His eyes returned to the shelves she had reorganised. “That much is obvious,” he answered quietly. “I understand you worked a miracle here, but I would hardly have noticed the difference.”
She smiled, warmed by the compliment. “I’ve an idea, William. What if Georgiana and Lydia and I all took turns reading aloud? You have so many fine books here, and I have been longing to explore them.”
His eyes lit hopefully, and Georgiana was quick to volunteer to read first. She sat across from them, beside Lydia, and opened a book of poetry. She read skillfully, employing her melodious voice to best advantage, but despite her efforts, Lydia was snoring loudly after ten minutes. Georgiana glanced at her in some amusement, and continued to read for well over an hour.
At length, Georgiana was obliged to take some water, and Elizabeth looked to William. His head tilted toward her shoulder—almost, but not quite resting upon her— and his thick dark lashes were low over his eyes, but his hand clutched hers as tightly as ever.
“What of something different?” Elizabeth glanced at the side table nearest her, and smiled when she saw that scandalous diary, so reviled by Lady Catherine. She had brought it back down only that morning, and could think of nothing better than Lady Georgina Darcy’s peculiar sense of humour to ease her grandson’s cares.
She opened it to the beginning, judiciously omitting the more scurrilous passages. Even so, Georgiana was blushing and giggling behind her hand, and William’s dark brows knit together more than once in bafflement. Lydia, who would have derived the most enjoyment from it, never heard a word. She started once at a loud bark of laughter from Georgiana, but settled back into her sleep with an indignant little snort.
The diary wove through all the details of life at Pemberley sixty years earlier. Some were intriguing, others mundane, but Elizabeth found that her greater familiarity with the estate now breathed life into some bits she had skimmed over before. It seemed, however, that eventually even Georgiana’s amusement gave way to fatigue. Elizabeth looked up when one particularly humourous remark was met by silence, and found that the girl had dropped off to slumber beside Lydia.
She glanced up at the clock on the mantel. After one in the morning! Little wonder the girls were asleep. “William?” she whispered.
He made no response. Elizabeth tilted her head to look at him better, and nudged him slightly with her elbow.
“Hmm?” he answered, but his eyes were closed.
“William, I think we ought to retire.”
“Hmm,” was his only response. His head dropped, resting fully against her shoulder now.
“Well…” she smiled, then with affectionate abandon nuzzled her face into his disheveled curls. “I suppose we might rest quietly… for a few minutes,” she murmured.
Elizabethgrimacedinhersleep. Oh, she must throw off those heavy blankets! Jane’s leg must have draped over her in the night, and it pressed most uncomfortably on her stomach. Her sister was forever stealing the bed. She squirmed and pushed against the inert weight on top of her body.
Her eyes flew open when her fingers snarled in thick, soft curls, rather than Jane’s light cotton chemise. She stared straight ahead, not daring to glance down at her lap. Those were decidedly the shelves of Pemberley’s library before her, and there were Georgiana and Lydia in the opposite sofa, which meant… she swallowed and braced herself.
Fitzwilliam Darcy, the man who had once declared her merely “tolerable,” lay with his head upon her knees, one arm tucked beside her thigh and the other thrown about her middle. He was breathing deeply, utterly lost to the world and more at peace than she had ever seen him.
Elizabeth stretched against the corner of the sofa—how had she come to half-recline upon that soft pillow? — and looked self-consciously about the room. Each of the girls had been draped over with a blanket, and another was lovingly tucked over William’s torso. She groaned. It was bad enough that she and William had spent the night wrapped in one another’s arms. Far worse that Mrs Reynolds had seen it all! What must the servants be saying? And what would William say, when he realised what they had done?
He stirred slightly at her movement, but did not wake. Rather, he nestled more closely back against her, and his breathing resumed that deep regular rhythm. She shifted again, but he seemed most contentedly settled where he was. What was she to do?
She glanced again at the mantel clock. Just after five, and if the maids did not enter soon to light the fires, it would be because they knew the room to be occupied by the master and three ladies who had slept the night there with him. She truly must wake him, but it seemed a kindness to grant him even a few more moments of genuine rest before recalling to him the terror of the previous evening. Her fingers stroked through his hair.Oh, William. How long before they could put these hideous nightmares behind them and he could truly begin to heal?
His eyelids were fluttering, and she heard the rhythm of his breathing change. She traced his cheekbone, just at the upper edge of his beard, and smiled when a long sigh signaled his wakefulness. He lay still, blinking for two or three seconds, seemingly as surprised as she had been to find himself there.
“Good morning, William,” she whispered.
He turned his head abruptly back, dark brown eyes wide. “Elizabeth!” He jerked to sit upright, but she stilled him with gentle hands.
“Shhh,” she held a finger to his lips. “It would perhaps be best if we did not wake Georgiana and Lydia.”
He glanced at their sisters and nodded, his head pressing against her thighs. “All the more reason I should go now.”
“Stay a moment,” she cupped a hand over his face and leaned down to look into his eyes. “They will not rouse for some while, I do not think. I must know that you are well.”
He drew a long breath and his hand slid up to capture hers. He did not speak, but he pressed her fingers to his lips in a long, sweet kiss of gratitude. His eyes, when he looked back to her, spoke the rest. Elizabeth leaned her forehead down to touch his, her fingers teasing through his beard. She brushed the softest of kisses to his mouth, then nuzzled the dark hair on his lip.
“I should shave,” he mumbled self-consciously, but he gasped in overt pleasure when she brought her second hand up to trace the other side of his face and tickle through each furrow of coarse hair. He struggled to keep his eyes open, and he could not prevent a luxurious sigh from escaping.
“I do not mind,” she whispered back, a hint of laughter in her tones. “I find that I like this rugged new appearance of yours quite as well as I did the impeccable gentleman I once knew. You are very imposing and rustic—rather like a sea captain or a farm labourer you look.”
He managed to force one eye open—the other had drifted closed under the bliss of her ministrations—and understood the teasing light in her expression. “You will like it even better when I take to wearing sail-cloth and Wellingtons.”
“Why, Mr Darcy, I do believe you have just made a joke! I am most impressed with your progress for one day. We may now return to being serious.”
