman's education. As he approached the handsome stone building, he firmly pressed his hat to his head and began pulling straight his coat. At the sound of shod hooves crunching on gravel, he lifted his eyes and smiled as he saw his own Adonis rounding the corner of the path. The horse's ears pricked up gayly and his already long stride lengthened at the sight of his master, causing the poor groom clutching his reins to jog helplessly alongside him.

Darcy's mood lifted just slightly at seeing his old friend again, blood-bay flanks shining in the faint November morning. It was not his custom to give his horses names, but this particular animal was the exception, as Darcy had very precipitously helped to deliver him. Even now, he well remembered the shock of discovering the mare laboring quite ineffectually in a faraway field, leaving Darcy no time to go in search of the stablemaster. Knowing that time was of the essence and with only a vague idea of how such things were done, he had firmly grasped the little cold feet and pulled alongside the grunting mare until, at length, a very big bay colt emerged thrashing into the world and ruining Darcy's favorite riding coat in the process.

He had called him Adonis after the Greek god renowned for his perfect good looks. At the time, the name was a bit tongue in cheek as the poor foal had dreadfully bent legs courtesy of his unconventional birth. Darcy had little hope that the beast would ever be sound with such errant limbs. However, as the months passed, his legs grew straight and strong and in a few years time he had become the spitting image of his handsome sire, much as Darcy himself had done.

Pemberley had long been prized for its horseflesh, but Darcy felt he could only take credit for its stewardship, as its success was the work of many generations of careful husbandry. He had often reflected that, though other men insisted on horses of gray or black to add elegance to their appearance and bearing, Darcy, like his father and grandfather, had chosen horses based on temperament and sound constitution rather than aesthetics. He was of the opinion that no matter how regal or impressive, a beautiful but reckless beast was no more useful than a lame farm animal. His wise father had once explained that, in horses, beauty without substance was a recipe for tragedy as these horses often did not care for self or rider. It was for this reason that Darcy had forever favored horses who were eminently sensible – the color of the coat did not enter into the equation at all.

Miss Bingley had once pointed out that his stable lacked a team of fashionably black horses to pull his handsome carriages. This was no doubt an oversight she wished to correct when she became mistress of Pemberley. He laughed inwardly at her misplaced confidence in the matter as he gathered his reins and dismissed the groom. He placed the polished toe of his boot in the iron and proceeded to swing his leg over the horse's back, taking up the other stirrup in one fluid motion. Adonis did not wait to be told to walk and began moving purposefully forward, ears pricked as he headed eastward while Darcy adjusted his seat and reins.

For some reason, thoughts of horses led him back to Elizabeth Bennet. Much like the horses he preferred, she too was not a creature of fashion but rather something far rarer. Fashion could always be adopted even by the unfashionable. But in his experience, sense, courage, compassion, and wit could not be taught if they did not exist already. It was these things that she was so rich in, which ladies like Caroline Bingley conspicuously lacked.

As had happened so many times while he had lain in his bed, thoughts of Elizabeth conjured up

a horrible sick feeling in his gut. Trying to deflect his misery, he allowed Adonis his head, caring not the direction in which they were going so long as it was at speed. As if the beast had understood, he leapt forward and in three powerful strides he was galloping towards the low stile that bordered the field at the end of Netherfield's drive. Gratefully, Darcy's full attention was demanded by the rapidly approaching obstacle and the ever nimble Adonis soared over it with ease as Darcy held fast with his legs, letting his hands follow the pull of reins. The jump barely broke the horse's ground covering stride as they proceeded to make unnecessary haste through the fields.

Darcy's thoughts drifted inward as he meditated to the familiar sound of hoofbeats. He could no longer deny the reality that he had been well on the way to falling in love. He had excused his interest in the lowly daughter of a country gentleman as a mildly diverting occurrence – a simple fascination for a woman who had a most unusual character. Of course, he knew now that this was a lie. The anguish he felt upon hearing her say that she disliked him told him all that he needed to know about his feelings for her – and indeed his feelings were far more involved than he had so far admitted to. Perhaps had Darcy not heard her words, nor seen her face as she said them, he would even now be making plans to soften his relations to the idea that he would choose a wife for less mercenary reasons.

