Page 13 of Undone

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, againstthe 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.