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still chasing women in brothels and recklessly gambling any money he found.
    As they approached, he heard his name spoken. “Are you fond of Mr. Darcy?” was the questio n . . . Hmmm, yes, what does Elizabeth think of me . . . what? Proud ? A certain degree of pride was appropriate for the Master of Pemberley! He listened closer. Oh, no, she had heard him at the assembly say that awful comment about not being handsome! He had regretted it the moment it had left his lips, but he never imagined that it would have made its way to her ears. He listened closer as Wickham said something he could not make out and it made her blush. No! First Georgiana and now his Elizabeth? He reminded himself that she was not his Elizabeth, and from the sounds of it she wanted nothing to do with him. He sat down on the moist ground. They were out of earshot anyway. My valet will not appreciate the grass stains on my breeches. He sat there contemplating for quite a while what this meant. How could she not like him? Hadn’t she enjoyed the time at Netherfield? Hadn’t she smiled at him while dancing with him? And those looks! The half-smiles with one eyebrow arched in that teasing manner. Surely she has some feelings for him! So much for offering for her! How could she not at least admire him? He was wealthy, and many young ladies had commented to him about how they thought him handsome. He knew he was well-read, as was she, and they had shared a few conversations about books at Netherfield. She seemed to challenge his every thought, which was such a refreshing tone as most ladies just agreed with him and offered little intelligence to the conversation. He stood up . Surely she must care a little about me.
    Finally he got up and took his horse and walked it towards Meryton. His mood was low indeed. He must find a way to warn Elizabeth about Wickham! He led Calypso on and almost mounted her when he saw a book in the grass. It was titled Evelina . Is this not the same book Elizabeth was reading at Netherfield and tapping her foot so temptingly in the library? He picked it up and paged through it. Yes, he was sure it was hers. It had the same water stain on the front leather. He remembered it well because as he was “trying” not to look at her in that library and “trying” not to be seduced by the gentle tapping of those tiny slippered feet, and “trying” not to watch her lips move with the words of the book . . . he focused hard on the book. Yes, it was hers. He knew it was at best a flimsy excuse to pay a call at Longbourn, but perhaps he could return it to her. He told Calypso, “Looks as if we will get to see her today afterall.”
    He had hardly turned his horse around when he caught sight of her coming around the bend humming a bouncy tune. He knew that tune. It was the same one they danced to! Could she be thinking of him and their dance together?
    He spoke then, obviously startling her as she looked up in alarm, “Miss Elizabeth, if I am not mistaken, this is your book. I was walking and found it, you must have . . .”
    She closed the distance between them. “Oh! Yes, I dropped it when I ran into an acquaintance. Thank you.” She reached her hand out for it.
    He hesitated, keeping the book near his person. “Perhaps I might walk you to your destination? The sun is getting close to setting and I would hate for you to walk alone in the dark.” Please, please say yes!
    “Oh, no, I just came back for my book.” She held her arm out again, but when he didn’t give it to her she raised her eyebrow and said, “Mr. Darcy, what do I have to do for you to give me my book?”
    His breath caught as he smiled and thought of a few good ideas, but none of them involved her keeping her reputation intact.
    She looked at him in as stern a way as possible and then bit her lip. Why isn’t he giving me my book? She dropped her arm and said, “Very well, if you insist, you may walk me back to Longbourn. But I insist you give me my book by the