Page 36 of Mr Darcy’s Lakeside Romance

The dogs dropped the basket at Elizabeth’s feet, sitting back on their haunches and panting happily, expecting praise for their thievery.

Elizabeth burst into laughter, leaning down to scratch Apollo behind his ears. “They are providing the help Uncle Edward recommended, I am sure of it. You have trained them well, sir.”

“I have no control over them, and you know it.” Mr Darcy smiled, shaking his head at the hounds. “But they have excellent taste in whom they choose to present with stolen apples.”

The third day of the courtship found the party seeking refuge from the afternoon heat within the cool depths of the Pemberley library.

The room was a sanctuary of quiet intellectual pursuit. Uncle Edward was stationed by the unlit hearth, absorbed in a volume of northern history. Aunt Madeline sat near the windows, her embroidery needle flashing in the bright sunlight.

Elizabeth browsed the towering shelves, overwhelmed by the sheer amount of literature. She traced her fingers over the gilded spines, pulling a slim volume of poetry from the middle shelf.

Mr Darcy appeared silently at her side.

“An excellent choice.” He glanced at the cover in her hands. “Though I recall your uncle mentioning you harbour a deep detestation for poetry that does not rhyme.”

Elizabeth looked up, a teasing spark in her eye. “My uncle exaggerates my prejudices, sir. I appreciate beautiful words, provided they are not used to mask empty sentiments.”

“There are no empty sentiments here.” Mr Darcy took the book from her.

He opened it, turning to a marked page.

He began to recite the verse from memory. His voice was a low, mesmerising baritone that filled the quiet alcove between the bookshelves. The words were a beautiful, complex exploration of devotion and enduring affection. He spoke them with fierce intensity, his eyes locked onto hers.

Aunt Madeline cleared her throat loudly.

“Lizzy, my dear.” Her voice was bright, cheerful, and pointed. “Could you assist me with this tangled thread? I fear I have made a complete mess of my roses.”

Elizabeth jumped, tearing her gaze away from Mr Darcy, the heat in her cheeks undeniable.

Mr Darcy snapped the book shut in frustrated resignation and executed a formal bow.

“I shall leave you to your embroidery, Miss Elizabeth.” He stepped back, offering a polite nod to the room at large. “I have correspondence to attend to in my study.”

Elizabeth hurried to her aunt’s side and sat down heavily on the window seat, her heart pounding.

Aunt Madeline held up a neat, untangled skein of red silk and winked at Elizabeth.

“Propriety, my dear,” she murmured. “I am in favour of this match, but I will not have him proposing to you behind a bookshelf like a scullery maid. He must do it properly, in the light of day, where I can see the expression on his face.”

Elizabeth laughed, pressing her hands on her flushed cheeks. “You are a cruel chaperone, Aunt.”

“I am an effective one.” Aunt Madeline returned to her stitching. “He will have to wait until tomorrow.”

Later that evening, after the tea tray had been cleared and the gentlemen had engaged in a discussion regarding the price of wheat, Elizabeth slipped out of the drawing-room. She climbed the staircase, intending to retrieve a forgotten shawl from her bedchamber.

She found Miss Darcy waiting in the passage near the green chamber.

The younger girl paced back and forth. She stopped as Elizabeth approached, her blue eyes wide and nervous.

“Miss Elizabeth. May I speak with you? In private?”

“Of course.” Elizabeth ushered Miss Darcy into her room.

She guided her to the small settee at the foot of the bed, sitting closely beside her.

“Whatever is the matter, Miss Darcy?” Elizabeth took the girl’s trembling hands in her own.

Miss Darcy swallowed hard, her gaze dropping to their joined hands. “I know... I know my brother is courting you. I know he intends to ask you to marry him.”