Chapter 6 #4
The brass knob turned easily in her hand, so she pushed the door open just a crack and peered out into the hall. Nobody.
Perhaps she might just look at the room next door to see whether someone might have left something to read or to work on. Almost anything would do.
Elizabeth opened her door a bit wider and crept into the corridor. After several quick steps, she opened another door, and stepped inside.
It was a light and airy room, just a bit smaller than her bedchamber.
There were two leather armchairs with a small round table between, settled in the center of the room upon a deep blue, patterned rug.
Three of the walls were lined with mahogany bookshelves.
One set of shelves displayed a collection of very colorful pottery—Spanish, perhaps—but the other two met at the corner of the space and were filled with books.
Elizabeth was elated. Such a luxury of choice!
The bookcases were tall rather than wide, in keeping with the proportions of the room, and there was a rolling ladder attached to the side of the bookshelf closest to the door.
After running her eyes along the shelves that she could reach, Elizabeth set two tomes on the little table and carefully pulled the ladder around the side of the shelf so she could see the books at the top.
It was difficult to climb with only one good arm, but when she reached the upper shelves, she secured herself by wrapping the crook of her left arm around the rung, leaving her right hand free.
When she had found a history she wished to take back to her room, she had to consider the best way to transport it.
She had only one good hand, and that would be required to steady herself on the ladder.
Tossing it to the floor would make too much noise, and she did not want to damage the cover.
She decided to set it on the next lower shelf, then climb down a few steps and repeat the process.
She had the book in her hand and was about to move it when she heard a young female voice out in the hall, calling out to someone else.
Her eyes moved instinctively to the door, which was slightly ajar.
Her mind whirled. She shoved the book back in its place and turned her head to gaze desperately around the room. The chairs, the table—there was nowhere to hide. She looked up to the top of the ladder and spied a small space between the top of the bookshelf and the ceiling. Could she fit?
“Sally!” The name was said urgently, and quite close.
In one swift move, Elizabeth had ascended the last rung of the ladder and wedged
herself into the gap. One of her slippers dangled precariously from her toes.
The voices were just outside the door now, and Elizabeth realized that the ladder was out of place. She reached out—not an easy thing to do as her good arm was positioned against the wall—and with one finger, guided the ladder back to its original position just as the two maids entered the room.
“We shouldn’t be in ‘ere,” the first girl said anxiously. “Mrs. Spencer will toss us out.”
“Oh, but the books are so lovely,” her friend replied wistfully. “And I don’t suppose Mr. Darcy will miss one or two, so long as I bring them back and don’t hurt them. These are for the guests to read, not like the fancy books in the big library.”
The big library? There was another library?
“You and your books, Emily,” Sally scoffed. “Well, ‘urry up then.”
“I wish I could climb the ladder. I’m sure the best books are on the top shelves. The master’s ever so tall.”
It was quite dirty atop the shelves. Perhaps Emily had spent more time reading the books than dusting them. Elizabeth took in a quiet breath and immediately felt a tickle in her nose. Oh no.
She pinched her nose closed. Do not sneeze. Do not sneeze.
“Don’t you dare, Emily Claybourne,” she heard Sally say. “Just find something quick like that won’t be missed.”
A deep male voice broke into the girls’ conversation. “Are you lost?”
Emily gasped loudly. “No, sir. I mean, yes, sir, Mr. Darcy.”
Sally was silent. Terrified, Elizabeth thought. Mr. Darcy’s voice had startled her as well. She could only imagine how frightened the girls were, to be caught out in such a way.
“You are not to be on these floors until the rest of the staff are returned,” Mr. Darcy said, displeasure dripping from his words. “Mrs. Spencer is looking for you.” Elizabeth could not help but feel a little sorry for the girls, but she was, quite literally, in no position to interfere.
Mr. Darcy would go to her chamber next to check on her, and she would not be there. What would he think? Perhaps she could use that time to remove herself from this predicament, though she feared it would be more difficult to leave her hiding place than it had been to lodge herself in it.
The maids scampered out of the room and down the hall rather quickly if the scuffling sounds were any indication.
