This was not her room, nor her mirror. Lizzie felt like an intruder, and she wasn’t even in Darcy’s rooms yet! Putting the mirror down, she found the adjoining door and carefully clicked it open. It was not locked. It swung easily forward on oiled hinges and she slipped silently through.
The large decanter was the first thing she saw. Like her husband, her eyes had learned to seek out such things. Once again, she was tasked with hiding them. But was it really the only one? She looked around the room and gasped.
This was even larger than Lady Anne’s room. It was undeniably masculine, with darker walls and chestnut furniture. There was no dainty filigree to be seen. Instead, everything was solid and sturdy. Like his mother’s room, Darcy seemed to dislike unnecessary clutter. His few personal belongings were neatly arranged in their proper places.
Inhaling, Elizabeth caught the whisper of her husband’s scent. It hid beneath the smells of beeswax and leather, tantalising and fleeting. She breathed in again and suddenly realised how much she missed him. Darcy had been her constant companion during the worst weeks of her life. He laughed when she did, held her closely when she cried, and told her things about the world that she had never thought of before. She associated the scent with quiet evenings writing letters together, and with moments where they had sat in the grass and caught their breath during their walks.
Most melancholy of all was her memory of their last few days together. They had both known their gentle reprieve was comingto an end. As practical as they tried to be, they had come to cherish the sanctuary they found in each other’s company.
On the last night, when they had parted after dinner, Darcy had abruptly pulled her into his arms. He kissed her forehead, not her lips, and stroked her hair. Lizzie closed her eyes and leaned against his chest, wrapping her own arms around his back.
They did not speak, and when they parted, they shared no lingering looks. But Elizabeth carried the scent of bergamot and sage into her bed that night and dreamed of gentle fingers in her hair.
Shaking herself out of her daydream, Lizzie finished her circuit of the room. There seemed to be no other decanters, and every step made her feel more uncomfortable for intruding. She lifted the decanter up, gasping at the heavy combination of crystal and port.
“What are you doing?”
The decanter trembled in her hands, and she put it back down with a clonk. Whirling around, Elizabeth saw that the thick coverlet on the bed was moving. Mr. Darcy’s black eyes were looking out at her. He had been completely concealed.
“I… I…!” Elizabeth gasped and clutched the edge of the table in her shock. “I did not know you were here.”
“I was sleeping.” he pushed himself up and gave her a challenging look which was spoiled by a yawn. “Are you spying on me, angel?”
“I…” she babbled again and then raised her chin. Her shock had faded. “Mrs. Reynolds told me that you had a decanter in here. I wanted to lock it away with the others.”
“The others?” he rubbed his eyes wearily.
“Yes. We’ve locked them all in the wine cellar.”
He looked nonplussed for a moment and then let out a strangled laugh. “How very singular. Mrs. Reynolds didn’t want to venture in here herself, I take it.”
“She said she couldn’t steal from you, sir. I said that I…” her voice trailed off when she stared at him. A knot twisted in her stomach, and the words came out before she knew it. “Oh, I’ve missed you, sir.”
“If you’re going to say such lovely things, Elizabeth, you should stop calling me ‘sir’. It’s excessively formal, since you are in my bedroom.”
She blushed and stared at the floor. “Yes. I didn’t know you were in here.”
“You already said that.” Darcy yawned again and swung his legs out of bed. Elizabeth was both amazed and relieved to see that he was fully dressed. He pulled the blankets back up neatly before turning to face her. “Don’t look so nervous, Elizabeth. I am not angry, just surprised.”
“So am I.” she laughed shortly, “I thought you were still in the music room.”
He did not answer that but looked away. When he recovered, he crossed the room and rested his fingers on the decanter. The stopper let out a softclink. He tipped it absentmindedly to the side and watched the dark red port flow onto the flawless crystal. His face took on the distant, hungry look that always made Elizabeth nervous. It generally meant he was a few minutes away from a furious outburst.
“I missed you, too.” he murmured instead, and looked at her out of the corner of his eye. “You do not look convinced.”
“I must ask myself if you mean it, sir, or if you are simply trying to flatter me, to coerce me to leave the decanter here.”
“I do mean it. Have I ever been manipulative?”
“No, sir. You are generally very forthright.”
“Exactly. I abhor artifice, Elizabeth, and all of the weaknesses it masks. I can also tell when other people are masking their feelings. You, for example, are incapable of calling me by name. You must call me sir, even though I told you not to - because you are afraid of me.”
“No.” she protested, and then acceded with a sigh, “I am not scared of you, sir, only of what you become when you want to drink.”
“There is the ‘sir’ again, and another astute observation. I am not pleasant company when I want to drink, because itforcesme to wear a mask. I did not bother when I was in Meryton. The man beneath that tree is not a stranger to me. When I want to drink, that is the man I become. I could not simply stop drinking and banish him. Heisme. I can only conceal him, I cannot pretend he does not exist. My sister, I must tell you, is quite the reverse. She discovered her monster, and now she wears it on her flesh.”
“What do you mean?” Elizabeth asked, her skin tingling. Darcy pushed the decanter in the other direction.
