But she was no longer a memory.
She was beneath the same roof.
She had sat at dinner the previous evening with composure, wit, and a command of estate matters that still unsettled him by its competence. She had laughed softly at his remarks, challenged him without impertinence, and spoken of tenants and books as though both deserved understanding rather than display. He had gone to bed repeating portions of their conversation to himself and had woken wondering whether she would remain at Netherfield another day.
That was the problem.
Darcy dressed without calling for Bates at once, needing movement more than assistance. When his valet did arrive, he brought quiet confirmation that Miss Bennet had passed a tolerable night and that Miss Elizabeth had remained with her until near morning. Bates offered the information with perfect propriety, but Darcy knew a servants’ hall report when he heard one. He thanked him and made no comment upon the small, private relief the news brought.
By the time he left his chamber, the house remained hushed. Somewhere below, servants moved with the muted industry of early duty, but the family rooms were quiet. Miss Bingley, Darcy supposed, would not appear for some time. Bingley might be awake, but if so, he would likely be writing a note, pacing, ortrying not to ask after Miss Bennet every ten minutes. Mrs. Hurst would not willingly descend before the breakfast tray demanded her. Hurst would not descend without a meal to receive him.
The library seemed the safest refuge.
He intended only to choose a book. Perhaps two. Something solid enough to occupy his mind and dull the absurd expectancy that had taken root in him since the previous night. A Roman history would be unwise; it would lead too directly back to her. Poetry worse. Agricultural reports might serve, being both useful and sufficiently dry to punish sentiment.
He opened the library door quietly and stepped inside.
Then stopped.
Miss Elizabeth stood before one of the shelves with a cup of tea on the table behind her and a shawl wrapped about her shoulders. The pale morning light touched the side of her face, softening the fatigue there without hiding it. She had a book half drawn from the shelf, one hand still resting upon its spine, and when she turned, surprise brightened her eyes.
For a moment, Darcy forgot every book he had ever meant to read.
“Miss Elizabeth,” he said, bowing. “Forgive me. I did not know the room was occupied.”
“I believe libraries are made to be occupied, sir.”
Her voice was quiet, suited to the stillness of the hour, but the reply carried its usual quickness. Darcy felt the tension in him ease by a degree.
“So they are. Yet I would not intrude upon your solitude.”
“Then we are both unfortunate,” she said, releasing the book from the shelf and holding it against her shawl, “for I had just begun to fear I was intruding upon yours.”
“As I had not yet entered, I think my claim must be weaker.”
“But you are Mr. Bingley’s guest, and I am merely the sister of an invalid.”
“You could never bemerelyanything.”
The words left him before he considered them. They were not improper, but they were more earnest than he had meant to be. Miss Elizabeth looked down at the book in her hands, and a little color touched her cheek. Whether from pleasure, awkwardness, or the warmth of the fire, he could not tell.
“Jane is sleeping,” she said after a moment. “Mrs. Nicholls banished me before I could make myself useful enough to be tiresome.”
“A wise housekeeper.”
“Very wise. Though I am beginning to suspect she governs this house more thoroughly than anyone gives her credit for.”
“Most good housekeepers do.”
“Is that true at Pemberley?”
“Yes.” Darcy’s mouth curved faintly. “Though Mrs. Reynolds would claim she only gives suggestions.”
“And do the suggestions differ greatly from commands?”
“Only in that they are phrased with greater civility.”
Miss Elizabeth laughed softly, and the sound pleased him too much. “Then your housekeeper is much like her niece, Susie.”
