Page 7 of Darcy's Disguise (The Bennet and Darcy Chronicles #3)

7

E lizabeth had always lovedwalking in the quiet of the early morning.

Before the world had fully woken, before her mother’s voice filled the house with her flutterings and frenzies,before her sisters pulled her into their concerns—these walks were hers alone.

The air wascrisp, carrying the scent ofearth and new blooms, the gentle hum of birdsong filling the silence.

She followed theworn path behind the church, boots brushing against damp grass, her mind at ease. When she was outside, everything seemed better.

Her thoughts touched lightly on everything, her latest book, the flowers soon expected to bloom, the blue of the sky and of course, Mr. Dawson.

The question she most needed to understand was simple, but the answer was elusive. Was she permitted to be enamored with the Reverend’s tutor? Her face heat furiously just with the thought. Was she embarrassed of him? Not at all. He was four times the man of any she’d ever met. She could not reconcile at all the man who she knew with his station in life, his position as a tutor, or the son of a stable hand. He just could not. Mr. Dawson commanded respect, attention, deference. He walked like he expected people to move out of the way.

She rounded a bend and of course, because he was always present everywhere, he was on her path too, standing just ahead under a tree.

Tall. Dark-haired. Broad shouldered. His jacket had an excellent cut, his boots fine, his trousers, perfectly fitting. He presented as one of the finest gentlemen she’d ever seen.

William Dawson.

He waswaiting for her.

He had yet to see her and for a moment, she wasunsure what to think about him on her walk. Had she mentioned her walks hoping she might run into him? Of course.

Did she think he’d be there the very next possible morning? Not really.

Was she happy to see him? She searched the whirlwind of emotions and was pretty certain happiness swirled around in there somewhere, along with confusion, concern, and several morally ambiguous guilt related thoughts.

But then he turned, catching sight of her, and hisexpression shifted into something warm, something expectant. And his mouth filled with the largest smile she’d seen on his face. He was quite astounding with such an expression, as though nothing could dim his happiness. He filled the forest with light.

"Miss Bennet," he said, inclining his head.

"Mr. Dawson," she replied, stepping closer.

What more was there to say? She could not resist such a man, not right then.

“And here we are.” She smiled.

He offered his arm which she took immediately.

They fell intoeasy conversation, their stepsunhurried, their voices low enough to keepthe morning stillness intact.

"The primroses are beginning to bloom," Elizabeth remarked, gesturing toa cluster of pale-yellow flowers growing along the path.

Dawsonnodded, his gaze following hers. "They are always the first," he said. "Gentle things. The countryside’s way of whispering that winter is behind us."

Elizabeth glanced at himcuriously. "You are quite poetic about flowers, Mr. Dawson."

Hechuckled.“They are deserving of an accolade. Do you agree?”

“I do indeed.” Elizabeth smiled. "I wonder," she mused, "if you are a man who finds beauty in many things?"

Dawson paused their steps, his eyes searching her face. "Perhaps," he said after a moment, "I am only just discovering what I find beautiful."

Lizzie’s skin tingled where his gaze lingered on her. Her mind scrambled for something to say, anything clever or complimentary or even just bland. Something. Anything besides silence. He reached a hand up to clear a lock of her hair from her face.

"And you, Miss Bennet? What do you find beautiful?"

Grateful for an easier topic, she stepped closer, her hand squeezing his arm. "The change of seasons," she said. "How something that was once so cold and barren can bloom again."

"A hopeful sentiment." He looked away, something clouding his expression.

Elizabethtilted her head in concern. "And what of you, sir? Do you have hope for the future?"

There was apause, just a flicker too long. Then, he smiled. "I believe I am still determining what I hope for," he admitted.

Elizabeth lifted a brow. "A curious answer."

"A truthful one," he countered.

The path wound alonga low stone wall, the morning light filtering through the branches above.

"Tell me, Mr. Dawson," Elizabeth said, glancing at him, "are you a man who enjoys philosophy?"

Dawson gave her asideways glance, amused. "I suspect I am about to be tested, Miss Bennet."

She smiled. "Not tested," she assured him. "Only… measured."

He let out asoft laugh."Very well, then. Measure away."

"Have you read much of Adam Smith?"

He nodded. "Enough to know his economic theories are shaping our world more than many realize."

She arched abrow. "And do you find his ideas agreeable?"

Dawson’s eyes lit with intelligent thought. "I believe he is correct in his observations of human nature," he said finally. "But I am less convinced that men, when left entirely to their own devices, will always act in a way that benefits the greater good."

Elizabeth wasquiet for a moment. "You surprise me, Mr. Dawson."

"Do I?"

"Yes. I expected you to champion his arguments. But instead, you challenge them."

Dawson dipped his head.” I think I am a man who enjoys discussion more than certainty.”

Elizabethlaughed outright. "And here I thought I had met the first man in England who believed he was right about everything!"

Dawsonchuckled, shaking his head. "Far from it, Miss Bennet. Though I suspect you, yourself, rarely find yourself wrong."