The gentle rolling hills and small stone houses of Meryton blurred as he cantered on, allowing his horse to take him over the hedges and low stone walls one after another until Darcy saw a hill of some importance on the horizon. Making a quick decision, he took a firmer hold of the reins and directed Adonis toward it. He thought briefly of the hilly peaks of his home, and longing washed over him. This hill, although nothing to the peaks of Derbyshire, was still likely to offer a good prospect and a quiet place to reflect on his foolishness and misery without interruption. As the ground began to slope upward, he slowed to a walk, letting the reins slide through his fingers to allow the horse to find his feet on the narrow stony track.

He allowed that he was not a fool for finding Elizabeth Bennet a woman worthy of admiration. Indeed, there were many men who openly admired her. Caroline Bingley's instinctive jealousy of the woman was further proof that, despite her lack of traditional accomplishments, her lively and engaging manner drew admiration with little effort. Unlike so many women with high spirits, her manner was softened to great respectability by her natural, kind-hearted compassion. Among women of the ton, Elizabeth Bennet would always be an outlier. A singular woman who fit none of the precepts of elegance, fashion or even eligibility, her virtues were of an indefinable sort. Despite this, it was Darcy's firm opinion that she would marry well, in spite of her unusual qualifications.

No, his foolishness lay in his lack of understanding of her. He had believed that she had seen through his attempts to suppress his attraction to her and had even convinced himself that she had set her sights on him. In the cold light of day, he was forced to admit that she had no such desire. That alone would mark his own ineptitude, but instead, he had come to realize that she not only did not return his feelings but rather actively disliked him. She had accused him of pride once. Then, he had then thought it a tease, but now, he was forced to admit that it was almost certainly part of her sketch of his character.

During their dance, Miss Bennet had also spoken of his own prejudice, insinuating that it had injured Wickham to such a degree that he could not recover. Darcy knew where such an accusation originated and credited it directly to that gentleman, who doubtless spoke with great enthusiasm of his misfortunes. Darcy was under no illusions as to the depths to which Wickham would sink to raise his own respectability in society by degrading Darcy's own.

He could not blame Elizabeth. Despite his best efforts to find fault in her judgment, he could not. The more he thought of his behavior towards her, the more he realized that he had done himself no favors. Her standing in society was undeniably below his own, and he had gone out of his way to show her no particular regard – despite his own powerful inclination to do exactly the opposite. He was also well aware of Wickham's great talent for charming behavior. He could find favor in any society, for a time at least. Elizabeth had no reason to doubt a man who was so agreeable and conversely no reason to give credit to a man who only ever spoke to her but to argue. Indeed, had he not recognized his own hand in this dreadful situation, anger and indignation would have been a welcome balm to his wounded pride. In consequence, when he reflected on his time in Hertfordshire he only felt a deep loneliness and regret.

Darcy had long ago resigned himself to a marriage of convenience – an alliance of great houses that would further improve his already great standing in society. Despite accepting this inevitability, he could not rush into such an arrangement. It was for this reason that he had spurned all efforts of matchmaking on principle. And until he met Elizabeth Bennet, he had never had cause to pity himself for his lack of choice. Now however, he saw his life stretched widely before him, and he felt so hopelessly alone in it. He could perhaps have condescended to look past her lack of connections or dowry if she felt the same semblance of emotion that he did, but alas, it was all for naught.

He must accept that when he did choose to marry, emotional attachment would not be a deciding factor. Even now he was trying not to view finding a bride as the circumspect selection of a woman who was the right combination of least personally detestable and most materially advantageous.

Hertfordshire had damaged him. His stay here had forevermore shifted his paradigm, and he only prayed it would not result in his eternal misery. At that very moment he felt a great longing to be home; to be surrounded by the familiarity and certainty of Pemberley. He was resolved to leave Hertfordshire as soon as may be. With any luck he would convince Bingley to go too, thus sparing him the pain of a marriage based on unequal affection.

As he dwelled on his woes, his thoughts turned naturally to his sister. Georgiana was herself struggling under the weight of her own deep melancholy. Her misery had begun when she had discovered the duplicity of her childhood friend, George Wickham. Darcy had felt again the loss of his parents that day as she sobbed unrestrainedly into his shoulder – painfully regretting that he could not give her a mother's warmth or a father's certainty. When Darcy left her in London to travel to Bingley's estate, it was with a deep sense of helplessness. He had been completely unable to bring Georgiana relief from her misery, and at a loss, he determined that the only thing he had left to offer her was solitude. Darcy was wholly unused to the feeling of powerlessness, and it unsettled him more than he was wont to admit.