Elizabeth felt the tickling inside her nose increase. She pinched it harder, but the sensation only grew worse. Dread knotted her stomach as she involuntarily drew in a sharp breath.
“Aaaa-choooo!” Her feet were tossed slightly upwards with the force of it. Oh dear.
There was a brief moment of silence as she watched one pretty slipper fall gently to the floor next to Mr. Darcy’s boot. He stooped to pick it up.
“Miss Elizabeth,” Mr. Darcy said in that terribly flat tone of his. She could not make out whether he was angry or laughing at her when he spoke like that. “It is safe to come down now.”
She peeked over the edge of the bookshelf to see him gazing up at her. His expression was disapproving, but his eyes were suspiciously bright. Laughing, then.
Elizabeth assessed the ladder skeptically before acquiescing to necessity. “I may require some assistance . . .”
That did it. He laughed aloud, and she felt her cheeks flush.
“I can well imagine,” he said. With one hand, he swung the ladder to her position. “However did you fit up there?” He tucked the slipper into a pocket and stepped up a few rungs.
She shrugged as well as she could in the confined space. “I am not entirely sure?”
He stepped up another rung, his eyes now level with her. She stared into them and felt a little lost.
“With your permission?” he asked, his hands hovering near her waist.
Her foolish heart fluttered wildly. Mr. Darcy had seen her in nothing more than a shift, she reminded herself; he had carried her upstairs in the dressing gown she now wore.
She did not wish to think about what he had fetched and carried when she was ill.
What difference did it make if he viewed her one bare foot as he helped her down the ladder?
It was gentlemanly of him even to ask her permission.
She nodded, and two large hands nearly encircled her.
She swallowed. It was strange to have a man touch her this way, but it was wonderful, too.
Would any man create such feelings? Elizabeth did not know, but she rather doubted it.
She had danced with other men, but never had the touch of their hands created a sensation such as this.
It was madness to fall in love with Mr. Darcy. She should not do it. He would be dismayed to know he had raised her expectations in such a way. He had not, she argued silently. She could have no expectations of Mr. Darcy, and therefore she would have none.
Mr. Darcy carefully positioned her feet, and Elizabeth felt her slipper being guided back on. “Step down, just here,” he said, guiding her with one hand on her heel.
Oh, he was not wearing gloves. His fingers grazed her skin and gave her shivers. Did he feel it, too?
She stepped down according to his instructions, but inadvertently used her left arm to steady herself. All euphoria was lost in the jagged pain that traveled up her forearm. She inhaled sharply.
“Careful,” Mr. Darcy murmured, and coaxed her to lean against him. “Put your trust in me,” he said quietly. “I will not allow you to fall.”
Elizabeth swallowed. There was a pleasant tingling up and down her spine, and she unsuccessfully attempted to ignore it.
When she was standing safely on the ladder, Mr. Darcy asked, “How did you manage to climb up here with only one good arm?”
She was looking away from him as he descended the ladder below her. “Determination,” she told him, and heard him laugh softly. She wished she could see his face.
They were at the bottom, then, and Elizabeth touched the beautiful dressing gown sadly. It was very dusty.
“My apologies, Mr. Darcy.” She looked up at him, embarrassed.
He smiled broadly. She was stunned, again, at how handsome it made him.
“No harm done, Miss Elizabeth,” he told her, holding out his arm. “But in future, I recommend you allow me to retrieve your books.”
She sighed a little, and his smile disappeared, like the sun behind a cloud.
“Are you well?” he inquired, and Elizabeth saw that he was still holding out his arm. She took it.
“I am very well,” she told him. As he steered her from the room, she cried, “My books!” She blushed. “That is, your books.”
Elizabeth watched his eyes twinkle and wondered that she had ever considered him humorless. He turned slightly to show her the volumes he had tucked under his other arm.
“You think of everything, sir,” she said brightly.
“I did not think to search for you atop my bookshelves, madam,” he replied drily.
“Well, I should not like to be predictable,” was her pert response.
He shook his head as he opened the door to her room and stood aside for her to enter. “I would never accuse you of such.”