Page 7 of Moments Frozen in Time (Pride and Prejudice Variation)

DARCY

I woke early the next morning and, after drinking the coffee my valet brought to my room, made my way to the stables for a ride on my favourite stallion, Mithras.

I had been in Bingley’s company often enough to know he would not rise for several hours, so I had no concern that my absence would be noticed as I began to acquaint myself with his estate.

Unfamiliar with the area, I rode east where the first pale light of dawn had begun to stretch along the horizon.

The sun itself had not yet risen, but I could clearly see where a gentle incline rose in the distance, and I was drawn towards it.

Mithras, eager for a run, responded instantly when I loosened the reins, and I let him have his head as much as I could.

For nearly half an hour, we moved through the fields at a brisk pace, the morning air crisp and invigorating, before I slowed him and started to take fuller notice of my surroundings as I turned Mithras back in the direction of Netherfield.

I had yet to cross any fences or clear property lines, so I presumed I was still within the bounds of Netherfield.

From what I could observe, it seemed a well-managed estate.

If Bingley had a competent steward, there would be little need for my guidance during my stay.

Whilst I was happy to offer what instruction I could, it was autumn—much of the work was already complete for the year.

I would assist where needed, but I did not anticipate staying much longer than the month I had promised.

As we reached the base of the small hill, I let Mithras carry me most of the way up. When the incline became too steep near the top, I dismounted, tied his reins loosely to a nearby tree, and continued the climb on foot.

When I reached the summit, I paused to take in the view.

The sun had only just begun its ascent, casting a gentle golden glow across the undulating hills.

I stood in silence for several moments, absorbing the stillness—the hush of morning broken only by the whisper of wind through the trees.

A few leaves, already touched by autumn’s hand, drifted lazily to the ground, a quiet herald of the changing season.

A faint sound behind me drew my attention. I turned and was wholly unprepared for what I saw.

Miss Elizabeth Bennet sat on a fallen log a short distance away, unaware of my presence.

Her back was to me, her figure outlined against the morning sky.

Her dark hair was falling from its pins, stirring gently in the breeze, and she held a small notebook in one hand, the other raised to shield her eyes as she gazed over the landscape.

The simplicity of the image she presented struck me—no pretence, no attempt to charm—just a woman alone with her thoughts on a quiet hill at daybreak. It felt, somehow, as though I had stepped into a living painting, one that breathed and shimmered with light.

I must have made some inadvertent sound, for she turned suddenly, clearly startled to find herself no longer alone.

I stood perhaps thirty feet away, but from the expression on her face, she had not expected company.

She seemed entirely at ease in the solitude of the place, and for a brief moment, I frowned—more out of instinct than judgement.

I could not easily imagine allowing my own sister, or one day a daughter, to wander so far unaccompanied .

Whatever passed across my face must have been disapproving, for her expression shifted, mirroring my frown before she turned away and began gathering her things without a word.

Much like the night before, I heard my mother’s voice in my mind, urging me to speak—to abandon my usual silence and make myself heard.

That she seemed to approve of this young lady still unsettled me, but I could not ignore her ghostly prompting.

I moved to act, compelled by some force I could not understand.

“Miss Elizabeth, forgive me,” I said quickly, the words escaping before I could temper them. “I did not mean to disturb your solitude. Please—do not leave on my account.”

She turned back to face me, still slightly guarded. “You looked… displeased to see me here,” she said, her voice quieter, her usual confidence dimmed. It was a marked change from the teasing, lively woman I had met the evening before.

“I have often been accused of appearing displeased when I am merely thinking,” I admitted, trying to soften the moment.

“Oh,” she replied, tilting her head in that way I had already come to associate with her scepticism. The gesture was disarmingly endearing, and though I tried to contain it, a smile broke free before I could help myself.

“May I join you?” I asked, surprising even myself.

“Wh—yes, I suppose,” she answered, blinking as if the question had caught her off guard.

I closed the distance between us slowly, careful not to startle her again.

She watched me with a curious expression, her posture still slightly guarded, though not unfriendly.

It was wise of her; we had met only the previous night, and she knew nothing of my character or reputation. I sought to reassure her.

“I promise I am not in the habit of appearing out of the mist like an apparition,” I said, glancing around at the soft morning haze that still clung to the hillside. “At least, not intentionally.”

That earned the faintest quirk of her lips. “An apparition might have announced itself with more grace,” she replied. “Or perhaps worn a less severe expression.”

“I am wounded,” I said, chuckling under my breath. “I had not realised an apparition was required to smile.”

She shrugged, the corners of her mouth lifting. “Perhaps not, but it might be wise to keep one handy in case you encounter a lady with a notebook and strong opinions.”

“Noted,” I said, inclining my head. “I shall endeavour to look less like a brooding spectre in future.”

She raised an eyebrow. “How often do you haunt hilltops before breakfast, Mr. Darcy?”

“Only when compelled by the rare promise of good company,” I said, surprised by my own ease, delighted by her answering smile which I returned with my own. She moved over a little, making room for me on the blanket that protected her skirts from the dirt of the tree.

For several moments, we spoke of nothing more pressing than the beauty of the morning and the activity in the fields below.

The mist had begun to lift, revealing workers already bent to their tasks, and the golden light of the rising sun bathed the land in warmth, in contrast to the cool breeze that touched us on top of this hill.

As we spoke, she once again surprised me with her knowledge.

She answered my questions about both Longbourn and Netherfield with ease, speaking intelligently about crop rotation, soil conditions, and the challenges of managing tenants.

There was no attempt to impress me, only a quiet confidence born of genuine understanding.

In some ways, it was like speaking to an equal, but I was acutely aware of her femininity .