His kind and trusting sister had found out in the most painful manner how isolating wealth and status could be. True friends were nearly impossible to find in the elite circles that were built on that distorted version of friendship that was alliance. Darcy was also distinctly aware that for those of his station, all aspects of life must be pressed into a fine mold of propriety and prudence. It was only after these precepts were satisfied that they were allowed the slim possibility of a choice in their own happiness. For the first time in his life, he saw with clarity the unjust nature of the society to which he belonged. He was raised to accept certain unchangeable truths, and yet it was for his sister that he now felt aggrieved. As a woman, she would naturally have less freedom to choose her happiness than Darcy himself did. He had long ago vowed that she need not marry, but could he do more? He was not certain how he could spare Georgiana the degradation of a lifetime spent surrounded by false friends and servile loyalty – but whatever could be done he would assuredly do.

As Adonis crested the hill, Darcy was pleased to find himself on a soft swell of open grass surrounded by scattered trees. He gave his horse an affectionate pat before dismounting and securing him to one of those trees on the edge of the meadow. With a quiet sigh, he turned in search of a location likely to offer a good prospect of the countryside to ease his troubled thoughts before returning to Netherfield and then, London. But as his eyes began to sweep over the hill, he saw something that made his traitorous heart leap instinctively.

A familiar figure stood not twenty yards away, her light muslin skirt billowing out through the slit in her dark green pelisse. Darcy was arrested by the sight of her, momentarily frozen by a strange surge of tortured wonder. His world slowed and he wondered briefly if the fixation of his thoughts was even now causing him to hallucinate. From this angle he could see one of Elizabeth's slender hands loosely holding a bonnet that pulled gently in the wind. Her eyes were shut tightly, chin raised, so that the only thing that covered her anguished expression was the spread fingers of her other hand. Even at this distance he could see tears sliding down her rosy cheeks.

Darcy hardly knew what he felt as he stood stupidly watching her cry. Regardless of what he should have done, he found that he was unable to turn away from her pain. As he began to walk slowly towards her, he felt his heartbeat quicken in spite of his efforts to steady himself with several deep calming breaths. In defiance of every resolution he had so recently made to quit Hertfordshire and see Elizabeth Bennet no more, not one ounce of him resisted. There was something fundamental about his need to be near her. Darcy knew now that he had misunderstood her since the beginning of their acquaintance, but the pain on her face was so in harmony with his own that in this moment at least, he felt certain that he knew her.

As he drew nearer, he was fascinated by a chestnut curl that flitted and weaved in the wind; it was as captivating as the woman from whom it grew. When he was only a half-dozen feet away and still mesmerized by the twirling dance of her hair, the crack of a twig beneath his boot brought him to an abrupt halt. Elizabeth's eyes flew open as she turned instinctively towards the sound.

She took in a sharp breath and then cried, "Mr. Darcy!"

Her hand dropped from her face briefly before returning hastily to wipe the tears from her cheeks. She quickly ducked her head to compose her features once more and Darcy cursed himself for causing her this discomfort. He ought to have known he would be the last person she would want intruding on her at a moment such as this.

"Please, do not distress yourself on my account." he said quickly. Then, worrying that this might sound cold, he added, "Let me assure you that, although I know not your particular pain, I too have come here seeking solace from the burden of a heavy heart."

She looked at him in faint bewilderment before saying, "I am sorry you have found me in such a rare state, I am not usually one for needless emotion."

Darcy remembered himself and hastily produced a handkerchief and offered it to her.

"I had not assumed your emotion was needless, but perhaps I should not have approached you just now? I fear my intrusion might be unwelcome."

She gave him a small smile as she gratefully accepted his offering,

"You have found a good place for painful reflections," she said dabbing at her eyes gently, "but you needn't worry about intruding. Although I am fond of this place, it does not belong to me and you have done well to find it."

Darcy inclined his head in gratitude before responding, "When one seeks perspective, it is natural to go in search of some view that may offer it. That is how I have come to be here."

"You are quite right. One can hardly feel any pain as acutely when looking out on the glory of nature." she said with a small smile. "If only we were birds Mr. Darcy, then we may always know how to think about things."

His only response was a small smile that lifted the corner of his lip as he turned his head to look out on the horizon.

"But I must wonder what could trouble a man without fault?" She said, attempting to regain some of her playfulness of spirit.

Darcy let out a small huff that was somewhere between irritation and amusement.

