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Or perhaps she had come to declare she would rather forfeit the fortune—then what?
The entrance hall was cold after the warmth of the billiard room—March air gusting through the front door, which a maid was just closing behind the visitor. Elizabeth stood near the hall table, her bonnet in her hands, her pelisse dark with damp. She had walked from Longbourn. Three miles of Hertfordshire mud clung to her boots, and her cheeks were flushed.
She looked up as he approached, and her expression was unreadable—resolute, certainly, but beyond that he could not decipher.
“Miss Elizabeth.” He bowed. “I had not expected the pleasure of your company today.” Whatever her errand, she was here, and the part of him that had been gazing out the window settled like a hound that had heard the latch.
“Mr. Darcy.” She inclined her head with that familiar tilt he was beginning to recognize—acknowledgment without concession, courtesy without warmth. “I have come to discuss a matter of some importance.”
He gestured toward the library. “Please. The fire has been lit, and you appear to be in need of warmth.”
He held the library door. She swept past him, trailing cold air, damp wool, and the faintest trace of lavender—a scent he recognized from a silk chemise on a gravel drive and from every restless hour since. The recognition lodged itself behind his ribs, precisely where it could do the most harm.
CHAPTER NINE
THE TERMS OF MARRIAGE
Darcy, and presumably Elizabeth, did not take long to realize the library was occupied. Perhaps he followed Miss Elizabeth too closely, his mind still circling the question of why she had come and what she intended to say, because when she stopped abruptly, he would have bowled her over had he not thrown his weight to the side. A Chinese vase tipped, and he caught it before it could topple to the carpet.
“Oh, I beg your pardon.” Elizabeth stepped back, and her shoulder grazed Darcy’s waistcoat before she caught herself. “I did not realize the room was engaged.”
Caroline and Mrs. Hurst held their poses as if Elizabeth had walked onto a stage. Louisa’s teacup stayed suspended mid-sip, while Caroline’s finger held a book page unturned.
“Miss Eliza!” Caroline’s delight was overly bright. “What a charming surprise. We were settling in—were we not, Louisa?”
“The air in this room is so… studied,” Louisa replied. “What an unexpected pleasure, Miss Elizabeth. We had no notion you were calling today.”
Caroline’s gaze traveled down Elizabeth’s person as she gasped, page still unturned. “My dear Miss Eliza, you appear to have walked across a moor to arrive here. Pray sit down before you expire on the carpet.”
Elizabeth’s hems, Darcy could not help but notice, were liberally adorned with Hertfordshire mud. Her boots testified to three honest miles, her cheeks to the wind, and her hair—escaping its pins beneath a bonnet that had plainly lost a skirmish with a hedgerow or a particularly enterprising sparrow—declared her the victor of a somewhat distinguished private adventure.
“I am not in the least bit of danger.” Elizabeth’s chin lifted. “I have merely walked from Longbourn. It is a thing people do with legs.”
“Walked! In this weather!” Louisa pressed a hand to her collarbone, the teacup shaking in her other hand. “One most certainly cannot tolerate the winter air at this time of year. Come, warm your poor hands by the fire. I see you have papers—were you perhaps working on your correspondence when you took a wrong turn and found yourself three miles from home?”
“I merely took exercise, Mrs. Hurst. The road is invigorating.”
“How very… robust of you.” Caroline’s smile sharpened. “One might almost mistake you for a Scottish lass come down from the heath, all windswept vitality and muddy petticoats. Do you not find it so, Mr. Darcy?”
Darcy, who found Elizabeth’s windswept vitality far more appealing than was prudent to confess in such company, wisely held his tongue.
“Perhaps you have come to supplement your reading material.” Caroline gestured languidly toward the shelves. “Fordyce’s Sermons to Young Women is there—second shelf, I believe—and Hannah More’s tracts on female conduct, which are rather earnest but wonderfully instructive for those who find themselves entering a new situation in life. Every bride should have a guide.”
“I have come to discuss matters with Mr. Darcy.” Elizabeth’s voice was perfectly civil, although impatient.
“I see.” Caroline set the book down without marking the page and rose. “You find yourself at Netherfield again so soon. Were you afraid he might escape before the second reading of the banns?”
Elizabeth favored her with a thin, devastating smile. “Only lest he be subjected to a surplus of unsolicited concern.”
“Miss Elizabeth is here by my invitation.” Darcy stepped forward and offered his arm. “Perhaps we might take a turn through the gardens as we converse upon our happiness.”
Elizabeth’s dark eyes widened, but she recognized his tactical rescue. With a cool, collected grace, she slipped her hand over his sleeve.
“I see nothing daunting about a bit of brisk air and an honest walk.” Elizabeth turned toward the window, where the garden lay in all its bare March dignity. “In fact, I rather prefer the outdoors to a warm room when there is business to discuss. Cold air clarifies the mind.”
“I agree,” Caroline said. “Especially if there are difficulties with the arrangement. One does worry so much for one’s friends. It is entirely the reason why banns need to be read three consecutive Sundays, to ensure all parties are agreeable.”
“I assure you,” Elizabeth said, her voice pleasant in a way that suggested imminent violence, “Mr. Darcy and I are entirely agreeable. Come, let us explore this garden.”
