“You were able to prevent it?”
“I arrived unexpectedly a day or two before they planned to leave for Scotland. She could not bear the thought of disappointing me, and confessed all.”
“Thank goodness.” His skin was smooth, his grip a strong one; she had to force her eyes away from the sight of their joined hands.
“I have no doubt that Wickham is as bad as he ever was. He will squeeze every shilling possible out of the men in his regiment. He cheats to win, and his note of hand is worthless when he loses.”
His bitterness was understandable. Plainly, he had been taught from an early age—with horrific success—that to say a word against the man was to bring down hell upon those he loved.
“That is why you have not said anything in defence of your honour? You fear retribution.”
He dropped her hand as though it stung him, and his voice was frosty. “Of course not. He is beneath my notice. My sister is now beyond his reach, and he can no longer injure me. Why should I care what a worm like him says?”
Elizabeth raised her brows. “Perhaps you should not. You might, however, care more about who he says it to.” He could not want the entire neighbourhood believing the worst of him; his reputation must meansomething,and she could not believe he despised them all enough to care nothing if anyone else was hurt.
His jaw clenched, and for a moment he looked so ferocious that she was tempted to shrink back. Just as quickly, his features froze into the impassivity she was accustomed to seeing in him.
She hated it.
Standing, he put another log on the fireplace, stirring up the embers and strengthening the flame. Elizabeth watched him perform the lowly task with competence, and sighed internally. She had no right, she knew, to judge a man who had been through such an awful struggle. It was easy to think his wealth and good looks protected him from misfortune. Plainly they did not.
“I think I shall write a book,” she said, when the silence had grown wider than the physical separation between them. She hated that distance too. “I shall title it ‘With Appreciation’ and include long lists of things to be thankful for.”
Her little ploy worked, for he turned and regarded her with a slight question in his eyes—obviously more than happy to turn the subject.
“I recall you declaring that such assistance is not useful.”
“No, I said beingtoldwhat Ioughtto find gratitude-worthy was of little benefit. My book will be the opposite. It will have, listed alphabetically, a thousand ideas of where to look for an ephemeral thankfulness when one is too overcome with melancholy to seek it out for oneself.”
“Perhaps it is only in the search that onecanfind it. Perhaps, to the grieving man or woman, a thousand suggestions on the printed page would only be a thousand reproofs for not being able to like any of them.”
“Well, plainly I shall not bring my book toyoufor publication, though you do write so well.”
At her tease, he looked up at her sharply, the gap between them rapidly dwindling even though neither of them had moved.
“I believe I was complimented on volume and technique, rather than content.” He smiled and the chamber shrank to a small and intimate place, a private world with room enough for only two.
Elizabeth caught her breath.
Mr Darcy was a handsome man; she had acknowledged that long ago. His looks—in conjunction with his wealth and bloodlines—made him a highly desirable personage. In his singular insult towards her at the assembly, he had declared himself unattainable to the populace. Probably, he did that at least once every time he went someplace new, before ‘their young girls began dreaming dreams, and their older ones begat visions’, of matrimony, of happily-ever-afters, quelling hopes before they could ever rise.
Heat flooded her face, and she quickly averted her gaze, struck by the realisation of what his insult in October had truly meant. He could not have made himself any clearer, from that first assembly: he was beyond their reach, all of them, but especiallyher. If the collective pride of Elizabeth, her family, and neighbours had been hurt by his words and he was disliked in return, he had cared not a whit.
It was an unkind fate, really, allowing her to see him as a man instead of an arrogant churl, and it was her own fault, for letting the insult no longer bother her.
Pushing her reflections aside, she said, “Perhaps I shall embroider each one on a pillow, then, and place them upon every surface of my sitting room. One will not be able to sit without shoving heaps of them out of the way. I must do something, you see, to keep them at the vanguard. I suppose my dreams of being a published author are in ruins, thanks to you, but you shall not prevent my career in needlework. If only I had thought to bring my workbasket. This place could use a few cushions.”
He only smiled again at her—heavens, it was fortunate he had not tossed that smile about freely to the good people of Meryton, else he would have become the Pied Piper, with a long line of tittering girls following him wherever he went. She returned her gaze to the fire, contemplating the warmth of the room, the peace of her surroundings, and the company of a friend. It all combined to create a sense of serenity, a special kind of quiet she had not found in her own thoughts in days.
One moment she had leant her head against the arm of the banquette, only meaning to rest her tired eyes; the next she sat up with a start and looked about her in the confusion of the newly awakened. Mr Darcy was standing at one of the windows, looking out over the landscape. Thankfully, it still appeared to be daylight. She felt as though she had slept for hours.
“How long did I sleep? Do you know the time?” It would be all she needed, to be gone so long that her unobservant mother noticed and restricted even this little bit of freedom.
He turned away from the window. “Only an hour or so. I would have wakened you soon enough, but you appeared to need the rest.”
She had seen the dark circles beneath her eyes in the looking glass that morning; obviously he had noticed them too. “My sleep has been…interrupted lately. I apologise for being poor company.”
She stood, a little self-conscious, and crossed the room to don her coat, gloves, and hat.
