These Three Remain

seen you behave so stupidly, Cousin! I swear, madam.” The Colonel turned to Mrs. Collins. “He is not usually so boorish as to ignore his hostess completely! Why, I have known him to string some half dozen words together at a go in a most cogent manner.”

“That, my dear Cousin, is because the military can rarely be depended upon to retain the meaning of a communique composed of any more,” Darcy shot back, now fully aware of his cousin’s amused gaze upon him. Impervious to the barb, Fitzwilliam feigned a swoon, bringing the entire room to renewed laughter. Blast Richard! But it was true. He had become distracted and had been full of nothing save the woman sitting across from him, haloed in the morning light from the nearby window. “I do beg your pardon, ma’am. Did you require something of me?”

“’Twas nothing of great import, Mr. Darcy.” Mrs. Collins’s smile was sincere, but so was the curiosity that marked the rest of her features. He would have to exercise better care over his wandering attention. No, not wandering, he corrected himself. His problem was the reverse; it was so very focused…and entirely upon Elizabeth. Her face, her figure, her hair, the way her voice trilled up and down the scale so enchantingly, the delicacy of her hands as her sure fingers bent to her needlework. He dared not even consider her eyes and those lips that now curved up at his repartee with Richard — or was it at his distraction? Blast! Darcy turned his face away to the window. This was his third call at the parsonage this week, the second with Richard, and he was no further toward making a decision than he had been Sunday. The problem, he decided, was that there were too many other people about! Although from his late experience he knew private interviews to be fraught with dangers and difficulties, how else could he gain the answers he required? How was this to be accomplished? He could not depend on another happy accident, nor would he skulk about the shrubbery hoping to catch her alone.

“Oh, you must never think so!” Mrs. Collins’s reply to something that Fitzwilliam had opined interrupted Darcy’s bemusement with his conundrum. “Miss Bennet is a very hardy sort, as are many of Hertfordshire’s young ladies. I have known her to walk from her home to Meryton and back twice in one day!”

Walk! Of course! How could he have forgotten? The memory of Elizabeth’s wind-kissed cheeks and bright eyes when she had been ushered into the dining room at Netherfield returned with a disconcerting clarity. She walked often and alone there in Hertfordshire. Did she walk Rosings Park alone?

“Is it true, Darcy?” Fitzwilliam lifted a brow at him as he pulled him by force back into the conversation. “Is Miss Elizabeth Bennet such an excellent walker as Mrs. Collins would have us believe?”

“Unquestionably,” Darcy answered him, and then, suddenly, inspiration struck! If she did walk and alone would that not afford him the privacy with her he desired? “I can vouch for her personally in regard to her enterprise in Hertfordshire, but whether Miss Bennet finds Kent worthy of her rambles, she must confess.”

“Ah then, does Kent tempt you, Miss Bennet?” Fitzwilliam smiled at his object. “Or perhaps I should ask, does Rosings Park? You must forget that we are Her Ladyship’s relatives and tell the truth!”

Yes, she took great pleasure in her walks, and the fields and groves of Rosings Park were become as dear a ramble as any in Hertfordshire. Darcy smiled as the scene in the Hunsford cottage replayed itself in his mind. Elizabeth’s confidential tone to Lady Catherine’s relations had been one he knew to be sincere, and the satisfaction which came with the assurance that he knew her mind, could interpret her meaning, was deep and abiding. Her delight had been unfeigned. So, here he was traversing the park as soon as the dew had lifted in a welter of anticipation of meeting her…alone. The rapid beat of his heart had nothing to do with the length or pace of his stride and all to do with his hopes. That unruly organ had resisted every attempt to bridle it, rein it in to a more seemly rhythm, from the moment he had awakened this morning.

