Page 10 of What to do with Fitzwilliam Darcy?

To say Darcy was surprised to see his sister was an understatement. When the light knock came upon his door, he thought it must be a maid, or perhaps Mrs Bingley come to tell him that he would have to leave. He had caused her sister to run mad.

She would be right. He had to leave today. He would help Charles with the sale documents, give him all the information he could think of, and then he would go. How could he possibly look upon her again after what she had said? After holding her in his arms?

She had said that he smelled nice. Did that mean anything? But his presence had caused her so much unease that she had nearly drunk herself under the table. He could not imagine his clever, resourceful, witty Elizabeth doing any such thing. He caused her pain. His very presence caused her pain. But she had said that his eyelashes were wondrous…

He started as his thoughts continued to follow this irregular route of self-recrimination and wishful thinking and the door opened to reveal his sister.

"Georgie," he said, standing from his chair by the window. "What are you doing in Hertfordshire?"

"I came with Richard. He said he had some business that he wanted you to take a look at on behalf of his father."

"Why have I become everyone's bloody solicitor?" Darcy muttered under his breath.

"Now, brother, that is not a becoming attitude. In truth, I was becoming a little tired of London. It was so crowded and busy and dirty, and I thought a little country air would be just the thing. And I could see my favourite brother."

"Georgiana, I am your only brother."

"Still, you are my very favourite. How are you enjoying your stay?"

Darcy looked out of the window at the rolling hills of Hertfordshire and let out a deep sigh. "It is fine."

"That did not sound at all fine."

"All is well. There was just a small complication."

"Does it have anything to do with Mrs Bingley's sister? I understood she was in residence until quite recently. I heard that she went off to her parents' estate in rather a rush. Was she unwell?"

Darcy made a noncommittal sound while his heart screamed that he should follow after her. But no. This was for the best. They had hardly brought out the best in one another last night, and she had been out of her wits when she had said those things about him. Did she really think he wished her dead?

"William?"

Darcy looked up.

"Where were you? You completely disappeared."

"I beg your pardon. I was woolgathering."

"I was saying that Mrs Bingley has been kind enough to provide a splendid-looking tea in the library, and the great fire is lit, so it is ever so cosy. Will you please come down and join me?"

"Very well, Georgiana," said Darcy, his mind still racing. With that, he followed his sister out of the room.

Chapter Six

Darcy followed Georgiana downstairs and along the corridor towards the library, still only half attending to her cheerful observations about the journey from London. His thoughts remained fixed upon the previous evening and, more particularly, upon a pair of dark eyes and the memory of Elizabeth Bennet pressing her face into his coat and declaring that he smelled lovely.

When they reached the library, Georgiana pushed open the door and gestured for him to enter ahead of her. Darcy did so without thought, his attention immediately caught by the large fire burning in the grate and the tea tray arranged on a table before it. There were sandwiches, cakes and enough tea to sustain a small army.

"This is very kind of Mrs Bingley," he said, turning back towards his sister.

The door was already closing.

"Georgiana?"

It shut with a firm click.

Darcy stared at it.

For a moment he assumed that his sister had remembered something she wished to fetch, although it was peculiar that she had not thought to mention it. He crossed to the tea table, poured himself a cup and waited, but several minutes passed without her return. The house beyond the library was suspiciously quiet. Once, he thought he heard the faint sound of footsteps in the corridor and what might have been a muffled laugh, but when he went to the door and pulled upon the handle, it did not move.