Chapter 16

~ Brave the unknown, like a ship trusting its sails on the open sea.

The woods surrounding Netherfield Park and Longbourn held a quiet charm the morning after the assembly. Sunlight filtered gently through the trees, while the soft rustle of leaves and the occasional birdsong created a soothing melody. It was a setting that seemed almost deliberately peaceful, as if nature itself had paused to witness the meeting—one rich with memories and unexpected revelations. Darcy approached the appointed place, his heart weighted with expectation.

The previous evening at the Assembly, he and Elizabeth had danced not once but twice—a privilege that had occupied his thoughts ever since. Her image had lingered in his mind through the restless hours of the night, and now, as he neared her, he dared hope that this meeting bore some significance beyond his expectation.

Elizabeth stood waiting, her expression alight with urgency. Darcy, whose heart had been rendered vulnerable by affection, seized upon the notion that she had sought this private moment for romantic purposes. The mere possibility made it difficult to contain the eager thrum of his pulse. Yet the words she spoke shattered that illusion at once.

"Mr. Darcy," she began, a crease of concern upon her brow, "I must speak with you on a matter of grave importance. It pertains to Mrs. Bingley's dance card."

A flicker of disappointment passed over Darcy's countenance, though he swiftly mastered it. "We have already discussed the matter. The initials of the famed explorer, scientist, philosopher, pirate, and playwright—might they not merely serve as a cryptic abbreviation of my name?" he replied, his voice measured, though his thoughts swirled with discontent.

Elizabeth regarded him intently. "And what if FITZW refers instead to your cousin, the Colonel?"

Darcy's brow knit in thought. "What leads you to such a supposition?"

With great animation, Elizabeth recounted what Lydia and Kitty had overheard at the Assembly—a whispered exchange between Mr. and Mrs. Henry Bingley. They had spoken with disdain of Jane, dismissing her as unworthy of their son, Charles, and had suggested that she might serve no better purpose than that of a mistress. Darcy's lips pressed into a thin line as Elizabeth continued, her eyes flashing with indignation.

"And Mr. Bingley declared that they should curtail their visit to Mr. Stokes," she said. "Mrs. Bingley protested, insisting that a mere week would scarcely suffice to see Miss Caroline Bingley compromise you in so short a time!"

Darcy's expression darkened, his jaw tightening. "Miss Bingley," he said coldly, "is not a lady I would consider tying myself to." His voice was quiet but resolute. "She lacks all that I esteem most in a woman—intellect, spirit, integrity. My ideal is one who both challenges me and betters me. You must know it is—"

He broke off, suppressing the sentiment before it could escape fully formed. A fool's fancy, nothing more. He saw now the folly of his expectations—if Elizabeth had desired to speak with him of tender matters, she would hardly have requested Colonel Fitzwilliam to join them later as well.

Swallowing the last of his unwarranted hopes, Darcy gave a short nod. "Very well. You believe this list of names to be of consequence? Then we must decipher its meaning."

Elizabeth brightened, undeterred by his shifting mood. "Indeed. We must establish what connection they bear to Mr. Bingley."

Darcy sighed, rubbing his hands behind his back. "Richard will arrive shortly, as you requested."

As they waited, Elizabeth, turned the discussion to the peculiar names on the dance card. Darcy, though still plagued by his own brooding reflections, found himself drawn in despite himself.

"Francis Drake," Elizabeth mused. "A privateer and navigator of great renown. Could it be that Mr. Bingley's contact engages in ventures of an equally enterprising but less reputable nature?"

Darcy exhaled slowly. "If so, I suspect his exploits are more of finance than of the sea."

Elizabeth nodded and went on. "Mr. Newton had unparalleled brilliance in matters of science and mathematics. Might our mystery man deal in complex calculations—perhaps in the division of profit or the forging of some intricate scheme?"

Darcy gave a curt nod. "That would be highly possible if he fancies himself a master strategist."

