The Eldest | F. Darcy

Chapter 14: Plans

The four of them wandered over the hills for the greater part of the morning, reluctant to part from one another. Yet, reason soon overtook indulgence, for Adele and Mary had left without notice, and any further absence would surely provoke inquiries. With reluctance, they bid their farewells, James gallantly accompanying the ladies back to Longbourn.

Darcy watched them go, an unfamiliar weight settling in his chest. How he wished to keep Adele by his side for just a moment longer—if not forever. But his wistful reverie was soon interrupted by a far more disquieting thought: James Lucas.

It was not simply his presence, nor even his easy companionship with Adele, that unsettled Darcy, but rather the unmistakable tenderness with which he regarded her. At first, Darcy dismissed his own apprehension as irrational—until mere moments ago, when he had witnessed, with undeniable clarity, the emotions written plainly upon Lucas's countenance.

It had happened when the ladies, wandering a little ahead, had reached the crest of a hill where wildflowers bloomed in abundance. Darcy, ever shameless in his admiration, had been indulging in the sight of Adele—the way the sun kissed her porcelain skin, how her cocoa-brown locks gleamed like molten copper, and the celestial twinkle in her violet-blue eyes, a gaze gifted by the heavens themselves.

"They are quite the beauties in their own way, aren't they, Darcy?"

The words, spoken in an almost absent-minded manner, jolted him from his trance. The astonishment he felt at being addressed was nothing compared to the expression he beheld when he turned toward Lucas.

Pure, unguarded devotion. Adoration. Serenity.

The emotions of a man who loved.

Darcy followed his neighbor's line of sight, and there she was—the very object of his own contemplation, standing among the wildflowers, an ethereal vision framed by nature's splendor.

His breath hitched, and a terrible heat flared within him, scorching through his veins with the sinful fire of jealousy.

Lucas continued to gaze at her, utterly unaware of—or perhaps indifferent to—the scrutiny of the man beside him.

How dare he look upon a woman who was not his betrothed with such reverence? Darcy nearly scoffed at the impropriety—conveniently neglecting to examine how he himself had been admiring the very same lady with equal, if not greater, fervor.

"Well, Mr. Lucas," he sneered, his voice laced with uncharacteristic venom, "I am quite certain you are not speaking of both, but rather including the second only to veil the true object of your admiration."

The words were pointed, and James, at last, turned to meet his gaze. For the briefest moment, there was no jest between them—only a silent challenge, unspoken yet understood.

The tension might have escalated further had it not been for Mary's startled yelp as both she and Adele lost their footing. Their brief misstep sent them tumbling, and the gentlemen sprang forward at once.

Darcy, quick and instinctive, reached Adele before Lucas had the chance. He was certain—more than he had ever been of anything—that had he not acted first, Lucas would have been the one to take Adele's hand, to steady her, to claim that privilege as his own.

Adele, ever composed, merely laughed at her misfortune, the corners of her lips curving into an easy, amused smile. Mary, on the other hand, flushed deeply, her cheeks blooming with embarrassment. Lucas, rather than teasing her, simply smiled in return, a quiet warmth in his expression.

But Darcy did not see this exchange. Or rather, he saw but did not register it, too consumed by his own simmering jealousy.

Now, as he rode back toward Netherfield, he exhaled sharply, attempting to dispel the memory. It did not sit well with him—this feeling, this possessiveness over a woman who was not his to claim. And yet, in his heart, he knew the truth.