Elizabeth grinned. "I do try to avoid it."

Their stepsslowed, the space between themsmaller now than before.

Elizabeth no longer saw anything around them, no longer smelled the breeze, no longer saw the bright blue of the sky. She was instead,keenly aware of him.

The way his voicelowered when he was thinking deeply.

The way his handsmoved when he spoke, emphasizing his points.

The way his presencefelt so utterly… steady.

And then their hands brushed.

Not by accident.

Not quite deliberately.

A soft, fleeting touch, a warmth against the cool morning air.

They brushed again, sending sensations up to her shoulder.

And again, only this time, their hands remained close, remained touching far longer than was possible in a casual walking gait.

She should move away.

She should say somethingclever and deflecting.

She should remember he was the local tutor.

She should?—

"Miss Bennet," Dawson said quietly.

They stopped and she looked up.

Andall at once she saw him differently.

She saw the waythe morning light touched his profile, how his eyes had darkened slightly, how his breath was just a little deeper than before.

She sawa man who was wholly himself—who challenged her, who listened to her, who spoke to her as though she was the most fascinating person in the world.

He was the most compatible man she’d ever met, the most fascinating.

"I—" she started.

Butwhat was she to say?

That she enjoyed his company? That she respected his mind? That she found herself more comfortable in conversation with him than almost any man she had ever known? That she was falling in love with him?

No.

She could not say that.

“I find I am enjoying your company perhaps too much?” She shrugged, searching his face, hoping to see anything that would convince her otherwise.

“Is it possible to enjoy something too much?” He smiled, though his eyes held tenderness, understanding, admission. “I too have wondered such a thing. I know that you have others in need of your time, others who might wish to earn your approval. I’m a bit selfish to even hope for bits of your attention.” He paused, allowing her a moment to respond, to explain, to dismiss him even. She knew there were a myriad of things to say. Perhaps the most important thing would be to remind him of their differences in station. The most enjoyable delicious direction would be to admit to her growing attraction. She stepped closer. But the words would not come. The admission was too much for her and the discouragement too difficult.

They stood close, each sharing silent communication Elizabeth wasn’t certain she knew how to read, but his eyes were swimming full of everything as though he could offer the world. She just didn’t know if she could accept.

So instead she mumbled, "I must be returning home.”

Dawson wassilent for a moment. Then he nodded. "Of course.”

She turned and almost ran away. Her emotion clogged her throat and welled a bit in her eyes. Lizzie cut through the next field in a shortcut to her home, leaving him back on the trail that would take him back to the rectory. She hurried straight through fields and navigated the woods trying not to think.

She arrived home in a turmoil and it hadn’t eased a few hours later.

Elizabeth had never found itdifficult to order her thoughts before.

She had always known herself to bepractical, rational, and above all, sensible.

And yet she could not stop thinking about him.

About how easily the conversation hadflowed between them, as though they had known each otherfar longer than a few short weeks.

About how he hadlistened—really listened—to her.

How he had challenged her, debated her, met her inevery way that mattered.

Elizabeth had often believed that she couldnever truly admire a man unless he could engage her mind.

And here was a man who did just that.

A man whodid not dismiss her opinions, whodid not placate her or humor her,but whoengaged her with sincerity and enthusiasm.

A man who, againstall reason, was everything she had ever wanted.

And he wasentirely off-limits.

When she arrived home, Elizabeth sat on the small bench inLongbourn’s garden, staring out at the fading afternoon light.

Could she—would she—ever consider marrying a man of no fortune?

Could theyget by on a tutor’s wages?

And what of her father?

She imagined going to him now, standing before Mr. Bennet’s desk, declaring that she intended to marry a man with no property, no name, no connections.

Elizabeth let out afrustrated sigh, pressing her fingers to her temples.

She hadalways believed herself above such considerations, that she would marry for love, regardless of fortune.

Butshe had never before faced the reality of it.

Now she could not ignore that reality glaring at her.

And then there was theother matter.

The onethat made her stomach twist, the one that refused to settle. Something is not right.

If William Dawson was a simple tutor, thenwhydid so many thingsnot add up?

What tutor receivesexpress lettersdelivered by a rider?

What tutorquotes philosophy with perfect articulation?

What commonerspeaks like a gentleman, moves like a nobleman, carries himself with quiet command?

And yet—what nobleman plays the role of a commoner so effortlessly?

What are you hiding, Mr. Dawson?

Elizabeth’s fingerstightened around the fabric of her skirt.

She did not know what to believe.

And worse, she didn’t know what to feel.

For all her uncertainty, for all her questions, one fact hadbecome undeniable.

Shefelt something for him.

Something she had not wanted.

Something she had notexpected.

Because if he was a tutor, thenhe could never be hers.

And if he wassomething else—then why had he lied?

Elizabeth inhaled sharply, pressing a hand against her forehead.

The truthsettled into her bones, heavy and inescapable.

She did not knowwhat to do with her feelings.

She did not knowhow to move forward.

She only knewone thing.

I do not wish to stay away from him.