Page 25 of Elizabeth in Scotland (Elizabeth and Darcy Abroad #2)

Elizabeth sighed as she walked along the rambling paths of the garden.

Inclement weather had kept her indoors early that morning when she would have gone for her walk.

Thankfully, the rain had let up as the day went on, giving her a chance for some fresh air.

She had spent the morning with her father in the parlour, discussing the riddle, but she could not focus.

Surely the clue was from some written work, but Elizabeth could not seem to pull it from her memory.

It was maddening. Not only that the answer seemed to rest just out of reach of her mental faculties, but that Mr Darcy was causing her so much distraction as to render her useless to her father.

She had thought the fresh air and change of scenery might help her in solving the puzzle, but she found her thoughts still pulled toward Mr Darcy.

Frustration boiled in her chest. What was wrong with her?

She should not be thinking about a man of his station.

True, her father was a landed gentleman, but the Bennets were far indeed from Mr Darcy’s level of wealth and consequence.

Certainly he could never see them as equals. Of that, she had no doubt.

Elizabeth turned down a bend in the pathway and started back toward the house, not realising where she was rambling, and not really caring where she ended up. Her heart was so drawn to the landscape that even getting a little lost in the Highlands would have been a pleasure.

At the sound of a man’s strong footsteps on the gravel path ahead, Elizabeth looked up and smiled, expecting to greet Mr Campbell. But the friendly words on her lips turned into a startled gasp at what she saw there.

Elizabeth blinked several times, wondering if she could trust her eyes.

It seemed rather unlikely, for if they did not lie, then the handsome man before her was Mr Darcy.

Moreover, it was not Mr Darcy as she had seen him before, starched, proper, and proud, but Mr Darcy with his hair as wet and ruffled as though he had fallen into a pond, and wearing nothing more than a kilt and shirt.

She would never have dreamt of seeing Mr Darcy in such a get-up, especially with a shirt open wide at the neck, revealing a glimpse of his bare chest.

She looked away, feeling herself blush. Even more embarrassing than catching Mr Darcy in such a state of dress was how very attractive he looked in it.

The man could wear a potato sack and still be handsome, she thought with frustration.

Did he not know how very difficult he was making it to think of him only with proper distance and respect?

With an effort, Elizabeth clung to her self-control. It would not do to let him suspect her thoughts, for it could only mortify them both. “Mr Darcy, good morning,” she said cheerfully, and privately congratulated herself on the steadiness of her voice.

“Miss Bennet,” he blurted out. “I — I beg your pardon for my dishabille. I was not expecting to meet anyone in the gardens.” He looked away, as though unable to meet her gaze. And was that a hint of a flush on his cheekbones?

Somehow, his embarrassment helped to ease hers.

“Did you fall into the loch?” Elizabeth inquired curiously.

His hair was quite wet, and there were dribbles coming down the side of his face.

Oddly, it only made him look more handsome — vulnerable, in a way — more approachable.

“We seem to keep running into each other like this.”

Truly, Elizabeth? You attempt to ease the tension, and say such a thing as that? You have made it considerably worse.

At least Mr Darcy did not seem offended. “Yes, quite a happy accident, I would say,” he replied. He smoothed down his shirt as though attempting to make himself more presentable, but it was a difficult feat in his current condition. “Allow me to explain. I found the second key.”

As if this would explain his state of undress. Her heart sank, and she looked down at her hands. “And so you fell into a pond, I assume?” she asked.

“Oh, no. It was at the bottom of the loch. I dived in to retrieve it,” Mr Darcy said, seeming as flustered as she was. “That is, it was secured inside a chest, which was at the bottom of the loch.”

Elizabeth raised her eyebrows. “How did you–? Whatever would have possessed Mr Campbell to put it in the water?” She ran through the riddle in her mind, and then understanding dawned.

“I see. How stupid of me. I should have known it was from ‘The Lady of the Lake’. It is such a new piece that I have not had time to put it to memory.”

“You should not blame yourself. I only happened upon it by luck. I was scouring the library this morning before I went on my little adventure. Mr Campbell was not teasing when he said he would make this riddle more difficult,” he smiled.

“I apologise for appearing in such a wild manner, without proper English dress, but I was dreadfully cold in my wet things.”

