One lazy morning, the Netherfield party sat around the breakfast table. The platter in the center was piled high with beef, ham and a half dozen delicious pheasant pies. One of those also sat half eaten in front of Darcy. Today Darcy planned to take a morning ride and then catch up on his reading.

He’d encountered Elizabeth once in the roads around Longbourn; maybe if he haunted them again he might run across her once more. The Netherfield party had no plans for the day, and while sunny and bright, the previous three days it had rained, curtailing the normal round of calls and connections. The road was steadily drying though, and with the strength of the sun it would be gone within a few hours. Besides, a true gentleman never let a little mud scare him from a good ride.

Bingley slapped his palm on the table. “Deuced boring day! I know what we must do.”

Darcy winced internally. He would have to find some excuse if his friend was about to suggest another day of shooting. They’d killed enough birds.

At least Bingley’s cook knew exactly what to do with them. Darcy took another bite of his meat pie. The flour of the pastry and the gamy flavor of the bird’s meat mixed perfectly.

Soon fox hunting…

“Royston Cave!” Bingley exclaimed. “At last we will go. Tomorrow. Jane, you said it was worth visiting.”

“Royston Cave? What is that?” Georgiana asked.

“A magnificent hidden chapel that was used by the survivors of the Templar order after the monarchs of Europe jealously murdered the defeated defenders of the Holy Land. It is said their treasure was hidden away there, and many men have sought to know the meaning of the carvings, but none have succeeded.”

“I had heard,” Darcy said, “that it is unlikely the caves were truly constructed by the Templar order.”

Bingley rolled his eyes. “Of course they were built by Templars! A hidden cave, filled with mysterious carvings. Perhaps the treasure is still hidden in them beneath the excavations opened to the public.”

“I do wish to go! Such a fine idea.” Georgiana looked at Darcy. “Would Lizzy wish to go also?”

Jane said, “She was not greatly impressed when we visited as children, but I believe she would be interested in seeing the place once more.”

That put matters in a decidedly more encouraging line: A trip with Elizabeth to explore dim caverns, carved with medieval piety, illuminated by a flickering lantern. Brushing against each other, entirely by accident, of course. They would joke about the unlikelihood of finding Templar treasure…

“Eh, Darcy?”

“Ahem, I did not hear the question.”

“Growing distracted. We aren’t so elderly you have excuse. Was someone on your mind?”

Darcy stared back, a little coldly. Then he grinned. His heart had bubbled the last few days, since he danced with Elizabeth, and she convinced Georgiana to play, and he realized he loved her. Bingley teasing him about his lovesickness for Elizabeth could not injure his buoyant mood.

“Maybe someone was on my mind. Tomorrow you say?”

“It is far enough out that we had best start in the morning. I’ll send a message over to Longbourn to ask Lizzy what she thinks of the scheme.”

“She will go along.” Jane pursed her lips from right to left. “I hope Mama does not wish to come as well. She did not like the dark when we went a decade past.”

“Send that in the message to Lizzy,” Bingley said. “She will handle it all. But I have been here long enough; the time is past when I ought to make my effort to find the treasure. We will need more money with all these balls I’m throwing.”

Bingley grinned at Jane, who swooned and kissed him on the mouth.

The next morning Elizabeth was brought early in the day by the Bennets’ carriage to Netherfield. Her red clad form lightly hopped out of the low carriage, and she looked like a winter nymph. She wore a fur lined winter coat; a soft yellow bonnet had a pattern of flowers inlaid into it and a lace fringe around her face. Her cheeks were rosy and smiling.

There was a dusting of snow on the ground from the previous night, and the white created a contrast which made her form stand out. She wore blue kid gloves that he’d seen her wear the time he met her during a ride.

Elizabeth looked first towards him, and she smiled and curtsied, before she embraced her sister and then Georgiana. “Whose idea was a return to Royston?”

“I have not been,” Bingley replied.

“I wish to see!” Georgiana’s eyes glowed. “The Knights Templar are so fascinating.”

Elizabeth laughed. She turned to Darcy and their eyes touched. Her smiling expression meant she must love him. But he could not be sure. She always smiled and laughed, even when he had angered her.