"Though I have been accused of perfection, I still know something of pain, Miss Bennet."

"Indeed." was her only reply before her eyes fell to the handkerchief still clutched in her hands.

"I worry for my sister," he admitted, in a low voice.

He would certainly not confess to the other reason that he had for seeking solitude. Her being here defeated the purpose at any rate.

She gave him an appraising look,

"Then we seek perspective for similar reasons."

He looked down at her as she turned back to face the vista. He wondered silently if it was for Miss Bennet that she was worried. If Elizabeth worried for Jane it was no doubt because she knew that her sister was likely to be forced to commit herself to a man she did not love. This thought made him glad of his resolution to advise Bingley to quit Netherfield. He would act to prevent a marriage that would doom them both to misery. The silence stretched on as he inwardly congratulated himself on his beneficence to his friend. Darcy reflected, not for the first time, that Elizabeth Bennet was surely one of the wisest women of his acquaintance.

He wished that Georgiana was blessed with a sisterhood such as existed between Elizabeth and Jane Bennet – a selfless loyalty that meant that neither sister would bear their burdens alone. A memory bloomed in his mind's eye of a bright faced Elizabeth in muddy petticoats standing completely unabashed in the sitting room of Netherfield park, requesting politely to be taken to her sister. She did not come to impress them,but to be of use to Miss Bennet. She cared not who she offended by tramping mud into the grand house, so long as she could assure herself that her eldest sister was well. Would that his money and lauded connections could bring Georgiana such a sisterhood and such a champion as Jane Bennet had in her sister, Elizabeth. He had no doubt that if Elizabeth Bennet knew and loved Georgiana even half as much as she did Jane, she would walk to London to stroke her hair and tend to her wounds. He loved Georgiana and doted on her, but he would always be too old, and too close to a father figure to connect with her in that way. She needed an equal, not a keeper, no matter how devoted and loving. It was then that the hazy outline of an idea began forming in his mind – if only he had the courage to pursue it.

Elizabeth may not like him, but he knew she had an eminently kind heart and an open disposition. That Georgiana and Elizabeth would adore one another if circumstances would allow it, he had little doubt. Georgiana was a shy, but bright and affable girl who was fond of music and merry adventures – or at least, she had been – and Elizabeth was, well, Elizabeth. If he could somehow foster a relationship between the two women – it could be the means to give Georgiana something vital that she currently lacked.

Darcy had to admit that there were two rather large impediments to his burgeoning idea. The first was that Elizabeth Bennet did not like him, and the second was that he intended to honor his resolve to leave Netherfield and take Bingley with him.

The second problem was the most easily overcome, as he had already decided that the best means of communication between two women of such vastly different circles was a correspondence. If Elizabeth and Georgiana exchanged letters, Darcy would be under no obligation to keep up the painful acquaintance, thereby allowing himself the opportunity to forget her entirely. The first issue was more difficult, because of his intention to leave Hertfordshire. He would not have the opportunity to improve Elizabeth's opinion of him, nor did he think he ought to. It was extremely unlikely that they should ever see one another again and so her opinion of his character would not be his concern.

It was for this reason that he decided he should use this unexpected and likely final meeting to take a calculated risk. Although he was still reeling from the realization that he did not know Elizabeth as well as he'd once believed, a small and irrefutable part of him understood her by nature. He would've staked his own house and name on her being a trustworthy and good woman. Elizabeth Bennet was one of the few people of his acquaintance that he felt could be trusted to never knowingly damage or exploit poor Georgiana – and certainly the only one of an age to befriend his dearest sister.

As Darcy began to formulate the words to state his case and beg his favor, Elizabeth's intelligent eyes were fixed on his riding crop, where he knew that his anxious thumb was drawing circles around its brass knob. After some minutes in this attitude, he spoke abruptly, causing her eyes to flick back to his face once more.

"Miss Bennet, could I be so bold as to ask a favor of you?"

The breeze picked up at that moment, causing her skirts to billow out before her again and her curls to dance gayly on the wind. She pushed a tendril off of her face as her eyebrows crept up, astonished, but waiting for his explanation.

"It is a favor that I ask for my sister Georgiana. I know you of all people will understand my desire to help someone so dear to me. She is sixteen years old and I have been at a loss as to how to help her. I have come to the painful conclusion that I cannot offer her what she truly needs, and she is poorer for it."

