Page 18 of Love Drunk for Mr Darcy

"I saw you come this way. Do not imagine that creeping through the servants’ passages will release you from your obligations."

Darcy reached the lower landing and paused. To his left, the corridor opened towards the kitchens, where servants moved briskly between steaming dishes and trays of wine. Straight ahead, another narrow staircase climbed towards the rear of the house and the guest chambers above. Lady Catherine would most likely assume he had taken that route in search of his room. A heavy door stood slightly ajar beside him. Without stopping to examine where it led, Darcy slipped through and pulled it firmly closed behind him.

The latch fell into place with a metallic click and somewhere in the gloom someone drew in a startled breath. Darcy wheeled around. The room was cool and almost dark, though a narrow window near the ceiling allowed in enough moonlight to reveal stone walls, wooden racks and the gleam of glass bottles. More alarming than any of these was the woman standing several feet away, the amber silk of her gown catching the pale light.

"Elizabeth?"

Elizabeth stared at him, her expression fierce even in the dim light. She gave him a stern look and held a finger to her lips.

For several seconds, neither moved. Outside, Lady Catherine’s cane struck the floor above them, followed by her voice demanding that Darcy cease behaving like a sulky child. The clack of her cane and sound of her threats and protestations continued past the door until they faded away altogether.

Elizabeth rolled her eyes towards the heavens. "Two things, Mr Darcy. You will address me correctly. That would be as Miss Bennet, or Miss Elizabeth, either is suitable in Jane’s absence. Secondly, what on God's green earth are you doing?"

He scuffed at the dust on the cellar floor with the toe of his boot. "My aunt was being difficult," he said, knowing even as the words left him that they were insufficient. "Miss Bennet," he added belatedly.

Elizabeth drew herself up. "Well, as diverting as this has been, I believe I shall return to Charlotte." She crossed to the door and turned the handle, only to find that it would not move. Her brows drew together. She tried again with greater force, but the heavy door remained firmly shut.

Behind her, Darcy said, "That cannot be."

Elizabeth looked back at him. "Has the great Mr Darcy of Pemberley acquired the ability to command locked doors to open? I pray you would demonstrate it quickly, so that I may find Charlotte and leave Rosings with all possible haste."

He came towards her and reached for the handle. "Allow me."

He thought he saw her roll her eyes once more, but she said nothing and stepped aside.

Darcy pulled hard enough to make the latch rattle in its setting, but the door refused to open. He tried again with greater force, bracing one foot against the stone floor, before abandoning the handle and striking the heavy wood with the flat of his hand.

"Hallo?" he called. "Is anyone there?"

He waited, but no answering footsteps came. Beyond the thick door, Rosings was alive with music, conversation and the movement of servants hurrying between the kitchens and ballroom. Even if someone passed through the corridor outside, Darcy doubted they would hear him above the noise and through the solid oak. He struck the door again, harder this time. "Hallo!"

Still nothing. "It seems the lock caught when I closed the door," he said at last.

Elizabeth folded her arms and looked at him with grim satisfaction. "So, in your determination to escape your aunt, you have managed to imprison us both in her wine cellar. I suppose I ought to be impressed. Your disastrous decisions are becoming increasingly inventive."

Chapter Six

Darcy struck the door once more with the flat of his hand and called for assistance, though he had little expectation of being heard. The music from the ballroom reached them as a distant throb through the stone ceiling, and beyond the door the lower passages would be filled with servants noisily carrying trays between the kitchens and the rooms above. Rosings was normally a quiet house, echoing and empty, but tonight the chaos of the ball was unhelpful to their cause. He tried the handle again, more to avoid turning around than from any real belief that it might suddenly spring open.

Behind him, Elizabeth gave a long sigh. Darcy rested his forehead briefly against the door. He had imagined many possible scenarios for the evening. Most involved Elizabeth refusing to speak to him or giving him the cut direct. A few fanciful ones included them dancing and her eyes finding his, soft and teasing. One, which had seen him wake in the middle of the night, heart pounding, had ended with a long, lingering kiss upon the terrace, her hands twisted in his hair. Not one had involved being trapped in a cold, dark wine cellar.

"You may pull upon it until morning, Mr Darcy," she said. "You will do no good."

He turned slowly. "I must find some solution. You may catch a chill, and then there is the matter of your reputation."

Elizabeth did not answer. She merely gave a small shrug and ran one finger absently along the row of bottles beside her. The slow movement held Darcy’s attention far longer than it ought to have done. He imagined that light, idle touch tracing over his chest and tried desperately to push that thought away.

"I should not have spoken as I did," he said. "I knew the words were wrong as soon as I heard them."

"Then we are agreed upon something."

"I did not mean that your sister’s feelings were shallow or that the connection was unimportant. I will visit Bingley and…"

She opened her mouth as though to offer a retort, then shut it again firmly.

"You know, Mr Darcy, I find myself quite tired of disagreeing with you. Once I leave the vicarage and return to Hertfordshire, it is likely we shall never meet again, or so seldom that it will scarcely matter." She swallowed and lowered her gaze to the floor, saying nothing for a long moment before looking up with a bright smile that looked a little forced. "So perhaps, while we are considering how to escape, we might attempt some pleasant, idle conversation instead. Let us imagine we are taking tea in a very ordinary drawing room."

She slipped the shawl from her shoulders, folded it carefully and placed it upon the floor before lowering herself onto it. "Only instead of tea, we shall have wine, and instead of a well-appointed settee or armchair, I suppose we must make do with this, erm, charmingly rustic stone floor."