"And Thomas More," Elizabeth continued, her brow arching. "A man of principle, a statesman, the author of Utopia. Perhaps Mr. Bingley's contact has some highly self-serving vision of business."

"More's concept of a perfect world hardly aligns with a man like Bingley," Darcy remarked dryly. "He is quite well-known as a shrewd businessman."

A flicker of mirth danced across Elizabeth's face. "Then there is Zheng Jing," she said, tilting her head. "He was a pirate and warlord. That is a most unusual inclusion. Would you venture that Bingley's contact dabbles in smuggling?"

Darcy regarded her solemnly. "It is not beyond the realm of possibility," he admitted. "Wickham had told me some rumours about the Bingley's wealth."

"Really?" Elizabeth concluded, "What about Shakespeare? Does Mr. Bingley imagine himself a figure in some grand play? Or is he more akin to a Shylock, engaged in perilous financial dealings?"

Darcy shook his head. "That I do not know."

Elizabeth, undeterred by his sombre tone, observed him quietly. She did not pretend to comprehend the full depths of his mood, but she took pleasure in drawing him, if only briefly, from his gloom.

Darcy knew that the names upon the dance card should command his full attention. And yet, as he looked upon Elizabeth, so full of energy and resolve, he found himself less occupied by mysteries and more by the singular certainty that no woman—not Caroline Bingley nor any other—could ever hold a candle to her.

When Colonel Fitzwilliam arrived, they acquainted him with the mystery about the dance card. The Colonel, after listening intently, admitted that he had indeed been tasked with investigating Mr. Stokes, though he had been furnished with precious little detail.

His mind wandered back to the brief yet significant conversation with his superior, Commander George Kingsway—a man of impenetrable reticence and keen discernment. The memory stood out all the more for its peculiar setting: a quiet, echoing church instead of the barracks. Its vaulted ceilings lending an air of solemnity to their words.

"Colonel," Commander Kingsway had said, his tone gravely serious, "your first duty in your new commission will demand the utmost discretion. We are aware that your uncle George Darcy have taken a lease at an estate in Hertfordshire. You must find a means to be invited there. The matter concerns a gentleman and certain supplies. The precise nature of these supplies is classified, but their importance to His Majesty's operations cannot be overstated."

Fitzwilliam had nodded, saluting smartly, though inwardly brimming with curiosity. When later he unfolded the document penned in Kingsway's precise hand, he found but a few cryptic lines:

"Mr. Stokes—Meryton—AM supplies. Proceed with utmost discretion. Beware of our own 'Red Fox'."

The missive had been deliberately obscure, and its lack of explicit instruction troubled Fitzwilliam. In his experience, military orders were precise and unambiguous. Yet here was a charge that required not only action but deduction, forcing him to rely upon his own faculties. He had secured his invitation to Netherfield without difficulty and, from there, dispatched his first report:

"S: possessor of iron ore field. Rich HB guest from London. Possible intermediary? S: favours shooting with lawman L and book-crazed B."

And now, as he stood before Darcy and Elizabeth, weighing the risks of confiding in them, he found himself at a crossroads. Miss Elizabeth—daughter of the 'book-crazed' Bennet—had already provided insights he could not discount. Could he trust her further?

"Colonel Fitzwilliam," Elizabeth pressed on, "you must tell us all that you know. Mr. Darcy or you could be in danger."

Fitzwilliam hesitated, his gaze shifting between her and Darcy. "Miss Elizabeth, I am bound by military protocol. It is not within my power to reveal all."

Elizabeth's eyes flashed with frustration. "That is intolerable. Are we to take it, sir, that you deem us unworthy of your confidence?"

His expression hardened. "This is not a question of trust. It is a matter of security. My orders are of the highest sensitivity."

"And do you imagine," she countered, "that we are careless children, to be kept at a distance. You may as well dismiss me as a meddlesome woman and my father as an eccentric gentleman if you will not allow that we are capable of more."

