She laughed. “That does not count. It was a guest room.”
Glancing about, she noticed a tall cabinet of dark wood against one wall, its shelves filled with books.
“Are those your favorites, sir?”
“Yes,” he said, “both mine and my father’s. Come, let me show you where your books will be kept.”
They returned to her chamber, and he crossed to the far side of the room to draw back the heavy drapes. Sunlight poured in, lighting a small sitting area with a couch and two chairs. Elizabeth touched the soft fabric, then sat in the stuffed chair. “I find this very comfortable. It compares favorably to the one in my father’s study.”
She then noticed the shelves filled with books and rose to read the titles. One section contained poetry. She read aloud, “Chaucer, Shakespeare, Milton, Pope, Blake, Burns, and Wordsworth.” Another shelf held novels, another histories, and still others works on the sciences, botany, medicine, astronomy, and geology.
Turning to her husband, she asked, “Was your mother a bluestocking, sir?”
He smiled. “I suppose she was, Elizabeth. I never thought of it before. She did not come to my father as one, but she became so after their marriage. We spent many hours reading and studying together. I have telescopes that we used to study the constellations. There is a stair leading to the roof where we would spread pillows and blankets and observe the stars.”
He looked pleased at the memory. “Richard remembers my mother as proud, very like my aunt Catherine and my uncle Henry, but I remember her sitting in this room reading, ordownstairs in the library listening to my father read aloud while she worked her embroidery or tatting. Perhaps she behaved differently among her family or acquaintances in town.”
His complexion darkened, and Elizabeth saw color rise to his cheekbones. Something had troubled him. She studied his face until his eyes turned to her. “That was what happened to me at the assembly in Meryton,” he said quietly. “I am uncomfortable in large gatherings, and being the center of attention makes me ill at ease.”
She hummed, and he looked at her curiously. “Forgive me. I did not mean to interrupt, but I was remembering the whispers that were circulating that night; Mr. Bingley was worth five thousand a year, while you were worth ten. I did not see it then, but now that I know you better, I understand. I imagine anyone would feel uneasy being the subject of so much conjecture.”
He continued. “I prefer to listen rather than speak. I do not possess the talent of conversing easily with strangers. I cannot adopt their tone or appear interested in matters that do not concern me, as others seem able to do. When Bingley pressed me to ask a stranger to dance, I said those foolish things that I am too ashamed to repeat.” His gaze held hers, earnest and regretful. “It served its purpose, for he left me alone, but at a cost I may never fully repay.”
Elizabeth waited in silence. He flushed more deeply. “And now you are probably wondering about the second insult. Of what could have caused me to say that I would as soon call your mother a wit, rather than admit you a beauty. I am sorry, Elizabeth. I am not at my best around Caroline Bingley. She had been teasing me about you. One day, I paid you a compliment in her hearing, praising your fine eyes, and she never let me forget it. In my frustration, one Sunday after church, her teasing wasrelentless, and those wretched words escaped me. You have seen for yourself how often she has used my foolish words to divide us.”
He looked at her and saw that her eyes were bright with moisture; she was struggling to keep from weeping. He offered her his handkerchief, and still silent, she dried her eyes. He stood beside her, waiting, uncertain whether she would send him away for having been the cause of the many public humiliations she endured. But she did not. When she had composed herself, she changed the subject.
“Will you send my books up to this room? I will go through your mother’s books, and any I decide not to keep I shall place in the trunk so they may be returned to the library.” Her expression brightened. “May we see the library now, sir?”
He relaxed. His wife was of a mind to forgive him or at least overlook his failings. Walking to the door, he opened it for her. She stepped into the corridor, and he followed.
Chapter 28: The Library
As they descended the stairs, he thought of his father. To his knowledge, George Darcy had never insulted his wife; he had always been a gentleman, and he never put a foot wrong nor spoke a word out of turn. Darcy wondered how his father had managed it, for he himself found it difficult to be perfect. Was his father truly flawless? He knew it could not be so. He decided he would discuss the matter with Richard. He was older; he might remember more about his parents, about their relationship.
Darcy offered his arm as they descended the stairs, leading her into a wide hall to the left. Four doors down, they turned into another corridor, and at last, he opened a door, and Elizabeth saw a large room, much longer than the length of three of Longbourn’s drawing rooms placed end to end. The chamber rose three stories high, and bookshelves lined every wall. Floor-to-ceiling windows filled one side of the room, their heavy drapes drawn. Darcy remained still as he watched her face. She too stood motionless, taking in the vast room, the shelves lined with books, the tall windows, the rich tapestries and furnishings, the unlit fireplace, and the thick rugs beneath her feet. At last, she looked up at him, her eyes somber.
“Sir, I have never seen so many books in one place in my life.” She turned once more to survey the room. “I can hardly believe this now belongs to me, and all because of a quirk of fate.”
“Not a quirk of fate, Elizabeth,” he said quietly. “I wanted to marry you. When I heard that portly old fellow crying compromise, I felt desperate. I believed you were slipping out of my reach, and I spoke. I said those fateful words aloud and prayed you would forgive me for taking away your choice.”
He searched her face to read her reaction and saw surprise. “I could not let you go, Elizabeth. I could not face a life without you in it.”
She raised her eyes to his. “So you wished to marry me? But you said such things about me.”
“I did not know my own mind until I was on the brink of losing you,” he said. “Then I realized the truth: I could not live without you.”
She looked puzzled. He offered his hand and led her to a couch, where they sat down together.
“Do you forgive me?” he asked quietly. “For everything?”
She drew a slow, steady breath. “I do. You must remember, sir, you saved me from my cousin. I am grateful that you spoke for me, that you chose me. I knew from the moment I first saw you standing at the entrance of the assembly room, that we were of worlds so different that you would never consider someone of my station. I was contented merely to look upon you from a distance, to appreciate your beauty and your elegance.”
Her brow puckered. He grimaced. “And then I opened my mouth and gave you a disgust of me.”
She laughed softly. “Perhaps not quite a disgust, but certainly I learned not to draw too close to you, sir, lest I be burned.”
He took her hand in his and held it close.
