“Mr. Darcy,” she said. “I searched for the book you recommended but could not find it.”
He turned abruptly, momentarily startled. “Pardon?”
“The novel you mentioned last evening.” She met his gaze, willing him to understand her true intent.
After a pause, comprehension dawned. “Ah. Yes. I believe it is on the higher shelves of the library. I can retrieve it for you.”
“Thank you. You are too kind.” She fell into step beside him as they moved out the door.
They walked in silence, neither speaking until they were assured of being out of earshot of the others. “Is anything the matter, Miss Bennet?” he asked at last, though his voice carried a faint intensity—impatience, or disquiet, she could not tell.
“I am worried about Miss de Bourgh,” she said. “The news of Colonel Fitzwilliam’s departure has left her quite changed. Today, she seemed distracted, and not at all like herself. I fear she might seek comfort in Mrs. Jenkinson.”
“A valid concern, though there is not much we can do. I would rather wait another day to tell her of her companion’s death. Perhaps once the colonel returns.”
Elizabeth dipped her head.
“If you will excuse me, madam; I have other matters to attend to.” Mr. Darcy said, bowing his head.
“You are leaving?” The words escaped before she could check them, and her voice betrayed more feeling than she had intended.
“I must speak with my cousin before he departs. The manor’s vessel was damaged during the storm, so he will sail in one of the trading boats.”
“Very well, sir.” Elizabeth smiled faintly, though his aloofness left her strangely dejected.
“Miss Bennet,” he called just as she turned to leave. “Do not forget your book. Otherwise, your ruse would be in vain.”
Her cheeks warmed. “Yes—of course.”
The pair entered the library in silence. Elizabeth was too agitated for casual conversation, and Mr. Darcy seemed distracted, his mind elsewhere—hardly the behaviour of a man who had professed admiration mere hours before!
Without uttering a word or sparing her a glance, the gentleman retrieved a book and handed it to her. “I recommendA Sicilian Romance, if you are fond of mystery novels.”
She glanced at the title, then at him. “I beg your pardon?”
“A most entertaining book.”
“Oh, yes, thank you.” She took it, overwhelmed by her own conflicting emotions.
They walked in silence towards the drawing room, with him staring straight ahead and Elizabeth biting her lip as she repressed the urge to steal a glance at Mr. Darcy. “Shall we see you at dinner?” Another unbidden, unchecked enquiry.
“I suppose.” He frowned.
“Indeed!” Heat rose to her cheeks yet again. What folly possessed her? Surely he would think her a simpleton for plaguing him with such idle questions.
Darcy turned to leave but paused as though some thought detained him. He turned towards her, his brow furrowed. “Mr. Collins—have you seen him?”
“No. I mean, not today. He attended dinner last night, did he not?”
“I cannot tell. I dined in the library with the colonel.” He fell silent for a moment, as if retracing the events of the previous night. “I believe I saw him when we joined you later in the evening, yet I cannot be certain.”
Elizabeth tried to recollect, but the only image that came to mind was Miss de Bourgh’s scene at the colonel’s announcement of his departure.
“I could ask Mrs. Collins,” Elizabeth said. “Perhaps she knows of his whereabouts.”
He inclined his head, his eyes meeting hers for but a moment. “Be discreet. Try not to alarm her.”
“Do you think something has happened to him? That he might be in danger?”
