“Perhaps I did not express myself in a favorable way,” Darcy said as Elizabeth sat and he pulled out his own seat with carved deer heads on the backrest, “I merely meant to say that Lady Susan knows more about how one is expected to dress within your new situation, and that—”
“And that as the daughter of such a poor man as my father I could not possibly have any notion what would be expected of me, and I will disgrace you horribly if I am allowed to pick my own clothing?” Elizabeth’s eyes flashed as she replied. “I assureyou, I understood. And further that I can, and Iwilldress myself without any aid from your cousin.”
“But—”
“No. This is not a matter on which I will bend. Any orders I make while currently in town will be from the same woman my aunt has patronized these five years, and who is familiar with me and my tastes.”
They glared at each other.
The determination in Elizabeth’s eyes and face made her yet lovelier. A woman’s anger should not look beautiful, but it did with Elizabeth.
“What do you wish to have for breakfast?” Darcy piled several rolls onto her plate. “If there is anything particular you wish that is not here, the kitchen can probably make it.”
“This is much like how Mama always set the table,” she replied. “There is nothing wanting—” She frowned.
Darcy pushed the plate towards her again and smiled at her. He suddenly wanted to see her like the food his house provided. He was anxious for her reaction.
Elizabeth cocked her eyebrow at seeing Darcy’s study of her. Then she laughed a little. That made the lines which had been in her expression smooth out. “It is breakfast. You need not set such a store upon how I like it.”
It was impossible not to smile back at her. He shrugged.
Elizabeth theatrically picked up a roll, sawed it in half, and smeared one side with butter before taking a dainty bite. Except when using the sharp knife, she kept an eye on him. “Oh.” She groaned as though ecstatic. “Oh, what a piece of work is such a roll! How delightful in taste. And infinite in moisture. In deliciousness how… ummm…” She paused, perhaps unable to remember the next line from Hamlet’s speech, or maybe unable to come up instantly with a suitable bread-related modification of the text. After a second she finished in a triumphant voice.“And yet to me, what is this quintessence of flour!”
“Rolls please you not?” Darcy replied dryly. “And neither toast?”
Elizabeth giggled. “An excellent reply.”
“But what do youreallythink?”
“A very fine roll.”
Darcy grinned at her.
“Also, particularly good butter — you are far too pleased to hear that I like your kitchens.”
“Should we notbe proud of them?”
Elizabeth flushed and looked down.
Of course, his kitchen was excellent, he was after all a great gentleman, and not one of those who theatrically expressed no interest in food. Instead of this pleasure at it, he should be annoyed to see her enjoying the fruits of her and her mother's scheming.
He loved her honest delight, and her silly misquoting of Hamlet.
Why?
Darcy’s mind flashed back to their joining, the feel of her.
Perhaps the trade that he had made was fairer than he had thought. Perhaps what he had paid to her in exchange for having her was not so ridiculously greater than the value Elizabeth brought to the Darcy name and Pemberley.
He knew what his uncle would say — there were hundreds of lovely girls who were as beautiful and intelligent as Elizabeth and whoalsohad good connections and a plump dowry-purse.
But he’d never enjoyed conversation with them so much.
Elizabeth set to eating with relish, making sounds of pleasure with each bite as she went through the preserves, the ham, and the rolls. Each time she looked at him and smirked with her bright eyes and mischievous lips.
“Coffee? Do you want only one lump of sugar?” Darcyasked as he poured himself a cup from the carafe that had been strained before being set out so that his cup would not be filled with all of the coffee dust from the mill.
“Yes.” She looked at him. “You paid attention when we were all at breakfast while Jane was at Netherfield.”
