Chapter 16 #2
He was giving her the same dumbfounded expression she’d seen in the cab.
“Ohhhh, really? You never saw The Jetsons? ‘His boy Elroy’?” she sang the last bit of the theme song.
“Just testing your patience. I do know some pop culture. I loved The Jetsons. But no, sadly, I do not have a conveyor belt-driven personal cleaning system.”
“Thank goodness. That would definitely be wretched excess.” Elizabeth leaned against the refrigerator.
“Just a steam shower.”
“Oh.” Elizabeth, still blushing, felt that irrational urge to kiss him return.
She cleared her throat. “So, after ruling out MI6 and cat burglar, I realize you’ve never told me exactly what it is you do for a living, Mr. Noir.
But one peek into your fridge and I think I’ve figured it out.
” She opened one of the doors and pointed at the full shelves. “Party planner or caterer?”
Darcy’s gaze settled on the beautiful woman across from him.
Elizabeth Bennet in my kitchen. Barefoot in my kitchen.
Wearing my sweatshirt. Fantasy made flesh.
He wanted to kiss that smirk off her face.
She’d been smirking at him for months, and he’d never had license to follow through on his impulse. Did he now?
He settled for stretching out a hand and capturing her fingers in a gentle grip.
“My housekeeper likes to cook, and she knew I’d be in town for the weekend.”
“An August weekend in Manhattan? Why aren’t you at Pemberley, at the beach?” Elizabeth wondered whether her voice was trembling. The way his fingers were stroking hers and the way his happy eyes were gazing at her made every inch of her feel warm and shaky.
He shrugged. “My cousin borrowed the house. His wife is hosting her family reunion there.” Noting her raised eyebrows, he quickly added, “Rich’s older brother, John.
” His attention drifted as he watched her consider his answer.
She still has the light summer freckles on her nose that she had at Pemberley.
Can I count them? Kiss them? …What is she saying?
“You are a generous man,” she said softly. “And, I wager, a very hungry one. Does your housekeeper cook food as well as she wraps it?”
He nodded and brought her fingers up to his mouth for a kiss. “Actually, she does. She spent last month in Italy at culinary school.”
Her jaw dropped. “Oh, let’s dig in. I’m frighteningly susceptible to a good Bolognese.”
Elizabeth stirred Mrs. Reynolds’s homemade minestrone soup while Darcy assembled sandwiches.
“You have a beautiful home. The views are so grand. And it’s huge.”
“Thank you. I’m glad you like it,” he said, his attention focused on a baguette. “I can give you a tour after we eat. It’s been in the family for ages, but it’s a little too much space for me. I rattle around in here.”
Catching sight of Elizabeth’s raised eyebrows, he added awkwardly, “Nine rooms, four bedrooms and four baths. And I rarely use the dining room; I don’t entertain here.”
“Oh?” Elizabeth teased. “So I’m a bit of an interloper?”
Darcy paused, a slice of cheese in either hand. “No. Not at all. Never think that.”
He desperately wanted to kiss her again, but he held back.
He knew how he felt because he’d felt it for a very long time.
Her feelings, though, were still a bit of a mystery, and at the moment, he felt rather stupid.
He’d run into Elizabeth, and instead of sweeping her off her feet with declarations of love, he was boasting about the size of his apartment?
He was acting in all the ways she’d disliked.
He’d be fortunate if she stayed after the meal ended.
His nervous intensity unnerved her, as did his obvious reluctance to kiss her. Elizabeth squeezed his hand. “I won’t,” she stammered, trying to steer them back to lightness. “We’re going to eat in the kitchen, right?”
“Anything you like. Though the living room offers nicer views.”
“Oh, let’s have a picnic in there,” Elizabeth said excitedly. “It’s a Saturday, after all.” She ladled the soup into the handled bowls he’d set out. When he didn’t respond to her suggestion, she glanced up. “Unless that’s not okay.” Brilliant…like he wants us eating on that antique Persian rug.