Elizabeth said, “Do give me your hand, Darcy. Let me shake it. There. We shall be the only sane ones on this fated excursion. You do not expect to find some vast Templar storehouse of the raided gold and gems of the Holy Lands. I depend upon you.”

“You may always depend upon me.” Through their gloves her small hand seemed to radiate a tingle which traveled up his arm, like magic. A strange witchcraft. She could not be ignorant of the effect of this simple touch.

Her color rose. He admired her clear skin, the few freckles visible on her nose, the pale English whiteness covered by a perpetual tan. She looked shy.

Darcy could not be precipitate. He must court Elizabeth properly. This was the one woman in the world who might refuse him.

Their eyes met again and held.

Bingley pushed Elizabeth towards the carriage by her shoulder. “Come you two. Faith, it is too cold to stand about like a pair of hobbled horses. I will freeze, though you two notice not.”

It had been decided that putting the five adults in one carriage would make it more crowded than comfortable, so Bingley and Darcy were to ride alongside, providing a protective pair of outriders, and giving the horses and men a nice exercise. The three women comfortably bundled up with hot water bottles and heated bricks for the trip.

They set off. At first over the pathways near Netherfield, graded for a carriage, but not comfortable. Then they hit an improved section of a turnpike. After a half hour the carriage reached a tollpost, and Bingley rode direct to the booth where the gatekeeper sat and tossed him their fair. Quickly the barrier was raised, and they continued on, making a good pace.

The day looked warm and clear. It had snowed the previous day, and the further north they went the thicker the white powder stood on the sides of the ditches. No ice had formed on the road. Still Darcy kept his eyes open, especially when they went past shaded patches where difficult to see ice could form and stick.

Except for the evergreens the trees were entirely bare, and there were long grey vistas of brambles and grey hedges dusted with white. The fields had red brick farmhouses, with ascending columns of smoke going high into the air before they were dispersed by the soft winds.

The group passed several substantial estates and rode through a market town a little smaller than Meryton. The town was picturesque in the clear winter light, with timber framed buildings and white plaster walls and colorful signs proclaiming the business. Scissors and a thread for a tailor; a line of cloth for a haberdasher, a painting of a foaming mug of beer to advertise a pub, and one of a big four posted bed for the inn, a painting of a cabbage with apples and some other round fruit whose paint had faded too far for the color to be identified for a greengrocer.

Half an hour after they went through the town, they reached the village of Royston.

There was an inn yard they rolled into, and the grooms ran out to care for their horses and beg for tips. Elizabeth stepped out of the carriage. Darcy had eyes for no one else. She stretched her arms up, causing the fabric of her jacket to pull against her breasts, outlining their form. With her arms still held above her head she turned her neck from side to side several times.

Darcy’s mouth went dry.

She lowered her arms and looked around and smiled at him. “I have been to Royston once before. When I denied the possibility of finding secret treasure, what I meant in truth was that I would be most put out with you if you should find its secret chamber when I could not.”

“Perhaps, we ought hunt for it together, and then share equally upon the discovery.”

She smiled back, and his stomach swooped. “I shall stick close to you, like a limpet, or as if we were nailed together.”

“Yes, you should. I…I might cheat you of the treasure if you were not close.”

Elizabeth nodded, her eyes aglow.

Their party was greeted by a white-haired smiling short man. “Greetings, greetings, Lords, Ladies! Greetings! Welcome to my abode!”

Bingley said, “You are the owner?”

“I am Mr. Watson. I built the tunnel that leads to the caves. Are you hoping to see?”

“I’ve heard a deuced lot about it.”

“A fine sight, a fine, fine sight. Fabulous, beyond the carvings possible in our modern days — there is likely some treasure hidden within the caves. My family searched, and we’ve found nothing yet, but we do not give up hope.” He waved them into the modest brick house. “Come. Come in! The entrance extends from under my house. I built the current entrance, many years ago now. When I was a boy visitors had to take a ladder down some twenty feet, and then we lowered a lamp by wire. Much improved now.”