Elizabeth's face was a mix of confusion and astonishment as she studied her companion with large, intelligent eyes.

"You see, she has been lately afflicted by an abiding melancholy, which, all of my best efforts have been unable to dispel. I know not what more I can do. . .but I think that perhaps you might be of use to her."

He shifted uncomfortably. Fitzwilliam Darcy was unaccustomed to laying out such personal information to anybody, let alone someone who did not even like him. He swallowed his wounded pride and pressed on,

"Not many months ago she suffered a betrayal which has hurt her profoundly and stolen from her her very happiness. I thought at first that in time her heart would heal, but in these many weeks she has most unfortunately not improved at all. She is still as desolate as ever she was."

"A betrayal?" Elizabeth looked at him intently at this admission, brows furrowed in confusion.

He spoke more plainly.

"She has had her heart broken," he said quietly. Trying not to let bitterness into his voice he elaborated, "by a person whom she loved from childhood and consequently trusted implicitly."

"Oh," was all she managed to say, looking down at the ground as she pondered his words. He gave her time with her thoughts before continuing.

"She discovered in the cruelest possible way that her value to him was only in her wealth and connections."

Elizabeth did not look at him, but continued studying the grass at her feet, adjusting the kerchief in her hands.

"She has become despondent and more reserved than ever before. I have done all that is in my power to aid her, but it has all been for naught. I now begin to fear that she will never fully recover."

He tried with modest success to hide the anguish from his expression, but was unable to keep the small squint of pain from his eyes. Elizabeth chewed her lip while she formulated a response.

"I see," she said at last, "and how do you suppose that I may help her?"

Darcy was quiet for a long moment before answering.

"I believe," he said with a slight hesitation, "what she needs is. . . a friend." He felt oddly humble admitting this.

"She does not have this already?" asked Elizabeth in surprise.

"As you may imagine for a young girl of ancient name and wealth, there will always be many willing to call her friend, but I'm afraid that there is nothing of genuineness in them. What she needs is someone she can befriend that will have no hopes of elevation by association."

Elizabeth returned to chewing on her lip for a moment before replying.

"You believe I am such a person?"

"I do," Darcy responded evenly.

"I cannot fathom your reasons, sir," she said with a small shake of her head.

He gave her a long searching look.

"You have never sought to please me," Darcy said, even as Elizabeth raised a skeptical brow. "You must know that that in itself is a rare thing? I flatter myself that many seek to gain an acquaintance with me and court my vanity shamelessly to achieve that end." He let out a long sigh. "The circles in which I move are full of Caroline Bingleys and sadly devoid of Elizabeth Bennets."

Elizabeth could not help the small chuckle of surprise at this.

"Do I amuse you?" snapped Darcy, suddenly irritated that she would laugh at his confessions.

"I suppose you do," she said, flashing him an arch look. "I have never heard you speak ill of that lady."

Darcy's vexation vanished at the return of her playfulness.

"Surely you give me credit for some sensibility?"

"I believe I must," she said with a laugh. "I will now give you credit for having more sense and less vanity than I had once supposed."

Darcy tried not to be pleased with this teasing comment and continued with his reasoning.

"Your lack of deference is not enough to recommend your character, but I believe it does say something about what you may choose to value in a person. And, you showed an uncommon devotion to your sister Jane, which I found admirable."

"Who could know Jane and not be devoted to her?" Elizabeth cried.

"It may be unpardonably rude of me to say so, but of all your family, it was only you who trod three miles in the mud to look after her welfare."

Elizabeth was unsure whether she should be offended on behalf of her family or confused at another compliment from a man whom she believed disliked her, and so, undecided, she closed her mouth entirely.

"Beyond this, you have a lively and sporting manner that is engaging – even when your aim is to vex. I may shock you now by saying that I have developed a high respect for your opinions and good sense."

Elizabeth looked at Darcy in utter amazement.

"Indeed I am surprised," she said. "You have spent a great deal of your time arguing against those opinions."

Darcy said nothing to this and instead regretted in no small measure her surprise at his good opinion.

Eventually, she looked up at him, to ask the obvious question, "How could I befriend a person who is as yet, a stranger to me?"

He gave her a long look before responding, watching her countenance as he spoke.

"Perhaps it is a bit unusual, but I would ask you to correspond with her - assuming of course that is agreeable to both parties."

She looked at him blankly.

"You are asking me to write to her?"

"As I have said."

"And why would she agree to it? I am a stranger to her."

