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He leaned across and marked the next paragraph with his finger. “You may be right. She has just advised against the marriage.”

Elizabeth laughed aloud. It was impossible not to reward him for the dryness of that admission, and he looked so pleased with her laughter that she read on. When the heroine ignored the aunt's advice, they both objected; when the uncle's horse went lame, Darcy found a defect in the account of its treatment which required an explanation Elizabeth had not expected to enjoy. He knew horses without needing them to admire him. She liked the unselfconscious competence of it, his absorption in a question with no bearing upon her conduct.

Presently she stopped reading. He was looking at her rather than the page, and the pleasure of being watched had returned before she could remind herself of all its other forms.

* * *

“Have I lost your attention?” she asked.

“No.” Darcy closed the book upon his own place. “You have it.”

The answer was too plain for teasing. Elizabeth could see the tiredness at the edges of his composure, and beneath it a hope he had made no attempt to express. She did not know what he expected of her. For once she knew what she wanted to do herself.

She rose and came to his chair. Darcy began to stand, then remained seated when she touched his shoulder. His coat was warm beneath her hand. She bent and kissed him, awkwardly at first because she had chosen the movement before deciding how to accomplish it, and the brief surprise upon his face made her smile against his mouth.

He drew her closer only after her second kiss. There was tenderness in the care with which he held her, and familiarity enough to make her wish she could remain there without any further thought. She rested her forehead against his. For a moment the library, the closed book and the comfortable weight of his hand were sufficient.

Then she pictured herself upstairs later, avoiding the words she had said to Jane because this hour might appear to contradict them. She drew back.

“I must stop.”

Darcy's hand loosened at once. He let her stand, though the movement cost him a breath which she heard clearly in the quiet room. She smoothed her skirt with fingers that would not quite obey her and waited for him to ask what she had meant by beginning.

He asked nothing. After a moment he moved the small table aside so that she could return to her chair without squeezing past it.

“Thank you,” she said, then disliked how small her voice sounded.

He looked at the book rather than at her. “You need not thank me for that.”

He had stopped because she asked him to stop. That was no favour, though her relief had made her thank him for it. She would not ask so little of the rest of their marriage. She sat down and let the quiet continue.

“Has your aunt written again?” she asked at last. “Charlotte received an invitation to Rosings yesterday.”

“I am dealing with the matter.” He answered too promptly, his eyes on the fire.

Elizabeth watched him lay his own book on the table. “Anything which concerns me must be told to me before it is arranged. Not afterwards, when someone has merely to fetch my cloak.”

“There is no need for you to be troubled tonight.”

“I have not asked to be spared the trouble.” She waited, but he offered nothing further. The warmth of the kiss was still upon her lips, making the disappointment more difficult to dismiss. She rose and took the novel with her. Upstairs, she found that she could remember the whole of the argument about the horse, and almost none of the page she tried to read. Whatever the matter was, she would have it from him, and soon.

CHAPTER 6

ELIZABETH

On Thursday morning Elizabeth's maid asked which gowns she wished to take north. The girl was holding a travelling case which had been put away only a week before, and for a moment Elizabeth thought she had mistaken the question.

“North?”

“For the journey, madam. If you would prefer to choose after breakfast, I can begin with the linen.”

Elizabeth looked past her to the open dressing-room. Tissue paper lay upon a chair, a cloak had been taken down and the smaller trunk stood ready beside the wall. Someone had already loosened its straps.

“Who told you of a journey?”

“The housekeeper, madam. Yesterday afternoon. Have I misunderstood?”

“No. I think you have understood precisely what you were told.” Elizabeth put down the brush she had been holding. “Leave the case where it is. I shall speak to Mr. Darcy.”