“You seem remarkably well informed,” I remarked as she pointed out a distant field where wheat had recently been cut.

“I do not mean that as a slight, merely to express my surprise that a young lady is so knowledgeable about estate matters. It has not been my experience with most of the ladies I meet in society.”

She gave a small shrug, her eyes remaining on the view.

With a sigh, she said, “Mama frequently bemoans my interest in such masculine matters. However, Papa has always let me roam the estate as long as I stay out of trouble. Since he does not take much of an interest in the estate, my sisters and I do what we can to assist the tenants when necessary. As girls, Jane and I often accompanied my grandmother about the estate and learnt much from her example. I have always enjoyed learning how things work—especially things people assume I know nothing about.”

I turned to face her fully, once again struck by how the morning light played across her features, lending them an almost ethereal charm. She still seemed unsettled by her mother’s cutting assessment and her father’s indifference, so I sought to lift her spirits.

“I imagine no one you meet underestimates you for long,” I remarked.

Her lips curved into a grin, her earlier gloom already fading. “Only once. I never allow them the opportunity to make the same mistake twice.”

I laughed, the sound surprising us both. She looked over at me, eyebrows raised in faint amusement.

“Mr Darcy,” she said lightly, “if I did not know better, I might think you were enjoying yourself in my company.”

“Perhaps I am,” I replied, still smiling. “Although I warn you: it is entirely out of character for me.”

She tilted her head again, that familiar gleam returning to her eyes. “Then I shall take it as a compliment. ”

I meant for her to. For in that quiet morning moment, with the sun warming our faces and laughter between us, I began to wonder if this budding friendship might be something more than duty or expectation—if it might become something I had never truly imagined for myself.

Something like joy.

The thought startled me, and I was suddenly recalled to myself. Remembering Mithras tied to a tree and waiting for me, I began to stand.

“Forgive me, Miss Elizabeth,” I said, looking down at the surprised expression on her face as I abruptly stood from where I was seated. I hurried to explain. “I left my horse down the hill a little, tied to a tree branch. He is no doubt wondering where I am.”

She nodded, hiding a slight smile before standing and gathering her things.

Quickly folding the blanket, she wrapped it in a length of oilcloth before tucking it into a hole in a nearby tree.

Seeing me watching her, she explained. “I come here often and found it easier to leave the blanket here rather than to carry it back and forth. This way, Mama does not get frustrated with me if she sees me returning from the fields carrying a blanket.”

As she tucked the rest of her things in her bag, the notebook she had been writing in when I first arrived fell open. There were words there, in pencil, but also a crayon drawing of the sunrise from that very spot.

I leant over and picked it up, taking a moment to look at it. As I closed it to give it back to its owner, I looked at her face. Her cheeks had blossomed into a bright pink shade, and I wondered about its cause. She took the notebook from my hand without a word.

“It was very good,” I said.

Her cheeks heated further at my compliment.

“Thank you,” she murmured finally .

I stood there for a moment, staring at her. “Have you…have you never shown anyone your drawings before?”

Although I was uncertain what made me ask, I knew the rightness of the question as soon as I asked it.

She shook her head, seemingly unable to speak. We stared at each other for a moment further before she finally admitted. “No one. I…I always felt they were not very good, but I also, um, I always did them for myself.”

“You are self-taught, then?” I asked dumbly.

With a smile, she nodded. “My aunt and uncle live in London, and they have taken me to the museums at various times. Several years ago, during a visit, I found a book meant to teach a child some basic skills in drawing, and I purchased that and some crayons using my pin money. When my aunt saw what I had purchased, she showed me a few things and has asked about my drawings on occasion. She still asks me about my art, but she has never insisted I show her anything.”

“She is the only member of your family who knows?” I asked, tilting my head as I watched her.

“She is,” Miss Elizabeth said in agreement.

I was uncertain what else to say, and we simply stood there for several moments, both of us silent. It was not uncomfortable, which was strange given how short a time we had known each other. Finally, a noise startled the both of us, and I looked around once again.

“I should go,” I said.

She nodded and replied in much the same tone. “My family will be sitting down to breakfast soon. I would not wish my absence to be noticed—and certainly not remarked upon.”

I offered her my arm as we began down the path, and she accepted it with a knowing smile. The gesture was foolish in retrospect; we had not gone ten steps before the uneven ground forced her to release it. With a quiet chuckle, I gestured for her to take the lead .

When we reached the spot where Mithras waited, she paused to gently stroke his muzzle, and the stallion leant into her touch with a soft huff, clearly pleased. When she moved to his neck, running her hand along the sleek curve just below his mane, he gave a contented flick of his ears.

“He is a beautiful creature,” she murmured as she stroked him, and I confess to feeling the slightest hint of jealousy at her attention to my horse.

I cleared my throat before I could speak. “He was a gift from my father when I completed university. We have been together a long time, and he has been my friend and companion since then.”

She smiled at me, then stepped back as I mounted.

For a moment, I looked down at her, reluctant to leave just yet.

The early light played across her features, and I found myself memorising the scene—the hillside, the rising sun, and the woman who had quietly unsettled every assumption I had carried with me to Hertfordshire.

I was grateful for my mother’s intervention, and although I was uncertain about her expectations for us, I was certain that I would not regret our meeting.

“Until we meet again, Miss Elizabeth,” I finally said.

Her smile did not falter. “I shall look forward to it, Mr. Darcy,” she replied, stepping back a pace. With a graceful turn, she resumed her course, moving further along the path that diverged from the road to Netherfield.

I lingered a moment longer than was necessary, my gaze following her until the curve of the path concealed her from view. At length, I drew lightly upon the reins, and Mithras turned, carrying me back towards Netherfield—though with a far gentler pace than the one which had brought me there.