The idea seemed to make him wary, but any concerns he might have had would be dwarfed by my overwhelming hatred of the idea. Mr. Honeyfield’s call had lasted barely five minutes, and it was still more than enough experience of courting to last me a lifetime.
“‘It is an honour that I dream not of,’” I said, quoting the words of Shakespeare’s Juliet, which I knew my brother would recognise.
He narrowed his eyes.
“You and I are both aware of how that play ends,” he said, and I had to laugh.
“My fate will not be the same,” I assured him. “Presently, I do not feel any need to pursue marriage. There are too many books unread and languages unlearnt.”
“When you change your mind, I would like to know the names of any men you plan to consider,” he instructed me.“In the meantime, I will make enquiries regarding James Honeyfield.”
I did not tell him that it was not a matter of “when,” or that any enquiries into Mr. Honeyfield would be entirely pointless. For most young girls, the presence of an overly protective elder brother might be an annoyance, but I wasn’t going to protest if Darcy deemed every man in England to be an unacceptable match. Whether for his reasons or for mine, no man would ever suit me.
Not trusting myself to continue to navigate such treacherous waters, I simply smiled and nodded and moved the conversation back towards topics that did not unsettle my stomach. I spoke of the books I’d been reading and the music I was writing. I asked for news of our cousins and suggested Ruth deserved some extra days off to visit her newest granddaughter. Even Darcy’s tentative mention of next month’s ball was met with a forced smile and a promise I’d consider attending.
It was a comfort to play the part of normal. When I left his office half an hour later, I felt almost as if I’d taken to the act well enough to truly adopt it. There was a lightness in my heart that I revelled in while Emma fixed my hair and helped me choose a dress for dinner. It carried me all the way down to the dining table, where Kitty’s smile reminded me of the bitter truth of it all.
I continued in my solitary manner for days. If I was not practising the piano or the harp behind a firmly shut door, I hid myself away in the grotto. It was hardly the sort of isolation Elizabeth would want from me, but she had no idea of what was at stake. I could not allow myself to fall for Kitty, not if I wanted to avoid Frances’s fate, and I knew all too well where my weaknesses lay. Prolonged exposure was all it would take.
Two weeks after Kitty’s arrival at Pemberley, Elizabeth raised her concerns with my frequent absences, catching me after dinner before I could feign exhaustion and a need to turn in.
“Where is it you’ve been keeping yourself ? We never have the pleasure of your company nowadays, so you must be getting up to mischief somewhere,” she said, trying to joke. When I didn’t laugh, her smile dropped into concern. “Is something wrong?”
“No, nothing,” I promised. “I’ve only been trying to finish the sonata I’ve been working on.”
Elizabeth’s scepticism wasn’t entirely alleviated, but my words, paired with my best attempt at a reassuring smile, placated her enough that she put up no further resistance when I excused myself from her company. I had no particular reason to hide from my sister-in-law, but she and Kitty could often be found together in the evening. Rather than risk being caught in that situation, I once again retired early. The walls of my bedroom had never been so familiar to me.
Despite having little else to do, I struggled to find sleep.It eluded me even when a suitable hour for rest ticked by. Closing my eyes brought me visions of blonde curls and bold smiles I couldn’t bear to see. After hours of staring at my ceiling, I admitted defeat.
Rolling over, I pulled open the drawer in the table beside my bed. Inside was a collection of items without a home—some candles, a pencil, a hair ribbon, and a button—but at the back was one thing I always kept close. It had followed me to London, to Ramsgate, and now back to Pemberley.
It was a small volume, so worn the spine was cracked and the leather cover was scuffed and peeling. The gilded title,The Disposition of an English Lady, had long gone dull, but I didn’t need to read the words to be able to remember them. I had every sentence, from cover to cover, memorised. Newer etiquette guides were now favoured, but this one had belonged to my mother.
She had underlined passages, folded down corners, and studied it until the paper had gone soft. She had not lived long enough to teach me any of its lessons herself, so reading her book was as close as I would ever get to hearing her words of guidance. I was not a perfect daughter, but I tried my best to follow the rules set out in the book.