At the least, he had not startled Fletcher. His valet had been prepared for his early ring, receiving him into the barbering chair with no more comment than a “Good morning, sir.” He had half expected some telling Shakespearean barb whose meaning he would be expected to ponder, but Fletcher had proceeded with quiet alacrity and sent him off expertly attired with only a wish of “Good fortune, Mr. Darcy.” That had been a bit unusual! Darcy could not remember such a parting benediction ever falling from Fletcher’s lips before, but the sight of a flash of yellow through the trees ahead drove that curiosity from his mind and set his heart to beating an even faster tattoo. Gripping his malacca tightly, he quickened his pace. Then, as he rounded a curve of the path, there she was, a vision of cream and yellow drifting pensively among the lacy ferns and wild violets that carpeted the grove. Darcy slowed, making a last attempt at composing himself before she became aware of his presence, but it was for naught. Elizabeth’s head came up from her study of nature just as he rounded upon her. Her eyes, wide with surprise, locked unerringly with his over the distance between them, in that moment unleashing so true a dart that Darcy felt it cleave clean through his chest to lodge deep inside and bring him to a complete stop.

“Mr. Darcy!” The surprise and uncertainty in Elizabeth’s voice penetrated his awareness.

“Miss Bennet,” he heard himself reply, and in so hearing, command of his limbs returned. He swept her a bow. Curiosity overruled the surprise in her eyes as he replaced his beaver and walked toward her. “Do you anticipate your walk this morning,” he asked, his voice not at all as steady as he would wish, “or are you at the end of your ramble?”

“I was just about to turn back, sir,” she informed him, her gaze now reaching beyond him down the path he had come. “Does Colonel Fitzwilliam not accompany you?”

“No, my cousin does not find the early morning light agreeable,” he replied, anxious to have done with any talk of Richard. He forced himself to press on and take command of the conversation. “If you mean to turn back, Miss Bennet, may I offer you my escort?” Elizabeth’s countenance again betrayed uncertainty. “It would be my pleasure,” he added quietly and extended his arm. Slowly, she nodded her acquiescence and placed her hand upon his arm. Darcy could barely restrain himself from reaching over his other hand and covering it protectively. Instead, he motioned that they begin her return journey. “Shall we?”

“Yes, thank you, you are very kind,” Elizabeth murmured.

“Not at all,” Darcy replied absently, his concentration centered upon stilling the clangorous din of his heart while at the same time enjoying every sensation her closeness afforded.

“Mr. Darcy.” Elizabeth tilted her face up to his. “There are any number of walking paths in Rosings Park, are there not?”

“Yes, I believe that is so,” he replied and then quickly looked away down the path in order to hide the smile that threatened to appear on his face. Gad, this was going to be impossible! How could he not grin like a fool with Heaven poised there on his arm?

“As I thought.” Elizabeth’s self-congratulation on this seemingly elementary deduction puzzled him, but the mystery was soon rendered clear when she continued. “Although I have not walked all the paths of Rosings, I do beg leave to inform you that this particular path I find to be quite efficacious for quieting the spirit and for solitary reflection.”

“Indeed!” Darcy looked away, desperate to prevent the grin that again threatened to spread over his face. Thank Heaven that his height and bearing concealed it from her view! It would not do to be too obvious, to reveal openly the extent of his pleasure in what she had so delicately conveyed to him. It was settled, then! He was to meet her here if he wished to further his designs for private conversation and mutual understanding.

“You favor solitary walks, then, Miss Bennet? Do you not wish for companionship?”

“Oh, at times! The right companion can make all the difference in the pleasure a ramble affords. But if that companion may not be had, I prefer my own company, sir, and quiet.”

“We are of the same mind in this regard as well then.” He nodded. The right companion — ah, better and better!

Elizabeth looked up at him, a puzzled frown creasing her brow. “I do not catch your meaning, Mr. Darcy.”

“It was you who noticed it first, I am sure.” The puzzled crease remained, and as he could not bear that that should be so, he explained. “You told me once that you saw a great similarity in the turn of our minds. I beg to remain silent on your particular observations that evening, but in general, I believe your assessment to be correct.”

“Indeed!” exclaimed Elizabeth, whose turn it now was to look away. The remainder of their way back to Hunsford was accomplished in a silence that seemed to Darcy a companionable one, which neither side broke until they reached the gate of the pales opposite the parsonage. This he opened with his free hand, and only then did he succumb to the temptation to clasp in his own the hand that rested on his arm. Taking it, he held it as he did his