The words hung between them a moment too long.
Miss Elizabeth’s expression shifted—not retreating, not quite, but becoming aware of the same sudden stillness he felt. Darcy looked away first, not from indifference but from self-preservation, and turned toward the nearest shelf.
“What would you recommend?” he asked.
“From this library?”
“Yes.”
“That is a dangerous question, Mr. Darcy. A recommendation reveals as much about the person giving it as the person receiving it.”
“Then I shall consider myself warned.”
She moved along the shelves, her fingers passing over several worn spines before pausing upon one. “For distraction, perhaps this. For instruction, something duller and more improving, but I would not be so cruel before breakfast.”
“You are merciful after all.”
“Occasionally.”
He accepted the book she offered. Their fingers did not touch, though he was aware of how near they came. He looked down and found himself holding a volume of essays, not new, not handsome, but clearly used.
“This is your notion of distraction?”
“It contains two tolerably amusing essays, one very foolish argument, and at least one passage that made me wish to argue with the author aloud. I call that excellent distraction.”
“Do you often argue with books?”
“When the company is equal to it.”
“And when it is not?”
“Then I argue with people.”
Darcy laughed then, quietly but with genuine amusement.
Her eyes widened for the smallest instant, as if the sound had surprised her. Then she smiled, not triumphantly, but with something nearer pleasure, and Darcy felt the moment settle within him.
He was in danger.
Not the danger of a passing attraction, nor of admiration easily reasoned away. It was much worse. He liked being with her. He liked her intelligence, her courage, her quickness, the way she treated conversation not as a performance but as a living thing to be shaped, tossed, tested, and enjoyed.
He liked that she made him forget to be guarded.
A soft sound from the hall recalled them both. Miss Elizabeth looked toward the door, then back at him. “I ought not remain long. Jane may wake and decide I have abandoned her for county histories and argumentative essays.”
“That would be a grave betrayal.”
“Very grave. Sisters in sickrooms are jealous creatures.”
“Then I shall not detain you.”
She glanced toward the chair near the fire, then at the tea she had scarcely touched. “Mrs. Nicholls ordered me to take half an hour.”
“Mrs. Nicholls is wise, as we have established.”
“She is also difficult to disobey.”
“Another mark of wisdom.”