Fitzwilliam remained silent for a long moment. Then he turned to Darcy. "Tell me why I should entrust her with information that, if mishandled, could jeopardise all."

Darcy said, "Richard, if you do not trust Miss Elizabeth, you do not trust me. And that, I think, would be a grave miscalculation. You have seen her mind at work. And my father trusts Mr. Bennet. That should tell you enough."

Richard studied them both. Their sincerity, their resolve—it was undeniable. With reluctance, he acknowledged that their assistance might be indispensable to the success of his mission.

"Very well," he said at last, "but you must guard—the information I share with you. We tread upon dangerous ground."

Elizabeth nodded. "You have my word, Colonel."

With that, Fitzwilliam related the brief from his commander.

Darcy and Elizabeth exchanged glances, pondering about the cryptic message. Richard, observing their contemplation, ventured, "The supplies designated as 'AM'—I thought of iron ore as the most obvious conclusion. Yet I couldn't link it to the abbreviation of AM."

"What does Mr. Stokes supply to London?" Darcy inquired.

Elizabeth, thoughtful, began listing his trade goods. "Our housekeeper, Mrs. Hill, is acquainted with the servants of Mr. Stokes's household. He supplies various goods to London's middlemen—turnips, cabbages, apples, rosemary, peas, and mint."

"Could AM refer to one of these?" the Colonel murmured. "Apples and mint?"

Darcy shook his head. "Surely not. No military operation would hinge upon such commodities."

Elizabeth nodded in agreement—then suddenly halted, her brow furrowing. "I mentioned yarrow to you before, Mr. Darcy! It's Latin name is Achillea millefolium. Its wound-healing properties must be a most vital supply for soldiers."

Richard's attention sharpened. "Your father mentioned Mr. Stokes's dealings in yarrow as well. I must determine the name of his middleman and whether his supply reaches the army. Could the issue be one of quality?"

Elizabeth's eyes gleamed with sudden insight. "Mr. Darcy, did you not say Mr. Bingley hailed from the north?"

"Yes, from Scarborough," Darcy confirmed. "Just over a hundred miles northeast of Pemberley."

Elizabeth turned swiftly to the Colonel. "I recall reading of an all-too-common mistake—the confusion of Achillea millefolium with Achillea 'Coronation Gold.' The latter bears similar yellow blooms but lacks medicinal properties. The book I read specifically noted that 'Coronation Gold' is often found in the north, in places like Scarborough!"

Darcy drew a sharp breath. "You suspect that Mr. Bingley may be involved in substituting this ornamental plant for true yarrow?"

Elizabeth nodded, excitement and gravity mingling in her expression. "That would explain his presence in Meryton—and why this matter has attracted such scrutiny from the army."

"That is a possibility I had not considered," said the Colonel, his brow furrowing. "Yet we must also unravel the mystery of 'Red Fox.' Could it be Henry Bingley, given his involvement?"

Darcy shook his head, his expression contemplative. "No, the message distinctly states 'our own' Red Fox, which suggests someone within the military ranks. Henry Bingley, though wealthy and well-connected, is but a tradesman in London and holds no position in His Majesty's service."

Elizabeth inclined her head in agreement. "Mr. Darcy is quite right. 'Red Fox' must be a man with access to military operations—someone within the army itself. You must ascertain who among your ranks fits this description."

Colonel Fitzwilliam's thoughts turned swiftly to the officers entrusted with the management of supplies. Several names arose in his mind, each carrying its own weight of suspicion.

