Elizabeth Bennet dropped her letters onto the table, grateful for the intrusion. (The dog’s—not Mr. Darcy’s.)

“Heel! Sit!” He pointed at the floor at his feet, his voice stern.

In a flagrant (and adorably sweet) display of disobedience, the puppy licked and nibbled at his fingers, insistently raking the front of his impeccably brushed and pressed breeches with her muddy paws.

It served him right. His unwelcome presence certainly had not improved Elizabeth’s headache. Until now. The expression of absolute horror and disgust on Mr. Darcy’s face made her hold her breath lest a delighted and slightly vengeful giggle escape.

Calling the dog over with low whistles and clucks, Elizabeth patted her legs and clapped to get the puppy’s attention. It was not until Elizabeth crouched down on the floor that the Dane noticed her. She trotted over to sniff Elizabeth’s skirts and lean into her hands when she scratched behind the puppy’s ears.

She was a spindly thing—all ears and feet, with a sleek, white coat and black splotches on her rump and over one ear. Elizabeth rubbed behind her ears, talking in a soothing tone. “I am delighted to make your acquaintance, little miss. However did you find your way here? Did you escape from the kennels? Your blue eyes would be the envy of many ladies of my acquaintance. Yes, you are a beautiful girl, no doubt a gem among puppies! The kennel keeper will want to know how you escaped, and I fear you will not like your punishment very much. What does he call you, I wonder?”

The puppy nudged the ruby necklace at Elizabeth’s throat, entirely unconcerned about the consequences of her escape.

“You like my necklace, do you? It is a ruby, a similar shade to your lovely pink nose.” She ruffled the dog’s fur, teasing, “Now, there is a name! Rambunctious Ruby. Is that what I shall call you?”

As Elizabeth felt Ruby licking her wrist, she looked up to see Mr. Darcy standing in the farthest corner, watching her and the dog, as composed as a gentleman accustomed to perfection could be with mud-stained breeches.

What had he wished to tell her? Whatever it was, it would wait for another day. She could not imagine what was so important he would call in the evening when he should have been dining with his aunt.

Elizabeth certainly had nothing to say to him. Nothing kind. Not after what he had done to separate Mr. Bingley from Jane. Colonel Fitzwilliam had been a veritable fount of knowledge. “Strong objections to the lady,” indeed!

The gentleman opened his mouth, but before he could utter a word, there was a loud knock at the door. The maid soon joined them with the kennel keeper. Mr. Mansell doffed his hat and ducked his head. “My deepest apologies.”

Elizabeth did not know if it was the work of her active imagination, the poor lighting in the room, or a valid observation, but the man paled at the sight of Mr. Darcy. “I am very sorry, sir,” he mumbled as he passed the stuffy, disapproving gentleman. Grabbing Ruby by the scruff of her neck, he pulled her away.

Elizabeth rose to her feet, brushing off her hands. “She meant no harm.”

“She never does.” Mr. Mansell’s smile was sad. He looped a lead around her head and pulled her closer to the door.

Mr. Darcy glared at the man, his tone sharp. “Is this a common occurrence?”

“It is the first time she has escaped her pen.” Mr. Mansell sighed and rubbed his free hand over his face. “I had best return her to the kennel. My apologies, Mr. Darcy, Miss Bennet.”

Ruby tugged against the lead, raising up on her back feet and making a cute squeaky noise as if she wished to give her regards to Mr. Darcy, who did not look impressed to be the recipient of the dog’s attentions.

Mr. Darcy stepped away, hands crossed over his chest. “A Great Dane,” he mumbled under his breath, as though the breed were a curse.

Ruby did not seem to understand she was in trouble. She trotted away, her tail whipping back and forth happily, a stark contrast to her keeper’s sad expression.

Mr. Darcy watched them go, his gaze glued to the puppy, until the maid handed him a clean cloth with which to brush off mud from the breeches his valet would have to attend to later. With a bow, he took his leave from the parlor to the entrance hall. God forbid the great man would have to cross the lawn in muddy breeches. It did her humor good to observe the great Mr. Darcy seeing to such a humble task.