“I see,” Elizabeth replied. If Mr Darcy only knew how very little she minded his unconventional attire!

She silently reprimanded herself for her untoward thoughts. “I will leave you to change, then,” Elizabeth said in a bright attempt at normality. She walked away as hurriedly as though she could leave her disastrous thoughts behind her, hardly even returning Mr Darcy’s parting bow.

She would put him out of her thoughts — she must. With an effort, Elizabeth grasped for something engaging enough to keep her focus.

For better or worse, the choice was obvious, for the state of the contest for the house and lands could not help but be a topic of great engagement, and great worry.

It was tied now. Anyone could win, with the fate of Strathalt House and the Bennet sisters hanging in the balance.

Even the thought of winning could not be an unalloyed pleasure.

If not for her growing fondness for the Darcys, Elizabeth would have enjoyed cheering her father on.

But as it stood, she felt herself torn. Miss Darcy had become a fast friend.

And her feelings for Mr Darcy, confusing as they were, were also growing.

She let out a breath of frustration, looking over her shoulder as she came to a small copse of trees to ensure that no one else was near.

Once satisfied she was well and truly alone, she sat down on a large boulder near the loch and crossed her arms over her chest. Mr Darcy was just a friend, was he not?

Surely she had not let her heart get so out of hand as to believe he might actually feel something more for her than friendship?

She worried her lower lip, looking out over the water and wishing her life had not become so complicated.

Elizabeth hardly knew how long she sat there, unmoving, her thoughts moving in loops. At last, Mr Bennet found her. He greeted his daughter cheerfully and sat down on the boulder beside her.

“Well then, my dear Lizzy,” he began cheerfully, before coming to a sudden halt. He spoke again, taking a rather different tone. “Lizzy, what is wrong? I can see from your face that something is troubling you.”

Elizabeth had never imagined being glad that Mr Darcy had solved the second riddle, but she found herself in precisely that ridiculous position. To tell her father all her real thoughts was obviously impossible, but one part must be shared with him.

“It is the second riddle,” she therefore said with a sigh. “Mr Darcy has solved it. If you do not mind, Father, I will allow him to tell you the rest, for I have no heart to myself.”

“Very well, Lizzy, very well,” Mr Bennet said gently. “You need not distress yourself. Nothing shall be lost from waiting to satisfy my curiosity.”

“Thank you, Father,” Elizabeth replied.

“You must not lose hope, you know. We are tied now. Perhaps I may yet solve the final riddle before Mr Darcy can. We must hope so.”

“I believe in you, Papa,” Elizabeth said. “Perhaps you will solve this next riddle as quickly as you did the first.”

“Perhaps, my dear, perhaps,” Mr Bennet said with a chuckle. “In any case, allow me to lift your spirits. I have a letter for you that has just arrived from home,” he said. He handed her the letter, its seal still unbroken.

Elizabeth let out a sigh of relief. “From Jane, I will bet,” she said. But when she turned the missive over to look at the address, it was in Lydia’s messy handwriting, not Jane’s elegant hand. She tried not to let her disappointment show.

“I shall leave you to read it alone, if you wish?” her father suggested.

“Nonsense. The contents will be for you as well, I wager.” Elizabeth broke the wax seal and unfolded the letter.

“It will only concern me if your sister is in need of money for her little trinkets,” he said wryly.

She wanted to argue with him, but he was right.

He had little affection for his younger daughters, though he did love them, in his quiet way.

They were indeed difficult to handle at times and had little in common with their sire.

Of course, if he had made more of an effort to discipline them — to steer Lydia and Kitty in the right direction — he might have found they were more attuned to his character.

Elizabeth let the matter lie, however, and read the letter aloud.

∞∞∞

Dear Lizzy,

How is Scotland? I must confess, I was annoyed when you were asked to go and not me. I have never been anywhere yet. But I will not hold that against you, since we have had the most wonderful time since you and Papa went away. You will never guess what a stroke of good luck has befallen us…

The militia has come to Meryton!

Many of them were in attendance at last night’s assembly, and they are ever such good dancers. At least, most of them are. Those who are not as good at dancing have the good sense to be charming, which almost makes up for it. There is a certain Mr W —

∞∞∞