Darcy gave her a gesture that was as close to a shrug as he was capable of and said, "You are not entirely a stranger to her; I have spoken of you often in my letters."

This knowledge appeared to affect Elizabeth nearly as much as the revelation of his good opinion.

"I see," was all she could manage.

"But perhaps more to the point – she would trust my opinion," he said truthfully.

"She is obliging indeed," said Elizabeth with a dubious half-smile.. "My younger sisters would never defer to my opinions so readily."

"You must be the expert on your family, and I must be the expert on mine," he said, one of his eyebrows lifting imperiously. "I think you also forget I have been her guardian for some time now and she is twelve years my junior."

She inclined her head to him and straightened the smile that was threatening to betray her amusement at his high-handedness. They lapsed into silence, each lost to their own thoughts.

For the first time since coming to this spot, Darcy allowed himself to take in the vista before him. Below were many small squares of varying shades of green or brown, all outlined by hedges or low stone veined lines of ribbon-like roads rose in gentle curves over the hills heading towards the horizon. It was still early enough that from this vantage a thin haze of mist could be seen lying low in the valleys, pooling in places where it had not yet driven away by the ever warming sun. He had to admit that it was a beautiful place – albeit different from the wild north.

Many lives were attached to the houses scattered below. Dozens of separate destinies all playing out in this little country hamlet. Darcy found peace in looking out over the lives of others; it was like watching a procession of ants working towards a common purpose. He had often felt that beneath the honor of his name and house, he was merely another one of these ants, marching ever onward to make progress towards a larger and unknowable future. These people may be strangers to him, but they were all united in their humanity.

He returned his thoughts to the task at hand.

"You need not give me an answer immediately," he said, his focus still trained on the horizon, "but I hope you will at least find it in your heart to consider it."

Elizabeth sighed, closing her eyes, and Darcy did his best to restrict his anxiety to the thumb that tapped on the knob of his riding crop while he awaited her response. The silence stretched on as the breeze waved the grass that surrounded their feet.

"I… I will think on it," she said finally.

Darcy cast her broad smile, inclining his head in gratitude.

"I thank you for your consideration, but pray, do only as you feel you ought. You truly owe me nothing. I would never consider asking this of you, were it not. . ." He sighed heavily and met her gaze, "I want only that Georgiana should be well again."

She nodded her understanding.

"I will write to your father, so that you need not have the trouble of explaining the favor I am asking of you," he said with a hint of his old authority.

She looked startled at this suggestion, but did not argue. Instead, she gave him an appraising look.

"I had heard from Miss Bingley how devoted you were to your sister, Mr. Darcy, but given the source, I had believed it to be an exaggerated account. I am forced to confess, however, that you do seem to be a diligent guardian and a concerned brother."

"I thank you for your praise, but I expect you of all people know what it is to look after the welfare of your family."

Elizabeth's eyes suddenly fell and she looked away to hide the pain that had come over her expression. Darcy was slightly alarmed at this sudden change in her, but before he could do more than observe it, she was making her excuses.

"I believe I will soon be missed, Mr. Darcy. How soon will you need my decision?" she inquired, turning to bid her adieu.

"As soon as you have an answer you are comfortable with – the timing matters little. I am for London as soon as I can reasonably manage," he said, glancing back at the tree where his horse was tied. "I will send a note of explanation and my direction in London as soon as I have returned to Netherfield."

"You are for London?" she said, startled.

"Yes," he said simply.

As grateful as he was to have had this accidental meeting, it had done nought to sway him from his resolve. He must be away, for he would only find more pain here.

"Oh," she said softly, her expression unreadable. "In that case, I suppose we must say our farewells, Mr. Darcy, as I fear this may be the last time we are to meet."

"Then I shall only say that I am exceedingly glad to have met you," and despite the terrible ache in his heart, he was surprised to find that he meant it.

Darcy's face was inscrutable as he bowed deeply, taking her hand gently and pressing a warm and light kiss to her cold knuckles.

"I thank you," she said with breathless amazement.

When he straightened and let go of her hand, she stood dumbly for a moment, unable to think of anything reasonable to say. To spare herself more awkwardness, she dipped a small curtsy while casting him a look that she hoped would say something of her feelings in this moment. Then she straightened and turned to make her way quietly to the path from which she had come, without a backward glance.

Darcy watched her until she dipped out of sight below the crest of the hill, wondering if he would ever see her again.