Page 11 of What to do with Fitzwilliam Darcy?

Darcy frowned and tried again. Locked. He stood very still, his hand remaining upon the handle as he began to think about the unexpected events of the morning. Georgiana's unexpected appearance. Fitzwilliam's mysterious business on behalf of his father. The insistence that he come downstairs for tea. The suspicious absence of anyone actually taking tea.

"Richard," he muttered. There was no answer from the corridor. Darcy knocked sharply upon the door. "Fitzwilliam, if you are out there, I strongly suggest you open this door."

Silence greeted him.

He knocked again, considerably harder. "Bingley?" he shouted.

Still nothing. Darcy stepped back and regarded the door with mounting irritation. He had known his cousin for more than five and twenty years and had a comprehensive understanding of what Colonel Fitzwilliam considered amusing. His humour was akin to that of a ten-year-old boy. Locking Darcy in a library on some ridiculous pretext had his mark all over it. He would kill him. He would drag him outside and wring his bloody neck. This was the last thing he needed.

He considered ringing for a servant, but one glance towards the bell pull told him that someone had anticipated that possibility. The cord had been tied neatly out of reach against the wall.

"Unbelievable."

Darcy returned to the fire and dropped into an armchair. Whatever nonsense his cousin was attempting, he would not give him the satisfaction of losing his temper. He had spent years managing Fitzwilliam's idiocy. He could certainly outwait him. Eventually somebody would have to open the door, and when they did, Darcy intended to make his opinion of the affair very clear indeed.

After fifteen minutes, footsteps sounded outside. Darcy stood as the key turned in the lock. "Finally."

The door opened and Miss Elizabeth Bennet stumbled through it. She looked considerably better than she had at the close of the previous evening, although that was perhaps not difficult. Her hair had been restored to order and she wore a pale blue day dress, but she was still rather pale and there were faint shadows beneath her eyes. She blinked at him, confused. Darcy stared back.

"I thought you were at Longbourn," he said stupidly.

"I thought you had left for London," she replied, and understanding flashed across her face. She whirled towards the door. "Jane!"

The door slammed shut, followed by the unmistakable scrape of a key turning in the lock.

Elizabeth seized the handle and pulled. "Jane!"

Darcy strode to her side and thumped his fist against the wood. "Fitzwilliam, if you do not open this door this instant, I shall bludgeon you to death with your own rifle."

"Oh, do stop carrying on," came Colonel Fitzwilliam's voice from the other side of the door. He sounded infuriatingly pleased with himself. "It is perfectly secure. As are the windows, before either of you gets any ideas."

Elizabeth turned towards Darcy, horror gradually giving way to fury. "You knew about this."

"I most certainly did not."

"Well, somebody knew about it!"

"Yes, Miss Bennet, I believe the man currently speaking through the door may have had some small involvement."

"Do not start quarrelling already," Fitzwilliam called through the wood. "You have been in there together for less than a minute."

"Richard," Darcy said through clenched teeth, "when I get out of this room, I am going to kill you."

"You have already made a death threat, cousin, and I anticipated that response, which is why I have the key."

Elizabeth slapped one hand against the door. "Jane! I know you are out there."

There was a pause, followed by her sister's apologetic voice. "I am sorry, Lizzie."

"You promised me!"

"I know."

"You looked directly into my eyes and promised me!"

"I did feel very bad about it."

A sound suspiciously like Bingley choking back laughter came from somewhere beyond the door.