Feeling much better than she had minutes before, Elizabeth turned to the window and the pile of Jane’s letters resting on the table in front of it. Poor Jane! If only Mr. Darcy had not influenced Mr. Bingley to leave Netherfield Park. What right had he to interfere? She pressed her fingers against her temples, the pounding beginning anew.

The source of her malaise bowed to take his leave. Good riddance.

“Mansell!” The voice coming from the other side of the window drew her attention away from the disagreeable gentleman.

From the soft glow of the moon, Elizabeth saw Mr. Mansell on the path leading out to Hunsford’s gate. His shoulders rose to his ears. His head tipped toward the puppy prancing at his feet, and his entire posture slumped in defeat.

The same voice she had heard a moment before sounded. “I told you to get rid of her.” It was the gamekeeper, Mr. Fowler.

Surely Mr. Fowler did not mean what Elizabeth suspected. She moved closer to the door, where Mr. Darcy still stood in the shadows of the entrance. Fortunately, his attention was not on her but on the two other men.

Mr. Mansell bowed his head. “I have only to find a way to teach her, and she will be an exemplary specimen. Look at her lines, her size. She is a beauty.”

“She is untrainable.”

“In all fairness, sir, her training has only started.”

“She does not look at you when you speak. The other puppies have learned to acknowledge your voice, but she does as she pleases. I have never seen a more rebellious dog.” Mr. Fowler pulled a bag off his shoulder and handed it to Mr. Mansell. “She will discredit Her Ladyship’s kennel. The problem must be dealt with whether you like it or not.”

“No!” Elizabeth gasped. How could he be so cruel?

The two men turned to face her, and she stepped around Mr. Darcy to give Mr. Fowler a piece of her mind.

Mr. Darcy beat her to it. “Surely Mr. Mansell should be given sufficient time to train the dog first.” His haughty tone suited the occasion perfectly and her vexation at his interruption turned to triumph when Mr. Fowler stiffened and cleared his throat.

“Her Ladyship is particular about defective animals. They reflect poorly on her estate.”

Mr. Darcy turned to Mr. Mansell, ignoring the gamekeeper. “How old is she?”

“Just over ten weeks, sir.”

“When did her instruction begin?”

“Two weeks ago.”

Mr. Fowler interrupted. “Something is wrong with the dog. No amount of training will beat that out of her.”

“I should hope that beating is not necessary.” Mr. Darcy stood taller, his tone as imposing as his posture. Too bad he was not as considerate to people. “Young puppies require consistent direction over a long period of time. You cannot rightly determine that this one is without hope when her training has only just begun.”

“Forgive me, Mr. Darcy, but your aunt has entrusted me with keeping the game at Rosings, and the kennels are under my authority. If she has any cause for complaint, she will take the matter up with me.”

Mr. Darcy held up his hand. “You fulfill your role admirably, Mr. Fowler. The streams teem with fish. There is ample game at my aunt’s table, and during my rides over the property, I have yet to see a poacher’s snare.”

The gamekeeper softened his stance and, with a healthier measure of affability than he had demonstrated when he first arrived, he bowed his departure along with Mr. Mansell.

Mr. Darcy, too, bowed, his eyes pinched and his mouth bunched. With an exhale that communicated resignation, he said, “I shall speak with my aunt’s housekeeper so she can send you some of her tonic. I wish you a prompt recovery.”

“Thank you, Mr. Darcy. That is… kind of you.” The praise stuck in her throat, but she forced it out. As she watched him catch up to the other men and continue down the path away from Hunsford, Elizabeth marveled at how quickly Mr. Darcy had gone from severe displeasure at the misbehaving Dane to rising in her defense.

Returning to the parlor, she collected her letters and went upstairs to her room. Elizabeth’s headache subsided before Mr. Darcy sent the housekeeper’s tonic, but her heart still ached for Jane.

Why does Mr. Darcy’s kindness disquiet our sassy heroine so much? Could it be there is much more for her to discover about the gentleman?

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