“Yes, that is quite a daunting task. Thank goodness our parents were of a similar mind and resolved to do everything they could to save for our futures. Can you imagine if Longbourn did not have an heir?” Elizabeth shuddered.
Jane chuckled. “Mama has ever had an excitable temperament. It would be quite something to see her less settled than she is at present. I imagine her fondness for her nerves would be indulged to such a degree as to astonish us all.”
Elizabeth laughed heartily, then tilted her head in consideration. “How would that affect Papa, do you think?”
“I hardly know. Our father is a reasonable man who loves his wife. I have to believe he would make every effort to do what he could to see to his family’s comfort. I cannot picture him dismissing our mother’s concerns.”
The maid finally returned with a light repast for Jane, who proceeded to consume a piece of toast, albeit very slowly. She sighed when she had finished and the maid had collected the tray. “I believe I shall rest now,” she told her sister.
Elizabeth stood and kissed Jane’s head. “Call for me if you need anything,” she said firmly. “I shall be in my chamber.” She had no desire to venture far from Jane’s side. There was still the question of whether the toast would sit well with her or not.
Chapter Sixteen
November 15, 1811
Netherfield Park
Elizabeth
Mamawillbeveryangry. I should not have taken it.Elizabeth clutched the pendant to her chest.I only wanted to see thesecret inside.She pried at the edges and examined her prize closely.How does Mama do it?she wondered.She always opens it so easily.Still, she could not figure out how to make the clasp open so that she could see the detailed miniatures inside.
The clock on the mantle chimed the hour, and she jumped. She must return to the nursery. Harry was already asleep—Nurse Nan had put him to bed an hour ago before leaving for her own house. Papa would come searching for her soon, for it was nearly bedtime. He would rock her and hold her close, telling stories in silly voices until she could no longer contain her yawns. Then he would tuck her into her bed, sing her a song, and kiss her softly.
I must return this to Mama’s jewel box before she discovers I have taken it. Besides, I left the other piece there. Oh!Maybe that was the key! Perhaps she could sneak back into her mama's room, retrieve it, and finally unlock the secret.
Mama had retired early with a headache and took some powders for the pain. She always slept deeply when she took medicine for her head. It was easy to creep into her chambers and take the brooch. She carefully moved from her sitting position to her hands and knees, ready to crawl out from her hiding spot. A door slammed nearby, and voices came closer. She paused, holding her breath in fear of discovery. Had Papa found her already?
Angry voices approached, and she crouched lower in her hiding place beneath Papa’s desk. Fear overtook her as two men argued, one shouting angrily as the other responded with indifference.
She peeked her head out. One of the men saw her, and he held a finger to his lips, urging her to be quiet. The other man, face wreathed in shadows, came up behind the first.
“No!” Elizabeth’s own shout woke her, and she sat up, chest heaving, perspiration clinging to her skin. She quivered in fear, tossing aside her coverlet and rising from the bed. She padded to the washstand, picked up the ewer, and poured some cold water into the basin, splashing it on her face.
What was that?She dreamed often, and the dreams she remembered were vivid and bright. This one felt the opposite. Dark, foreboding, and terrifying. She had no doubt that it was a memory.
She lit a candle and quickly found a pencil and a sheet of paper. Hastily, she scrawled what she could remember. The faces faded, but the feeling of fear and danger persisted.Oh, that I could capture a likeness! I despair of my inability to draw.I might have had answers long ago if I could do it justice.
Unable to return to sleep in her present state, and with dawn yet some time off, she resolved to find a book. Having read the three books she had brought from Longbourn, she needed something new to take her mind off the dream and its possible link to her past.Possible? No, I feel confident that it is a memory. My own mind has locked it away and teases me with it now.
She slipped on her wrapper, drawing the sash tight to preserve her modesty. No one would be awake, and so she did not bother to change into a gown. Elizabeth stepped into her slippers and crept from the room.
Holding the candle aloft to light her path, she made her way down the stairs and walked the short distance to the library. She opened the door and saw that a fire still blazed in the fireplace.Strange.
A figure stirred in the semi-darkness, and she clutched the front of her dressing gown, a sudden, irrational fear stealing her breath. Her long plait fell over one shoulder, and she was keenly aware of the impropriety of being in company in such attire.
“Miss Elizabeth?” Darcy spoke from where he stood near the fire. “Are you well?”
“Mr. Darcy!” She swallowed hard. He had shed his coat and waistcoat and had rolled his sleeves to the elbows. He no longer wore a cravat, exposing his neck. She gazed down at his arms, noticing how strong they appeared, especially in the magical light of the fire.He is remarkably handsome.
“I came for a book,” she whispered. “Pray, excuse me. I should return to my chambers.”
“Miss Elizabeth, you are welcome to search the shelves. Netherfield’s library is sadly lacking, though, and since Bingley is no great reader, he did not bother to bring any volumes of his own.”
“Then it seems my purpose is for naught.” She turned toward the door, disappointed not to have found a book—though she could hardly claim her thoughts were unoccupied now.
“Wait!” Darcy stepped to the table beside the chair he had just vacated and gathered several volumes. He approached, stopping within a foot of her. “These are books from the library at Darcy House—Robinson Crusoe, Pamela,andThe Rape of the Lock.Will one suit your needs?”
Elizabeth could scarcely think; her heart pounded as she stared at him. Somehow, his informal attire rendered him even more handsome. A faint shadow of stubble darkened his chin, and his nearly black hair was tousled, as though he had raked a hand through it repeatedly. Never had she seen a gentleman in such dishabille—not even her father removed his cravat or waistcoat in the presence of his daughters. To behold Mr. Darcy thus thrilled her. Her heart beat wildly, and a longing to be more than mere friends surged within her, threatening to consume her.
