“Calculated,” he repeated wryly. “I see. Are you truly so unwilling to risk your throne, or” —he bent down to speak in her ear”—do you simply wish to prolong having my attention fixed on you?”
Elizabeth felt the heat creeping up her neck but refused to let him win the moment. “Ah, there it is. A glimpse of Mr. Darcy’s legendary arrogance. I was wondering when it might make a reappearance.”
“Not arrogance,” he countered smoothly. “Merely observation.”
They stared at one another without blinking, but ultimately, Elizabeth smiled first.
“Very well, Mr. Darcy.” She waved at the board. “Since you are so eager to face defeat again, I shall indulge you. Another game it is.”
Mr. Darcy offered her a little bow. “I am honoured, Miss Bennet. Shall we reset the board?”
“Certainly,” she said, sitting down again with a playful gleam in her eye. “But be warned: I expect no excuses this time when I win.”
“Excuses?” He huffed in an exaggerated manner and began arranging the pieces. “I believe it is you who will be searching for them by the end of this game.”
Elizabeth leaned over the board as they began anew. There was something exhilarating about sparring with Mr. Darcy, something that made her reluctant to let the moment slip away. He had been right, though she would never admit it. She liked having his attentions all to herself.
Darcy followed Miss Bennet into her father’s book room, his eyes tracing the rows of well-loved volumes lining the shelves. The space was smaller and less grand than Darcy’s library in town, but as he had noted the first time he entered it, this was clearly the sanctuary of a fellow bibliophile. William Paley’sNatural Theology, Isaac Newton’sPrincipia Mathematica,Gilbert White’sThe Natural History and Antiquities of Selborne.Mr. Bennet had a bent towards science and the natural world, then.
Miss Bennet turned to him, a book already in hand. “This was always my favourite retreat growing up,” she said with a smile.“My father allowed me to read whatever I pleased, though I confess I made some very peculiar choices as a child.”
“Truly? What did you read as a girl, if I may ask?”
A deep male voice spoke from a chair facing the window.“Samuel Hearne’sA Journey from Prince of Wales's Fort in Hudson's Bay to the Northern Ocean. There was one summer her mother had to tell her she could not bring a book to the table.” Mr. Bennet rose from the chair whose high back had hidden him rather effectively. “Though I suppose her warnings were as much for my benefit as Elizabeth’s.”
Miss Bennet smiled fondly at her father. “You have never given up that old trick.”
“Because your mother still has never found me.” He sneezed. “And I was about to reveal myself anyway.” He sneezed again.
“Papa,” she said with an affectionate sort of exasperation. “Bless you.”
Darcy’s lips quirked. “And what is your current preference?”
She scanned the shelves thoughtfully, the very tip of her tongue poking out of the corner of her mouth and making him look hurriedly away.
“Something to read aloud, I think. Do you enjoy poetry, Mr. Darcy?”
“I do,” he replied, “though I must admit I read more essays than verse.”
Miss Bennet held up a slim volume of Wordsworth sonnets for her father to approve. When he nodded, she turned back to Darcy. “Perhaps this will convert you.”
“I thought sonnets starved love rather than fed it,” he said, referring to a debate they had held at Netherfield some months ago.
But she was not to be bested, and he enjoyed her pert reply even more than winning a point.
“Perhaps I intend to put you to the test, Mr. Darcy.” She arched a single brow at him, which could not fail to make him smile. “If you do not flee, I shall know it is a strong sort of inclination that you feel for me.”
“Lead on, Miss Bennet.”
They settled near the fire, the book between them. Darcy marvelled at the difference between last autumn, when he had presumed Miss Bennet had been flirting with him and now, when she was no longer afraid.
The idea struck him hard. She had actually been afraid of him. Not in any physical way, but of his disdain. He had been protecting himself against the hold she seemed to have on him, but he had not considered how that might affect her.
Her voice, soft yet confident, was very different today, far more natural. “Breathless with adoration; the broad sun/Is sinking down in its tranquillity;/The gentleness of heaven broods o'er the Sea . . .” Darcy watched her lips as she spoke, the curve of her mouth and the animation of her features as compelling as the words themselves.
From the hall came the cheerful strains of a lively tune, one of Georgiana’s favourites, punctuated by Mrs. Bennet’s loud, effusive praise and Miss Lydia’s enthusiastic clapping. Darcy smiled faintly, thankful that Georgiana was also willing to engage with the Bennets so that he might have some time with Elizabeth to himself—chaperoned by Mr. Bennet, of course.
When Elizabeth handed him the book to choose a poem, he turned to “Intimations of Immortality.” He began, his voice lifting and dropping in a familiar cadence. He closed his eyes and recited from memory. "Though nothing can bring back the hour/ Of splendour in the grass, of glory in the flower;/ We will grieve not, rather find/Strength in what remains behind."