Leafing through the pages, I hoped to find an answer to my current predicament. How to be a good daughter and a polite host without falling victim to attraction to a kindhearted girl with a smile that could warm rooms. I already knew it was a fruitless task. I could quote every page in thebook, the strict guidelines for social situations a lifeline when I would otherwise be at a loss of how to conduct myself, but it did not tackle this specific scenario.
With the book that usually settled my thoughts a lost cause, I replaced it in its drawer with a sigh. This evening required a distraction. Kicking off my blankets, I forwent shoes, a hairbrush, and respectable dress in favour of keeping on the worn shift I slept in. The companions I would find where I planned on going would not judge me for it.
Pemberley suffered from the same affliction of so many houses of its size—it was impossible to keep warm in its entirety, especially at night. Used to the chill that lingered in the hallways, I pulled on an old dark green tailcoat. It had been Darcy’s once, but when he’d deemed it too worn for his own use, I’d inherited it through incessant pleading. It was far too large for me, and the fabric was threatening to turn threadbare at the hem. The cuffs fell well past my palms, and several of the brass buttons were missing, but I still donned it whenever I felt cold within Pemberley’s walls, out of sight of those who dealt in rumour-fuelled scandal.
There was a map of Pemberley catalogued perfectly in my mind, intimately detailing which floorboards creaked and which doors squeaked on their hinges. Now that I was no longer a child, there was no real reason for me to sneak, but the habit was too ingrained in me to walk freely. I let the light of the moon guide me where it peered through windowpanes, lighting my candle only when I was safely inside the library.
Nowhere felt more sacred to me than a room full ofescapes. Floor-to-ceiling shelves held tome after tome, waiting to take me somewhere new or teach me one more answer to the complexities of the world. Elizabeth had added more modern works to it since her arrival, and I loved nothing more than to discuss them with her over hot tea, safely ensconced in one of the wing-back armchairs in front of the fireplace. But when it was just me in the library, I gravitated towards heavy Latin volumes or tested my still-struggling Greek. If I was translating as I read, I had no spare focus with which to worry.
Settling beside one of the shelves, I found a safe place for my candlestick and eased out the copy of Ovid’sMetamorphosesI’d been working through. My place was marked with a hair ribbon that I slid out from the pages and wrapped around my wrist. The floor was far from the most comfortable place in the room, but there was something reassuring about being so close to the bookcases that I could smell the wood of the shelves and the richness of the leather bindings. It was all-encompassing.
I was several pages in when I heard footsteps in the corridor outside. Logically, there was no reason for me to panic. Yet I still shuffled back against the shelf and held my breath, hoping whoever was passing would ignore the room and go on their way.
In my hurry to delve into a book, I hadn’t shut the door properly. My eyes widened as they fell on the candle still burning beside me. I blew it out, hoping the lack of light would conceal me better, but I was too late. The door creaked,and whoever it was padded into the room. I wasn’t doing anything wrong, and no member of the household would punish me if they did find me—the staff would probably pretend they’d never seen me, and Darcy and Elizabeth would likely be more worried about my lack of sleep than anything else—but I was in no kind of mood to navigate a conversation.
The world made the decision to present me with the one person I was least prepared to see. For all my attempts to avoid her, now there was nowhere to hide.
“Oh!” Kitty’s eyes were wide with surprise when she found me sitting on the floor. “My apologies. I saw the light and assumed someone had left a candle burning.”
She looked at me intently, the light of her own candle flickering in her eyes, and I realised with horror what she was seeing. My hair was wild around my shoulders; my shift had long forgotten its days of being pristine, white, and crisp; and my toes curled against the wooden flooring, tucked under the edge of an ornate floral rug. My coat gave me some form of modesty, but it was as inelegant as the shift it hid. I was certainly not dressed for polite company and could only imagine what Kitty was thinking.Such a mad girl, to be running around half dressed in the middle of the night.
Kitty’s own appearance was significantly more put together than mine. Her hair was tied up under a nightcap, a few curls escaping down the nape of her neck, and she’d had the good sense to put on a navy dressing gown.
