“And how do you propose to persuade my father to bring me into your den—you dangerous wolf?”
“I have a plan, miss,” he replied, smiling. “Tell me—what does your father value most?”
She needed but a moment. Her father loved his daughters dearly; but books were his weakness.
“Books?”
“Precisely. And your future husband possesses a library fit for a king.”
Elizabeth laughed freely. “I doubt our king has much inclination towards reading.”
“My dear Elizabeth,” he said with mock despair, “must you always oppose me?”
She offered no answer; and as their arguments rarely ended to his advantage, he chose a surer method. Drawing her close once more, he silenced her with a fervour that left her breathless, until she was obliged to plead for release from the determined attentions of his lips.
Chapter 23
A few days later, Elizabeth and Mr Bennet arrived at Darcy House at six o’clock. As the rest of the family was expected to join them for supper, the arrangement afforded the lovers three extraordinary hours alone.
Darcy opened the door himself, unwilling to lose a single moment of Elizabeth’s company. He led them at once to the library.
Mr Bennet looked about him with keen interest. He was rarely admitted into such a place, and here, the abundance of books was the only wealth that truly held value for him. It would have been untrue to say that he had not already decided, from the very instant Darcy asked this favour. The library was the work of generations who had loved reading; to spend even a few hours there was, to Mr Bennet, a gift of the highest order.
He spoke, however, with a certain severity, as if to disguise his eagerness to be left alone.
“You understand, I hope, that this visit is exceptional, and shall not become a habit. You have a year before you may marry, and at the end of that year I expect Elizabeth’s reputation to remain entirely untouched.”
“Yes, sir,” Darcy replied. “We shall not abuse your indulgence.”
“No one knows that we are here, three hours before supper,” Mr Bennet continued.
“Of course.”
“You may go and converse. When the others arrive, they will find us here together.”
Elizabeth and Darcy left the room with perfect composure, but the moment the door closed, he caught her in his arms.
“Stop,” she whispered, trying to free herself. “Someone may see us.”
He released her at once, though only to take her hand and lead her upstairs.
“We are alone, my dear. No one is permitted into our house before supper. And Georgiana is at the Matlocks.”
She relaxed as they walked along a corridor filled with beautiful objects—Greek statues set upon marble pedestals, and elegant glass cases displaying delicate pieces collected from across the world. She wished to pause and admire each one, but Darcy would not allow it.
“You shall have the rest of your life to admire this hall. For now, give me your hand and come.”
He opened a pair of double doors into a beautiful parlour, lined with bookcases, with a writing desk placed before a large window.
She looked at him, waiting.
“This is your apartment—your parlour and bedroom.”
“You would not dare…” she said, still in a whisper.
He drew her to him. “I would dare this—and more.”
He showed her the bedroom, arranged in warm, honeyed colours, with burgundy curtains and Venetian lace draperies.Paintings adorned the walls, and there were exquisite objects—a clock, vases, and a large bouquet of roses.
