How could Miss de Bourgh be proficient at anything if she could barely manage to complete a sentence before being distracted by something else?
“There you are, Darcy. You are late.”
Painfully self-conscious, Elizabeth kept her eyes on the floor after her curtsy. Her anxiety grew with every breath.
“Pardon me,” said Darcy coldly. “I wished to find a particular reference in a book to show to Miss Bennet, and it took me longer than I expected.”
Elizabeth stiffened. What was he about?
“For Miss Bennet?” Lady Catherine sounded displeased. “Why would you be concerned about finding reading material for her?”
“It is something I wish her to read. We had a minor disagreement over methods of land management. She felt her father’s methods were superior to the ones I proposed. I thought it would benefit her to learn the truth of the matter,” he said with no trace of warmth in his voice.
“You are very kind, sir,” said Elizabeth hastily without looking at him. “I am certain you know far more about the matter than I do, or than my father does, for that matter.”
“Darcy is certainly correct,” said Lady Catherine. “He is showing great condescension by pointing out your errors. Is it a long passage, Darcy?”
“Just a few pages.”
“Then she may sit over by the piano as she reads it. She will be in no one’s way there.”
A pair of shiny boots appeared on the floor by her feet, forcing Elizabeth to finally raise her eyes. Mr. Darcy’s expression was cold and disdainful as he held out a leather-bound volume to her. His fingertips were ink stained.
She took it in numb hands. “I thank you.”
“You may start on page 36.” He turned on his heel and strode over to Colonel Fitzwilliam. He could not have said more clearly that he was done with her.
She swallowed hard. At least this gave her an excuse to sit on the other side of the room. She chose the chair where her face would be hidden by an ornate statuette of a shepherdess. Why did his coldness hurt her so much?
She opened the book to the page he had indicated and found three sheets of letter paper, written quite through, in a close hand. She took a deep breath to calm herself, reminding herself of the abominable things he had said. Did he think he could offer some excuse? This letter was likely to make her even angrier than she already was.
ELIZABETH HARDLY KNEWhow she had made it through the rest of that nightmarish evening. Somehow she had managed to return the book to Mr. Darcy, who merely nodded acknowledgment as he accepted it. Apparently he had already dismissed her from his acquaintance in his own mind.
She could not decide what to make of his letter. His excuses for separating Jane and Bingley seemed weak, but she kept returning to his words about the Collegium. Did he truly disagree with the Collegium view on women and magic? If so, she might not have to leave behind her family and friends to live with strangers. But what if he said it merely to lower her guard? The risk was frightening, but so was the thought of leaving her family and friends. It would be so much simpler if she could accept his assurances. She disliked many things about him, but deceptive behavior had not been one of the faults she had observed. His weak fib about wanting her to read the book had not been the work of a practiced liar.
She passed a restless night haunted by dreams of Mr. Darcy’s disdainful face and cold dislike. In the morning she walked out for the sole purpose of re-reading and brooding upon his letter and the humiliation of his words. She had always prided herself on her judgment of character, and now she knew how wanting in it she was. She was as much a fool as Lydia or Kitty. Mr. Darcy’s criticisms of her family left her spirits lower than they had been in years.
On her return to the parsonage, she discovered her walk had saved her from the mortification of meeting Mr. Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam when they called at the parsonage to say their farewells before departing the following morning. Even this fortunate timing could not relieve her oppression of spirits.
The next day, knowing that Mr. Darcy had left Rosings Park, sheattempted to put on a brave face with Charlotte. She suspected her friend was not fooled, though Charlotte did not question her. She had always been good about respecting Elizabeth’s privacy.
In the early afternoon, the maid brought a piece of folded notepaper to Charlotte. A look of concern crossed her face as she read it.
“Charlotte, is something amiss?” The last thing Elizabeth needed was more trouble.
“Lady Catherine has taken ill. Mr. Darcy is requesting my presence at Rosings. I suppose her ladyship must want me to read to her.”
Her stomach seemed to turn somersaults. “Mr. Darcy? I thought he had left!”
“Apparently not yet. He asks specifically that I bring you with me.”
Elizabeth’s heart twisted in her chest. “Me? Why would he want me there?” Was it a ploy to do a binding spell after all, or only to berate her, or to show her he no longer cared for her by the cold and disdainful look on his face?You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you. And now she would have to see him again, with the shame of everything he had said in his letter fresh in her mind.
Charlotte shrugged. “Perhaps Lady Catherine wishes to listen to you play. I am sorry to impose upon you this way, but we cannot afford to offend her ladyship.”
Her dismay must be showing. “Of course I will go with you.” Somehow she would manage to keep her composure with Mr. Darcy. Somehow.
THE TINGLING SENSATIONfrom crossing the Rosings wards only worsened Elizabeth’s queasiness. She would have to see Mr. Darcy and converse with him. Perhaps she could hide behind Charlotte and leaveher to do all the speaking. That way she could concentrate on being ready to run away if he spoke even one word in Latin.