"There are a few individuals who warrant scrutiny," he admitted. "Major John Thorpe, for one—his ambition knows no bounds, and his lack of scruple has been remarked upon more than once. He oversees the supply division. Then there is Captain Frederick Tilney, whose charge lies in inventory and financial accounts, yet he is so preoccupied with his conquests among the fairer sex that his duties are often neglected. Lieutenant Willoughby, however, is the most infamous of the lot—his reputation for treachery precedes him, and he is responsible for the distribution of rations. Lastly, Ensign William Elliot, though of lower rank, is an opportunist of the first order. He manages the maintenance and repair of supply equipment, giving him less opportunity for tampering, yet his nature is not one to be dismissed lightly."

Darcy's brow knit in thought. "You have no easy task before you, Richard. You must alert your superiors to scrutinise each of these men and their dealings with the yarrow supplies."

"This intelligence is of the utmost importance," Richard declared. "If the supplies have indeed been compromised, we must act with all haste."

With their tentative trust now cemented, Colonel Fitzwilliam took his leave. "I must dispatch my second report to Commander Kingsway at once," he announced.

Elizabeth hesitated before speaking, concern clouding her countenance. "Colonel, are you certain it is safe for you to go alone?"

Before she could suggest that Darcy accompany him, Richard offered her a reassuring smile. "I am deeply obliged for your concern, Miss Elizabeth. It is but a short ride back to Netherfield Park, and I shall take every precaution. My message will be suitably cryptic, and my courier well warned to exercise care. The safety of our regiment depends upon it."

Even as he spoke, Richard noted Darcy's desire to remain, the unspoken wish to linger by Miss Elizabeth's side. He would not stand in the way of such matters. With a knowing glance and the briefest of nods, he took his leave, spurring his horse into motion.

Darcy and Elizabeth watched as the Colonel rode purposefully through the woods, his figure soon swallowed by the dense foliage. Darcy turned to Elizabeth. "I shall keep a watchful eye on him during his stay with us," he said, though a pang of jealousy stirred within him, uncertain whether Elizabeth's concern for Richard concealed deeper feelings. "The unknown contact could be anyone, and we cannot afford to be incautious."

Elizabeth inclined her head, already turning over possibilities in her mind. "I shall make discreet inquiries regarding Mr. Stokes and Mr. Bingley. We must determine, beyond doubt, their involvement."

Darcy nodded. "And I shall concern myself with discovering the unknown contact of Mr. Henry Bingley." He hesitated, then added, "Miss Elizabeth… You see matters with remarkable clarity."

Caught slightly off guard, Elizabeth let out a small laugh, though a hint of colour tinged her cheeks. "You are very kind, Mr. Darcy, but I seek only what is just and true."

"As do I," he replied, glancing at her sidelong. "Yet I find the pursuit of justice rendered all the more agreeable in the company of good friends." He crooked his head. "But even in the midst of intrigue, must we be all business?"

Elizabeth arched a brow, amused. "Are you proposing a moment's reprieve?"

"Merely a change of scenery," he said. "There is a glade not far from here, where the light falls through the branches most pleasingly. A brief stroll would do us no harm, and perhaps we might yet find inspiration beneath its shade."

"I know the one you mean. Let us see if the glade still holds its charm this morning."

As they walked, Darcy spoke, his voice quieter. "There is a certain solace in these woodlands. They afford one space to think. And in truth, I find such moments of quiet… rather preferable to the clamour of society."

Elizabeth glanced at him, recognising something of the sentiment in herself. "That is quite true," she said. "There is a kind of magic in the stillness of nature. It allows one to see the world more clearly."

They reached the glade, where golden sunlight dappled the grass, and the soft murmur of the wind stirred the leaves above them.

Darcy, lingering at the edge of a thought, at last said, "Do you remember Ramsgate? Those days by the sea?"

A smile curled Elizabeth's lips. "Oh, indeed. The day we explored the old grotto, convinced we might find smugglers' treasure—or at the very least, a lurking ghost?"

Darcy nodded. "If I recall, it was you who insisted on creeping further into the dark, while I played the hapless victim of some spectral apparition. But we did find a treasure."

"The dragon's pearl," she said, laughing. "I still have it in my hiding place at Longbourn. And you made a very convincing ghost."

