“Ah,” she said, her voice catching a little. “Pamelawill do well.” She held out her hand to accept the tome.
“Take all three. I have read them twice since coming to Netherfield. Just return them when you are finished, pray.”
His ungloved hands touched hers as she accepted the stack of books. Her fingers tingled pleasantly where they met his. “Yes, of course. Thank you,” she whispered.
They stood thus, each with a hand on the books, eyes locked and unmoving. A sound from elsewhere in the house broke the spell, and his hands fell away.
“Good night, Miss Elizabeth,” Darcy murmured, as she turned on her heel and fled the room. Not until she had returned to her chamber and locked the door behind her did she dare breathe once more.
Darcy
He stared at the library door long after Elizabeth rushed from his presence. He could picture her as if she were still standing there: hair in a braid over one shoulder, eyes twinkling in the candlelight, delicate, slippered feet just visible beneath the hem of her nightgown. She wore a dressing gown cinched tightly at the waist, emphasizing her alluring figure.
I am in a spot of trouble,he thought, shaking his head as he returned to his chair before the fire. He had come to the library because he could not sleep. Elizabeth Bennet haunted his dreams, and her presence across the hall—two doors down—did nothing to restore his tranquillity.
She had bewitched him from the beginning of their acquaintance, breaking through his sour mood and disinclination for company. He craved her presence—needed it to breathe. Darcy could no longer imagine his life without her, and he knew for certain that it would take very little for him to cast aside his family’s expectations and fall to his knees, begging her to be his wife.
How does one discern between love and infatuation?He asked himself this at least twice a day, wishing his father were still alive to offer counsel. He had male relations, but none seemed to be the proper person to whom he might turn for guidance. His uncle, the Earl of Matlock, had married Lady Matilda Fitzwilliam in a match arranged by their respective fathers. Theirs was an amiable union, but it lacked both love and passion.
His cousin, Viscount Bramsley, had married a society miss with an impeccable lineage and a dowry to match. They were content with their life and each pursued their own pleasures now that they had an heir and a spare. Darcy’s other cousin, Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam, remained unmarried, far too absorbed in his military career. He advanced swiftly through the ranks, owing nothing to his father’s influence or that of his well-connected relations.
I need to clear my head.After Bingley’s ball, I shall return to London. I need time to think, and a place to do so where I shall not encounter Elizabeth.
Would he go? Possibly. He had promised Bingley to remain through Christmas. Could he contrive a reason to return to town? He would need to decide soon. Bingley had announced that once Miss Bennet recovered, he would name the day for the ball—he had no desire to delay until December merely to accommodate his sister’s arrival.
He stared into the fire, watching as the flames danced a merry jig about the burning logs. Darcy wondered what his parents would have thought of Miss Elizabeth. Would they have approved? It did not seem likely. He could almost hear his father’s voice even now.
Pemberley is prosperous, but more income never hurts. She is a country miss with only a small dowry! I married the daughter of an earl, surelyyou could secure at least that.For all his good traits, George Darcy had valued money above love, and security above affection.
Really, Fitzwilliam,his mother would say,I never thought you the sort to let a pretty face turn your head. You are more practical than that. Tell me—what has she done to ensnare you? How did she draw you in?
His mother, of course, would be more understanding than his father, but even she might not approve of his choice. Could he defy what he knew would be their wish for his future?
They are not here to stop you,a wicked little voice in his head reminded him.You have made your own decisions for five years now. Why not marry where you please? Your life will be much happier if you do.
The voice made a fair point. How many unhappy ladies and gentlemen had he encountered in society? More than a few, to be sure. Couples like his aunt and uncle, who had grown genuinely fond of each other, were rare indeed.
Lady Catherine would be furious,he muttered, offering the little voice yet another reason to resist following his inclinations.Can you imagine her barging into Darcy House, waving her cane and shouting to be shown to the study at once? She would be on the warpath the moment she found out about my engagement.
The voice did not care.Why should it matter?it asked smugly.She cannot disinherit you, nor can she take anything you value. She lacks the connections you hold in town. Gossip would do very little harm.
He knew the voice spoke the desires of his heart. It warred against logic—the sensible part of his mind that insisted marrying Miss Elizabeth Bennet would be both reckless and ruinous.
If only those two organs could be brought into accord, life would be far simpler.
Sighing, he crossed to a table where a decanter and two glasses stood. He poured a measure of amber liquid and drank it down in one gulp. The glass landedwith a dull clunk as he set it aside, and he moved to the window. The first vestiges of dawn streaked the horizon with a soft silver light, barely discernible. He stood unmoving, watching as the sky lightened by degrees. The pitch black yielded to vague silhouettes, and at length, color began to tint the horizon.
The fire had died to coals by the time the full sun appeared. Stiff from his vigil by the cold window, Darcy returned to his chair. He took up his banyan and pulled it on, tying the sash firmly at his waist. He wished to reach his chambers before the household stirred. There remained the chance he might encounter a servant, but that was of little consequence.
Once inside his chamber, he rang for his valet. “Good morning, Morris. Have water brought up for a bath this morning, will you?” He always thought more clearly when he could soak. Removing his banyan, he tossed it over the back of a chair.
Morris proved his worth. He had not waited long before buckets of hot water filled the tub. Darcy disrobed and sank into the steaming bath. The water had been scented with something soothing, and he leaned back, eyes closed. Sleep, long denied, overtook him at last.
Morris woke him some time later. The water had cooled to tepid, and he shivered slightly as he stepped out. After drying himself, he donned the robe Morris held out and crossed to the window, his hair still damp.
His heart gave a jolt—Elizabeth was strolling toward the gardens. A brisk breeze pressed her gown against her legs, tracing the shape of her light and pleasing figure until she paused to tug it free.With one hand holding onto her bonnet, she disappeared around a corner
All the calm of his bath vanished, and his inner turmoil returned with force. Elizabeth’s beguiling presence drew him like a moth to a flame, and each day, his will to resist grew weaker.
