"As am I," Robert sighed, gesturing to a pile of books a clerk was holding for him. "The tedious annual tribute to the parents. I was considering getting Father a book on the history of sheep, but Mother says I must be 'thoughtful' this year. It is a terrible burden."
His gaze dropped from Georgiana's face to Darcy's chest. Specifically, to the novel Darcy was clutching like a lifeline.
Robert's eyebrows rose. They kept rising. They threatened to disappear into his hairline.
"I say," Robert drawled, pointing a gloved finger at the book. "Is thatCecilia?"
"It is a book," Darcy said defensively.
"It is a novel about a young heiress navigating society," Robert corrected. "I read it years ago. Excellent satire. But you, Cousin? You consider fiction to be a moral failing. Last Christmas, you gave me a book onDrainage Systems of the Fenlands."
"It was educational."
"It was dry. Literally and figuratively." Robert took a step closer, his eyes narrowing with the precision of a hawk spotting a field mouse. "And yet, here you are, hugging Miss Burney's work with a look on your face that I can only describe as... lovesick."
Darcy bristled. "I am not lovesick. I am merely inspecting the binding."
"You are inspecting the binding with your heart?"
"It is a gift," Darcy lied. "For Georgiana."
Georgiana blinked. "I have readCecilia, William. Twice. You said it was 'frivolous nonsense' when I read it."
Darcy shot his sister a look of betrayal. Georgiana covered her mouth, her eyes wide.
Robert let out a low whistle. "Caught out by your own infantry. Tragic." He crossed his arms, leaning in conspiratorially. "So. Who is she?"
"There is no 'she'," Darcy snapped. "I am simply broadening my literary horizons. Is a man not allowed to grow?"
"A man like you grows by reading a new agricultural journal," Robert countered. "A man like you does not stand in Hatchards in the middle of December looking like a poet who has lost his muse unless there is a woman involved. A woman who, I wager, likes this book."
Darcy felt the heat rising up his neck. This was exactly why he avoided Robert. The man was too observant by half.
"You are imagining things, Keathley. As usual."
"Am I?" Robert grinned, and it was the grin of a wolf who had found the door to the sheepfold unlatched. "Let us see. Dark hair? Witty? Probably figured youout within five minutes of meeting you, which is why you are obsessed with her?"
Darcy's jaw twitched. It was a microscopic movement, but Robert saw it.
"Precisely," the Viscount whispered. "Oh, this is going to be the best Christmas since Richard set the gazebo on fire."
"We are leaving," Darcy announced, pivoting on his heel. He still held the book.
"You just arrived!" Robert protested, falling into step beside him with annoying ease. Georgiana trailed on the other side, looking between her brother and her cousin with fascination.
"We have completed our purchases," Darcy lied.
"You haven't purchased it yet," Robert pointed out. "You are effectively stealingCecilia. Is this your new rebellious phase? First, romance novels, now petty larceny? I like it. It gives you an edge."
"I intend to pay for it," Darcy gritted out, marching towards the counter.
"So, tell me," Robert continued, leaning his elbow on a stack of encyclopaedias as Darcy fished for his coin purse. "Where is she? Why are you here staring at books and not kneeling on a rug somewhere reciting a sonnet?"
"Because," Darcy said through clenched teeth, throwing a sovereign onto the counter with a loud clink, "our acquaintance was brief, she is currently in Hertfordshire, and I have no intention of pursuing the matter."
"Hertfordshire?" Robert wrinkled his nose. "Good God, Darcy. The country? You fell for a rustic? Did you bond over the price of corn?"
"She is not a rustic," Georgiana piped up, suddenly bold. "William wrote about a lady with fine eyes."
