Darcy paced up and down his bedroom, muttering to himself. How could he have been so stupid? He had spent the last fifteen minutes speaking to Mr Jones and trying to make himself abundantly clear that should a word of what he ‘thought’ he had observed in the library spread among the staff, or worse still the residents of the house, there would be severe consequences.
The man had refused to take any money for his discretion which seemed a bad sign, or perhaps a good one—Darcy could not be sure. But then there was the maid, who Mr Jones had assured him he would take care of. Surely she would gossip and then the situation would become impossible to manage.
He sat heavily on his bed and groaned. He had made such a cake of things. From the moment he had seen Elizabeth (she would always be simply Elizabeth in his own thoughts) he had been transfixed. With her dark auburn hair arranged softly, one loose curl spilling down her neck and her round hazel eyes and pale skin, she appeared like a fairy queen. Her beauty was perhaps not classical but somehow ethereal and bewitching. He had watched her flashing eyes as she danced with true enjoyment and how she raised an elegant eyebrow whenevershe displayed her wry humour, which was often. He had never experienced anything like it. It was like his body had a physical pull to her and it would listen to no arguments that a simple country miss was not formed for Mr Darcy of Pemberley.
When his friend Bingley had encouraged him to dance with her, he had responded meanly,"She is tolerable I suppose, but not handsome enough to tempt me."It was his way of trying to sever any potential connection before it had begun. He was sure that once he took her small hand in his and guided her to the dancefloor, he would be forever lost.
Then her sister had become ill and he had been stuck under the same roof as the object of his desire—and torment—for three intolerable weeks. She was in the parlour, in the library, sat across from him at dinner, her scent was everywhere, and it was all he could do not to fall on his knees and beg her to run away with him.
He had always been an ordered man, a man in control of his own desires. As the master of a large estate with hundreds of people dependent on him, he could not afford to give way to whims and follies. So he lived his life under tight regulation, ordering his work and leisure carefully, always conscious of his position in society and the responsibilities his parents had drummed into him.
How had one woman undone him so completely? He could not tear his eyes from her when they were in the same room. And he found himself talking utter nonsense whenever he gave into his desperate desire to interact with her. He would say things he knew were untrue or controversial just to have her direct her sparkling wit and flashing eyes in his direction. She had called him "intolerable" and the "most vexing man in the world." But the truth was that he was so overwhelmed in her presence that he felt incapable of proper conversation. At dinner that night, she had eaten so little and the thought of her being unwell or upset was so awful that he had to say something. He knew he had come across as officious and nonsensical and she had made her feelings quite clear.
She hated him. And he had nearly kissed her. The daughter of a gentleman who had made her feelings abundantly clear, and he had acted like the worst sort of cad. If the rumours did spread she would be ruined. He could not even do the right thing, for he knew that her dislike of him was so strong that she would never consent to marry him.
He had to remove himself, from this situation and from this woman who had possessed his mind and body so completely that he thought he would run mad. He got up and poured himself a glass of brandy. If he could not escape these feelings he could at least drown them for a while.
Chapter Four
Elizabeth had a pounding headache. She had been home at Longbourn for two days, and it had shown no sign of improving. This was particularly irritating because she had been looking forward to coming home for weeks. During her final days at Netherfield, she had thought often of Longbourn and all its comforts. She had thought of her father's library, of Hill's cooking, of the familiar noise of Lydia and Kitty running through the house giggling. Now she had all these things around her again and discovered that they brought her surprisingly little comfort.
The trouble was that every time she began to relax, she remembered the library. Nothing had happened in the library.Nothing had happened in the library.She repeated this line over and over in her mind until it seemed to lose all meaning. She remembered the disapproving look on Mr Jones’ face as she had rushed past and Polly’s shocked squeal. And then irritatingly she would return over and over to the gentle touch of Mr Darcy’s hand on her arm and the undecipherable look in his dark eyes.
It was ridiculous and unfair. But it was entirely possible that by now half the servants in Hertfordshire believed she was theworst sort of woman. And if that gossip made its way out to the population of Meryton, she would be utterly disgraced. What would that mean for her future? For the future of her sisters? Elizabeth buried her face in her hands and groaned.
"Are you unwell, dearest? You don’t look at all yourself."
She looked up to find Jane standing in the doorway and attempted a smile. "I am very well. Very well indeed, just a little tired."
Jane eyed her suspiciously. "You look like you have been crying."
"I am only annoyed."
Jane came into the room carrying a basket of mending and settled beside the window. She gave a small sigh. "What have Lydia and Kitty done now? Or has mama said something to vex you?"
Elizabeth considered how to respond, and instead buried her face in her hands once again and began to weep softly.
Jane jumped up in alarm, the mending spilling onto the floor. "Dearest!" she cried, going at once to Elizabeth and embracing her.
Jane was the gentlest person she had ever known. She was also remarkably difficult to deceive.There, in her sister’s arms, she shared the whole sorry tale. From the strange looks andfrustrating conversations to the strange scene in the library that left her terrified that she had ruined her reputation and that of her family.
When the story was complete, Elizabeth flopped backwards onto the bed and stared up at the canopy. "I should like never to hear the name Darcy again."
When she finished, Jane was silent for several moments. Then she said, "That does not sound very scandalous. And although Mr Darcy did not behave exactly well, nothing happened. In fact, it sounds as if he may have been upset that you have not been on friendly terms during your stay and he was trying—albeit clumsily—to put it right."
"Jane," said Elizabeth. "Do you have to see the best in everything and everyone?"
"I do not know what that has to do with anything."
"It has everything to do with everything. If a man were discovered climbing out of a barn window carrying a stolen pig, you would assume he was taking it for a short holiday. For its health."
Jane tried and failed to suppress a smile. "Very well. Mr Jones and Polly may have misunderstood, but I doubt they will say anything. Polly is a sweet girl."
"Yes, she is," sighed Elizabeth. "But she is also young and still a little foolish and one wrong word and…"
"I am sure it will be forgotten," said Jane, patting her hand.
Elizabeth wanted to believe her.
