Elizabeth
Papa’s library.
I had spent many an evening rooting around in there, much to his bemusement. While my father delighted in his eclectic collection, his taste in books ranged from the arcane to the absurd, most of which he rarely touched. Just the kind of volumes Mr. Darcy might be desperate to get his hands on—and I couldn’t help but want to offer my help, if for no other reason than to observe the oddity that was Mr. Darcy up close.
I waited until Papa had retreated to his study after breakfast, as was his custom. No one ever disturbed him then—least of all me. Still, I tiptoed into the library, pausing at the door to listen for any sign of servants or sisters nearby. All was quiet.
It was far too early in the morning for a heist, but here I was, crouched in front of a dusty old shelf like a common burglar.
My fingers danced over the spines of countless forgotten volumes:Human Pathology,Superstitions of the Highlands,An Account of Strange Apparitions in the British Isles,Disorders of the Mindand one book that was simply titledGhosts. Well, those seemed promising enough.
I stacked the books quickly, one on top of the other, until the pile was almost comically high. There was no need to be choosy when half of these would probably be useless. It was a good thing Papa wasn’t here to see me now, or else I’d be in for another long lecture about how dull I was becoming with my obsession over “tedious” historical facts.
Clutching my armful of books, I scurried back to my room. Then I realized... where was I supposed to meet Mr. Darcy? I certainly wasn’t about to march up to Netherfield and invite myself in like some stray dog. And there was no way I was lettingMr. Darcy into our home, either—my mother would have him married to one of us within the hour.
Then it struck me. The old gamekeeper’s cottage, just on the edge of Netherfield’s grounds. It had been abandoned for years, and no one ever went near it. If Mr. Darcy could discreetly make his way there, we could work in peace.
Mr. Hill had alwaysindulged my whims, and today was no exception, when I begged him to have a note carried to Mr. Darcy at Netherfield under the guise of my father’s name. Surely, even suspicious Miss Bingley would sense nothing unusual if the gentleman received a note from a doddering old neighbor. Papa would never hear of it, either, so I scrawled out the details of the plan and waited. After about an hour, when my younger sisters had gone to town, and Papa was closeted with a book, I pulled on my cloak and headed for the cottage, an odd sense of excitement bubbling up inside me. Sneaking around wasn’t exactly becoming for a lady, but there was something thrilling about it all.
When I arrived at the moss-covered stone cottage, I glanced around. The place was as lonely as ever, with ivy creeping up the walls and a thick mist clinging to the trees. Inside, it was musty and cold, but serviceable enough for our purposes.
A creak from the door caught my attention, and I turned just in time to see Mr. Darcy step inside, looking more like a man on the run than one meeting a lady for a quiet rendezvous. Heglanced around warily, his shoulders tense. I half-expected him to pull his coat tighter, as though the very air were conspiring against him.
“Ah, Mr. Darcy,” I greeted him. “You are looking remarkably sane at the moment.”
His eyes narrowed. “If you invited me here merely to insult me, Miss Bennet…” Hesoundedannoyed, but his eyes were busy scanning the room as if expecting something—or someone—to jump out at him.
“You needn’t look so alarmed. No one knows we’re here.”
“On the contrary, Miss Bennet, it is precisely that fact which alarms me,” he muttered, eyeing the rough wooden table in the center of the room.
I set down the books with a thud, watching as he flinched ever so slightly. “Afraid I’m luring you into a trap, Mr. Darcy?”
His eyes flickered with something close to exasperation. “It’syourreputation I’m concerned about, not mine.”
I laughed. “You think anyone would believe I’m alone with you of my own accord? Honestly, if you tried to tell them, I would simply have to declare that Mr. Darcy has lost his mind, and no one would ever take your side. You’re worse than harmless. You’d sooner doyourselfharm than me.”
“That is hardly reassuring.”
“Isn’t it? But you must give me some credit for my courage, sir. What if you’re plotting to trick me into a compromising position so that I’ll have to marry you? I am taking a terrible risk here, you know. And are you entirely certain thatImeanyouno harm?”
His expression shifted almost imperceptibly. “I think I’ll take my chances.”
For a moment, he said nothing, only glanced at the books I’d brought as though grateful for the distraction. I started tounstack them, laying them out in a disorganized sprawl on the table.
“I’ve pilfered these from my father’s library. Don’t ask me how I’m going to explain their absence, but I imagine he won’t notice them missing for a week or so.”
Darcy’s brow furrowed as he picked up one of the tomes, his fingers brushing the cover with the kind of reverence that only a man utterly desperate for answers could muster. He flipped through the pages, his expression softening ever so slightly as he realized they might actually be of some use.
We sat down at the table, the musty air thick around us, and for a moment, there was silence as we both stared at the books. “I suppose,” I said, breaking the quiet, “it would help if you told me exactlywhatwe are looking for.”
He glanced up, meeting my eyes for a moment longer than necessary. “Yes,” he murmured, almost to himself. “I suppose it would.”
Eighteen
Darcy
Of all the placesto meet a young lady, an abandoned gamekeeper’s cottage wasn’t high on the list of acceptable venues. It was drafty, musty, and isolated, not to mention... highly improper. But it wasn’t as if I had much choice.