"I take my performances seriously," Darcy replied wryly. "Speaking of treasure, I seem to remember another adventure—your experiment with crabs and seashells?"

Elizabeth groaned. "A most humbling experience. I have never known creatures so determined to defy my instruction."

"They had the advantage," Darcy mused. "Two rather hopeless children armed with nothing but enthusiasm and empty pails."

Elizabeth laughed again, her eyes bright. "It is strange, is it not, how such small moments linger in the mind?"

Darcy exhaled softly, his expression shifting. "Not so strange," he said. "Some memories endure because of the company in which they were made." He hesitated, then added, his voice quieter, "It is a rare thing, to find someone with whom one may be entirely oneself."

Elizabeth stilled, sensing the weight of his words. "Mr. Darcy…"

Darcy took a measured step closer. "Miss Elizabeth, these past days have reminded me of something I have long suspected—that there is no one whose presence I find so—"

Before he could finish, a sudden rustling in the branches above interrupted him. A plump, self-assured squirrel skittered down the trunk of a nearby tree, pausing to fix them both with a shrewd, assessing stare. Then, with the air of one gravely disappointed in humanity, it flicked its tail and proceeded to bury a nut in the earth with great determination.

Darcy exhaled, watching its frantic efforts. "Remarkable," he said dryly. "Here I stand, endeavouring to speak of matters of great importance, and yet he—" he gestured at the squirrel, "—appears to consider his business of greater urgency."

Elizabeth, biting back a smile at Darcy's stammering, said, "Perhaps he is merely unimpressed by the frailty of human hesitation. He knows his purpose, Mr. Darcy. You, on the other hand…" She arched a brow.

Darcy huffed. "A philosopher's judgment?" He glanced at her, something wry yet earnest in his expression. Then, straightening his coat, he declared, "Very well, then. I shall not be outdone by a squirrel. Miss Elizabeth, I wish to… court you. If you would permit it."

Elizabeth's breath caught, her initial shock softening into contemplation. She studied him, the amusement in her gaze shifting into something thoughtful. "You know," she mused, "if one considers the squirrel's perspective, there is a rather poetic lesson in this moment."

Darcy blinked, caught off guard by her unexpected deflection. "Is there?"

"He spends his days preparing for an uncertain future, carefully storing away that which will sustain him. And yet, I have read that many of his hidden treasures he will never find again." She smiled. "Which is, I suppose, a warning against too much caution. What is the use of burying something precious if one never reaps the joy of it?"

Darcy studied her for a long moment, then shook his head. "You are insufferable."

"And yet, you wish to court me," she said sweetly, raising her brows.

"I do," he said, warmth in his voice. "Very much."

Elizabeth's smile faltered, and a flicker of uncertainty passed through her eyes. "Mr. Darcy, I…" She hesitated, her gaze drifting to the dappled sunlight filtering through the trees. "It has been so many years since we were last truly acquainted—ten years, when we were but fourteen and eight. In that time, we have lived such vastly different lives. I have remained at my father's estate, surrounded by the same four-and-twenty neighbours, confined to a world that scarcely changes. But you… you have been to university, travelled the world, and gained experiences I can only dream of. How can I say, with any confidence, that we should spend the rest of our lives together?"

"Elizabeth," Darcy began, his voice low and earnest, "do you not see? It is precisely these differences that complement one another. You possess a wit, a liveliness, and a strength of character that no amount of travel or education could impart. And my own experiences have given me understanding, perspective, and perhaps the steadiness you may find comforting. Together, we are not strangers with nothing in common—we are two halves of a greater whole."

Elizabeth's brow furrowed, her heart torn between doubt and the sincerity of his words. "But your world," she murmured, her voice soft, yet touched with trepidation, "it is so vastly different from mine. You will one day inherit a great estate, with responsibilities I cannot even fathom. I have no experience in such matters."

