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I was through the third stanza when I stole a look at Miss Elizabeth. She was sitting back in the chair with her eyes closed, a soft smile on her face.
Pleased with myself, I continued on, finishing the first poem and starting right into the next, a longer piece that stretched over six pages. When I finished, I set the book down on the side table and looked at my companion.
“That was beautiful, Mr. Darcy,” she said, her voice soft.
“Thank you.” I was afraid to speak too loudly and shatter the moment. There was a stillness between us, a softness I could not name and did not want to disturb.
She continued to look at me, her green eyes glowing softly like new buds in spring.
“When I first met you, I thought your hair was brown,” I said.
She smiled in amusement. “Many people do.”
“It is actually a very dark red.”
“Yes, it is. Though in certain lights, it appears brown.”
I nodded as if this were the most fascinating conversation I had ever taken part in. As if I was not at that moment fantasizing about taking her hair down from its pins and running my hands through the silky strands.
“It is late,” she said, rising from her chair. “Goodnight, Mr. Darcy.” She pressed her hand into my shoulder for a moment as she walked past.
“Goodnight, Miss Elizabeth.” In a moment of what I can only imagine was sheer insanity, I reached up and grabbed her hand just as she was pulling it away.
She gasped, so quietly I almost did not hear it, then I loosened my hold and she pulled her hand back, scampering out of the room and up the stairs.
14
Elizabeth
Ifellbackagainstthe door and pressed my hand to my chest. What had just happened? There had been a moment when I thought for certain Mr. Darcy was going to kiss me, but he did not. More concerning than what he would have done was the fact that I would have let him. I wanted him to kiss me in that moment, wanton creature that I am.
But then it passed, and we went back to our usual banter and I thought I had imagined it all. Until he grabbed my hand… What had he meant by it? Was he attracted to me? Flirting with me? Had it merely been the impulse of the moment?
When I thought about Mr. Darcy being attracted to me enough to kiss me, I felt a hysterical laugh bubbling up in my throat and pressed my hand over my mouth to hold it in. He would not do such a thing, even if he wished to. He was entirely too in control of himself to break with propriety so blatantly.
And if he was serious about me, well, I could not lead him on. I knew what I wanted, what I had to do. I had a duty to help as many people as I possibly could. I wished to wed a doctor precisely for this reason. Hearing Mr. Darcy speak about his cousin the colonel made me think I should consider a man in the army as well. I would have plenty of access to the recently wounded. Many soldiers’ wives followed the drum and helped in whatever capacity was needed during and after battles. I could do a great deal of good in such a situation.
Mr. Darcy was an intriguing man, and terribly handsome, and I did wonder if his hair felt as soft as it looked, but I could not marry him. I had a duty to my gift, and a country gentleman could not provide the kind of life I needed to accomplish what I wished to, what I believed was my calling.
And besides all of that, Mr. Darcy seemed to me to be a complicated man. I had never been properly courted before, and I was not close with any men my own age, so it was possible I was far from the mark in my supposition, but Mr. Darcy did not strike me as an easy sort of companion. Each time I saw him, he behaved a little differently than the last. He was in turns silent, flirtatious, solemn, and engaging. I could not make him out.
I was likely taking everything too seriously anyway. Men like Mr. Darcy did not marry unknown ladies from small towns in Hertfordshire. He meant nothing by his flirtation, I was sure of it. I should relax and enjoy it while it lasted. After all, he would leave soon enough, and I did not want to regret an opportunity wasted.
Jane woke the next day feeling much better and agreed she was ready to go home. We went down to breakfast together and Mr. Bingley practically fell over himself leading Jane to a seat and fixing her a plate. I finished my food and excused myself to walk in the garden so that Jane might have a little time alone with Mr. Bingley. His sisters usually slept late, so I was confident they would not be interrupted.
I turned the corner into the shrubbery when I heard footsteps crunching over the gravel.
“Miss Elizabeth. You are out early.”
“Mr. Darcy, good morning. Jane was eager to be out of the room after a day in bed. She is eating breakfast.”
I hoped he understood what I inferred and did not interrupt his friend.
“May I join you on your walk?” he asked.
“Of course.” We walked a good distance from the house before I asked him, “How long do you plan to remain in Hertfordshire?”
“Less than a fortnight. I will go to see my cousin once he returns to London.”