They were all brought into the front parlor of his house, a substantial two-story affair. The man clapped his hands, and when his maid came out of the kitchen, with a smudge of flour on her cheeks, he exclaimed, “The best! Bring it out. Mulled wine, pastries, some meat. You must be famished from your trip. Far better to eat here than get something from the inn.” He lowered his voice and spoke half to Darcy and half to Bingley, “I fear me that the inn does not match the standard such grand personages as yourself expect.”

“Also,” Darcy ordered, “provide refreshment for our servants.”

“Of course, of course. Six pence to visit the caves. Do you want them to see as well?”

“Deuced good idea.” Bingley replied, “He would be a terror if Martin drove us all this way, and didn’t have a chance to see the carvings.”

“If you all go at once, the room would be crowded with too many people. After you gentlemen have visited, you might refresh yourselves a little longer while your men take their chance to look?”

After this was agreed, and Darcy handed the man a half crown for the refreshments and the fee to visit the cave, the five of them entered the thin tunnel. The stairs downwards were slippery with moisture, and almost warm, despite the season.

Each of the gentlemen was handed an oil lamp to carry, along with one held by Mr. Watson.

Elizabeth took Darcy’s arm as they carefully stepped down. Her face was flushed from the wine and the cold. She grinned while looking at him, her face less than a foot from his. Darcy’s stomach twisted. “I have not forgotten your promise to share the Templar wealth.”

“We will share, together.”

“I like that. Together.”

“I would never cheat you.”

Her sparkling eyes were barely visible in the light of the lamps.

“Ooops!” With a laugh Elizabeth’s foot slipped under her, and Darcy caught her and held her arm until she was stable. His lamp swung wildly in his other hand, the iron bottom of it lightly bouncing against the rough stone wall of the tunnel.

Mr. Watson called back tensely, “Caution, sirs. Caution, the stones become slippery in winter.”

“I am yet in perfect health.” Elizabeth had a laugh in her voice, and she gripped Darcy’s arm tightly. He gripped her wrist. “In all respects fine!”

When they reached the end of the tunnel, the cave was almost dispiritingly small after the long carriage ride. Crazy shadows from the shifting lanterns danced about, and the ceiling sloped upwards, to close off at a point at perhaps the height of a fashionable drawing room, a little more than twenty feet above them. That ceiling was barely visible in the dim light. The cave had a circular floor of about twenty feet around.

Mr. Watson pointed at the carvings, shining the light to make them more visible. “St. Christopher, the patron of the Templars. There — Mary, and the baby Christ.” He held the lamp high, moving from image to image too quickly for Darcy to study and take in the carvings. “In those nooks, some statues.”

Georgiana and Jane linked arms, and they laughed together and talked rapidly. Georgiana eagerly examined one carving after another, while Bingley and Mr. Watson held up their lamps for the women to examine the walls at their leisure.

Darcy and Elizabeth walked to the other side, with her hand resting softly on his free arm. Darcy held up the lamp. Many names and other pieces of writing had been carved into the soft limestone walls, around the carvings left by the medieval monks. “John & Rose, 1797”; “Tom Miller”; “Long Live myself!”

Darcy snorted. Elizabeth looked at him and he freed his arm to point. She then leaned down closer, holding his arm again to study it. Then she laughed, a tinkling good-humored sound. “A little disrespect to his Majesty, methinks.”

“Pray tell: How do you know it was not left by the king when he visited?”

Elizabeth giggled, and she put her hand on his shoulder and leaned closer to Darcy. Her eyes glanced to where Mr. Watson stood, with Bingley and the other two women. “Upon my honor,” she whispered into his ear, “he would have told us if ever a royal had visited.”

Elizabeth stepped away.

Darcy looked at her, glowing and smiling, He leaned towards her. She obligingly tilted her head so that he could whisper his reply into her finely shaped ear. “But if he came in disguise? Like Henry studying the army before Agincourt.”

Elizabeth dissolved into giggles, holding her mouth to keep them quiet.

“What amuses you two so much?” Bingley yelled out. “You are not flirting with my sister again, Darcy?”

“Charles!” Jane exclaimed, pushing his arm.

Darcy was in too good a mood to be annoyed. Elizabeth smiled. They walked in the other direction, moving along the curve of the wall a little further away from the rest of the party, keeping as much distance as the cramped cave allowed. They examined together the carving of St. Christopher.

