Page 20 of Pride, Prejudice & Wicked Pleasure

Abby received the news as if Lizzy had told her nothing more significant than that she desired more butter for her bread.

“As the roads are still poor, you will worsen your cold if you travel on horseback through this rain,” Abby noted after their breakfast. “I will have Lee deliver a letter to the Collinses to that effect.”

Lizzy was reminded of the time when her mother had sent Jane to Netherfield on horseback in poor weather, with the hopes that Jane would be required to spend the night due to rain. The plan had succeeded beyond Mrs. Bennet’s wishes, for Jane had fallen ill and was obliged to stay with the Bingleys at Netherfield for several more days. Now, under different intentions and circumstances, a similar fate had befallen Lizzy, but perceiving that her own illness was no more than a trifling cold, she refused to be confined to rest in bed and inquired if Abby had another project that required assistance?

“If you will not rest, then I insist on only docile activities,” Abby replied. “A healthy pupil is an attentive one. I have matters of business to attend with my steward, but you are to be as familiar here as a member of the family.”

The weather prevented a walk in the garden, and Lizzy took herself to the library instead. Without thinking, she made her way to the far shelf and retrieved a collection of poems titled An Essay on Woman, which she promptly dropped when she heard a voice behind her.

“You’ve an interesting taste in poetry, Miss Elizabeth,” Nicholas noted, retrieving the work and placing it back in her hands. His eyes glimmered.

Lizzy flushed. “I‘ve not read anything by Mr. Wilkes before.”

His smile widened. “These are poems of a most bawdy nature.”

She flushed deeper and began to cough, her disconcertion furthered by his proximity and the obvious appreciation in his eyes as he observed her attire. She had to admit the simple gown of cambric fit her figure well. The wide neckline dipped a little low for a morning dress but exposed to fine effect the work of her stays in lifting and separating her breasts.

Withdrawing a step from him as if to spare him from her cough, she asked, “You have read them?”

He waved a hand. “I have read most of the works on this shelf.”

“Are you an avid reader then?”

“Of sorts. Are you?”

“Reading is a favourite pastime of mine.”

“Have you a favourite work or author?”

“Too many to name. And you?”

“For poetry, I favour Venus and Adonis by William Shakespeare.”

“Ah.”

Somehow she had not expected that answer but one more along the lines of A Ramble in St. James’s Park.

“Did you come across this shelf by chance or did my mother direct you?”

“The opportunity to peruse such an extensive collection of books is too great a temptation,” she replied, wondering at his motive for asking.

“And have you seen her collection of art as well?”

She held her breath. Did he know of the erotic art? As the son, it was likely he would have knowledge of its presence.

“Few have seen it, admittedly,” he continued. “If you have not, and possess an interest, I should be honoured to have the role of curator.”

Though she was curious to look once more upon the art, viewing the salacious objects with a man she hardly knew was not to be entertained. She was surprised enough to be discussing literature of an erotic nature with him.

“I have been to the gallery with your mother,” she replied.

His eyebrows rose, but her answer clearly pleased him. “May I inquire into your opinions on the collection?”

Despite her unease, she spoke as if the topic of discussion was as dull as water. “The art is scandalous.”

He blinked several times, then laughed. “I like your manners, Miss Elizabeth. Do you find the art indecent?”

“Many an upright citizen would.”