Darcy's expression softened, his gaze steady. "Do you believe I expect you to run Pemberley as a general might muster his troops?"

"Do you not?" she asked, her tone half-teasing, half-serious.

He let out a quiet laugh, a glint of amusement in his eyes. "No, Elizabeth. I expect you to be yourself." Then, with a wry tilt of his head, he added, "And, if you must know, we have a housekeeper, Mrs. Reynolds. She is most determined to prevent us from mismanagement—she will not allow you to ruin us entirely."

Elizabeth's laughter escaped her despite herself, though her fingers brushed idly along the soft fern. "It is not only that," she confessed, her voice lowering. "I cannot help but think of my family. Should I marry you, I would be so far from them. From my mother, my father, my sisters…"

Darcy grew quiet, stepping closer to her. His voice softened. "Elizabeth, you would always have the freedom to visit, to write—to remain their daughter and sister, just as you are now." He hesitated before continuing, his voice almost shy, "And, if it matters to you… I would hope that, in time, you might come to think of my home as your own."

Elizabeth looked up at him then, truly seeing him, her heart stirring at his words. His expression was unwavering, without demand, only offering her a choice.

"And what is a hundred miles of good road?" Darcy added lightly, attempting to ease her concerns. "Surely it cannot keep you from them entirely."

Elizabeth blinked at him, then let out a laugh, tinged with exasperation. "You are insufferable. Must you always rely on such prideful arguments?"

Darcy raised a brow. "Is it insufferable to point out facts? I thought you preferred sincerity."

Elizabeth let out a soft breath, fingers brushing against a fern. "Perhaps it would amuse me to attempt the impossible—to rid you of your insufferable pride." She tilted her head. "Like the crabs, would you resist my every effort?"

Darcy raised his brows. "You would fashion me as a subject of your experiment?"

"I shall determine if you or the crabs are more worth my efforts," she said, a teasing glint in her eye. "And that is precisely what tempts me to say yes."

His lips quirked. "What a promising start!"

Elizabeth let out a slow breath. "Let us not bury what is plainly before us like the squirrel."

Darcy's lips curved. "A most unexpected philosophy lesson—but I take your meaning."

He reached for her hand, his touch warm against her fingers, and lifted it to his lips. The kiss he pressed there was light, fleeting, yet it sent a quiet thrill through her, as though in that single gesture lay a promise unspoken.

Elizabeth's breath hitched, but she did not pull away. Instead, she tilted her head, studying him, her eyes bright with something between mischief and wonder. "Well, you do learn from squirrels after all."

Darcy huffed a quiet laugh. "Oh?"

"Yes," she murmured, her fingers curling ever so slightly against his. "You did not hesitate this time."

The world around them seemed quieter then, softened—as though nature itself had paused to bear witness. Even the squirrel, apparently satisfied with its work, twitched its tail proudly and disappeared into the branches, leaving them to their future.

A.N. Thank you Colleen, Joan, Xena, Steeleo, Wendy, Jansfamily4, KurukiXV, Chris, Liz, Kayrowe, Sandy, Ashiana, Sally, ANZA946, WatcherOfStories, Laina, and guests, Your lively comments rival a harvest celebration in wit and variety! The intrigue of yarrow and hide-and-seek certainly has everyone guessing, while Caroline and her mother's machinations continue to ruffle feathers (rightly so!). As for Colonel Fitzwilliam, his interrogation skills might currently resemble a flounder navigating a coral reef—plenty of splashing about, but not quite catching his quarry. Still, his efforts are bound to stir the waters! With Kitty and Lydia's well-timed discoveries and the ever-watchful Bennet sisters, there's hope yet for foiling the Bingleys' plans. Stay tuned, and thank you for making this journey so much fun! P.S. The error in Chapter 13 was corrected. Thank you.

Now, don't squirrel away your thoughts—share them here! I'm all ears (and tails) for your comments!