Elizabeth jostled Darcy’s arm. “I know you are despondent. Nowhere to hide the Templars’ hoarded loot that would not have been seen when the cave was first excavated.”

“I fear I must survive upon the rents from my pile.”

“A most disappointing expedition,” Elizabeth agreed, smiling at him, the dim light making the rounded skin of her cheeks glow softly.

“I am not disappointed.”

“Neither I,” she replied in a breathy voice.

He and Elizabeth felt alone and isolated from the others. The air was warm and humid and rich with possibility. Their eyes held each other, and Darcy felt with a terrified spasm in his stomach the idea that the moment was propitious and he should bring the matter to a head and ask for her hand. He couldn’t look away from her face.

Darcy tried to open his mouth, but like a vise, nervousness grabbed him and clamped his teeth shut. The anxiety was like nothing he had ever felt before. He did not know she would reply in affirmative.

Elizabeth looked away from him, and then down. She talked at a quick pace, with an unexpected nervousness in her. She told a story that was unimportant, yet completely important, because it was from her childhood — the time she had seen the cave as a girl, with her father and mother and sisters.

The drone of noise from the opposite side of the cave continued. Mr. Watson kept trying to impress Georgiana and Jane with descriptions of the carvings and stories of the Templars being tortured. Bingley laughingly added nonsensical stories he made up about the matter.

Darcy felt so close to her, and so entirely certain that he would marry her and that he wished to marry her. He wanted to touch her cheek and pull her face closer so that he could kiss her.

Elizabeth looked at him, and desire was there in her eyes too.

In a snap the world and the existence of others came back. Bingley asked Darcy a question, and Darcy heard it and replied. Both he and Elizabeth looked at Bingley. They followed Bingley to the other side of the cave. Jane and Georgiana asked Elizabeth what she thought of a particular image.

Darcy’s heart raced.

They discussed the artwork. One of the figures was a man in full plate armor, and Darcy said, “Such suits were contrived quite late. During the time of the Templars such a piece would be unlikely. I suspect the cave was made at least a century after the order was dispersed.”

“What, no!” Bingley exclaimed. “He looks like a Templar knight.”

“The dates are entirely wrong,” Darcy replied. “Only in the fourteenth century did such armor become common.”

“The Templars! I’ll insist that to the end.”

Elizabeth laughed. “I do not believe you! This is a scheme to make me lower my guard so you might steal the treasure by convincing me that it is not real.”

Her eyes were so bright.

Darcy wobbled as they walked back up the steps to leave the cave and return to the modern world far away from this dimly lit remainder of the medieval. Their host immediately served them from a new heated pot of mulled wine. Their servants went down into the cave, while the party sat in the parlor and prepared themselves for the journey back to Netherfield.

There was a clatter outside, and when Mr. Watson looked out, he gained a deeply conflicted expression. Another group had arrived to tour the caves, but they were of lower status than Darcy and Bingley. It would not do to leave substantial gentry to their own devices to entertain a middling tradesman. But Mr. Watson obviously wanted the fees from the tradesmen.

To relieve him of the worry Darcy stood and shook Mr. Watson’s hand. “A fine tour. A fascinating display. Are there any paths about town we might walk before we leave?”

“Yes, yes of course. You must have seen the ruined manor when you came in? On the hilltop? It was a palace of Henry VIII; you can take a pathway around to look at it, and to get to the hilltop. A fine view of the whole area.”

“We will walk around then. Good day.”

“Good day, sir! Good day!”

They walked back into the cold day. The winter sun had already passed its zenith and was beginning to lower, but it would still be many hours before it set. There was barely any wind stirring through the bare branches, bothering the blackbirds that perched upon them. The winter was a symbol of Darcy’s feelings of his own life: Everything had seemed bleak and cold, and barren for so long, but beneath it there always had been flows of sap preparing for the coming of spring. Of Elizabeth.

Though the outer environment was in winter, Darcy’s soul was in a full bloom and profusion of growing flowers and of trees pushing out endless green leaves.

Elizabeth exclaimed, “To the walk! I want to see the promontory. And I must walk some before I am imprisoned in a carriage once more!”