“They have some fine possessions, do they?”
“No. Sir William has a double-barreled flintlock, and he never misses an opportunity to show it off. Would you like to see it up close?”
He narrowed his eyes and set his fists at his waist. “You really mean to play coy with me, do you not?”
I smiled.
“Very well. I suppose I shall have to seek some other means of learning what I must know.” He lifted his hat. “Until we meet again, Miss Elizabeth.”
Darcy
Thathadbeenagrave miscalculation.
My only intention was to gather information and learn a bit about Bennet and his ways without imposing myself in his drawing room. One did not simply arrive on the doorstep and ask to see a man’s art collection. I needed some kind of approach.
I ought simply to have brought my card to the door and asked to call on the morrow. It would have been the civilized thing to do. Uncomfortable and possibly ineffective, but almost anything would have been better than kissing the man’s daughter in the wood behind his house.
But one look at that brown-eyed Elizabeth Bennet, and I was no longer the master of myself.
What had I been thinking to follow her? I shouldn’t wonder that I gave her a fright! Good heavens, what sort of fever had overcome me that I threw good sense, decorum, and even my dignity over, merely for the pleasure of seeing her smile? And to gather her in my arms like a lover—why, I had scarcely met the woman! Insupportable that she should already hold such power over me.
But the more astonishing revelation was my own levity in her presence. For pity’s sake, I almost sounded like the rogue she took me for, and I was enjoying every second. I, Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley, had always been circumspect in my associations with the fairer sex. I could not afford to flirt with abandon. In fact, I’d scarcely ever exerted myself to fix a woman’s affections. Only once, to be exact—Pemberley’s head cook. When I was seven years of age.
And now, just when I most wished to present myself with honor and respectability, I had another problem. Elizabeth Bennet believed I was a burglar, and nothing I said would be treated with credulity and trust.
Oh, but my foray into this little “misunderstanding” was too delicious to regret.
I pinched the bridge of my nose, trying to stave off the looming headache. It was not only the bump on the back of my head—courtesy of one Elizabeth Bennet. It was the frustration and discouragement of the predicament in which I had found myself—partly also owing to that same fiery lass.
How was I to carry out my uncle’s request and work upon Mr. Bennet to preserve what ought to be a treasure for all the ages, when I could not even stop kissing the gentleman’s daughter?
Nine
Elizabeth
“Ihopeweshallhave an excellent dinner tomorrow, Mrs. Bennet, for I have reason to expect an addition to our table.”
I dragged my thoughts back from my absent reverie and looked at my father.
“We shall? It is not Mr. Bingley? Oh, my dears, we are saved! See what a good, kind father you have? Oh, I knew you were teasing me when you said—”
“It is not Mr. Bingley, but his acquaintance may prove equally gratifying. Certainly, his letters are diverting. I daresay I read them with much amusement.”
“Who is it, Papa?” I asked.
He smirked at me. “It is my cousin, William Collins.”
I rolled my eyes. “Oh. That one.”
“What do you mean, Lizzy?”
“Eh?” Papa asked, cupping a hand to his ear.
“My dear, what is she saying?” Mama shouted. “Lizzy, you cannot mean to dismiss this poor fellow out of hand before you have ever met him. Surely!”
“What she means, Mrs. Bennet, is that she has been privy to some of my correspondence with Mr. Collins. We have had much sport in reading his missives, have we not, Lizzy?”
“He… certainly thinks well of himself,” was my cautious reply.