She found him staring at her, holding two plates he’d pulled from a slotted cabinet. “I think that’s a wonderful idea.” His voice was so soft, she almost didn’t hear the tremor in it. “I can’t remember the last time I was at an indoor picnic.”
From angry, heated words to shy, tongue-tied awkwardness.
This is awful. Some small part of her wanted to just get on with it, to grab the man and kiss him senseless.
But doing so last fall hadn’t worked out so well.
They needed to talk, get comfortable; maybe then they’d kiss each other senseless.
She watched him pull out a heavy silver tray.
Had any man ever looked so scrumptious in faded jeans and a wrinkled button-down?
And sockless in his loafers. She couldn’t help smiling at how little he resembled the man she’d met last fall.
They settled in on the window seat, their food on a small table he pulled up beside them.
Elizabeth, curled up in the cushions, expressed delight at the setting.
There was a light rain coming down on Central Park; the colorful umbrellas and car hoods, visible through the trees but blurred through the rained-streaked windows into a slow-moving Impressionist image, made for a charmingly cozy backdrop.
Darcy sighed quietly. It was so simple, this.
It was as if they’d done it every day: walked in the park, kissed in a cab, made lunch together, settled into the window seat, and talked.
He wanted this. He desired her. Constantly.
Even her toes were beautiful with their pink-painted nails and a silver ring…
Was she wearing a toe ring at Pemberley? Hmmm… What is she saying?
“This room is lovely.” Elizabeth suddenly wondered how many times she’d used that word today. Damn nerves. Sandwich in hand, her eyes swept around the room, taking in the furniture and art, colors and comforts with which he’d surrounded himself.
Darcy was happy she was pleased. “This room is a favorite, but I spend a lot of time in the library as well. Long ago, when my mother was a girl, the library was the nursery, but now it’s filled with bookshelves.”
“Your mother grew up here?”
He nodded, his eyes alight with memory. “Only when she was quite young. The Upper West Side wasn’t the best place to raise a family in the late 1960s, so my grandparents bought an apartment over on Park, where my Aunt Catherine now lives.”
She rolled her eyes. “Poor you. Here, there, Pemberley—so much real estate to keep track of.”
Darcy handed her a soupspoon. “It’s simply exhausting, I tell you.” His solemn tone was betrayed by a small smile.
“Acres and acres. And the luxury of so many bedrooms.” She sighed dramatically. “Jane and I always shared.”
“Well, it’s a bit excessive. There’s mine, and two guestrooms, and another used occasionally by my housekeeper. She used to stay here and take care of Coco when I was traveling.”
Elizabeth’s eyes rose from her soup to his face. “Oh, Fitzwilliam, I’m so sorry about Coco. We never talked about it at Pemberley. Will you tell me what happened?”
She actually wanted to know more about Coco’s beginnings than her end—and about Georgiana—but this wasn’t the time.
A few weeks ago, curled up in bed late one night, she realized she’d never even heard Darcy say his sister’s name.
Now, when they were on the verge of something amazing and wonderful and new, was not the time to probe his deepest pain.
There would be time for questions and gently handled conversations later.
This was too special to taint with sadness.
But from the shadow that crossed Darcy’s face, she had. Dammit.
He sipped his water before answering her in a controlled, quiet voice. “She was very old. Fifteen. She’d had a tumor removed last fall and appeared fine, but her heart gave out.”
Elizabeth ran her thumb over his knuckles. “She was a beautiful dog. You were wonderfully sweet with her. I’m glad I got to meet her at Netherfield.” She looked up at him, her mind mulling over something. “Your cats…?”
He swallowed a bite of sandwich and looked at her, bemused. “Ah, Yogi and Carmen? You met them?” His eyes drifted over to the nearby chair where Carmen slept.
“Uh-huh. They’re cuties. And a little bit familiar. I think I met at least one of them at Netherfield with Coco. Right?” Elizabeth swallowed a spoonful of soup and gazed at Darcy. He was focused on his sandwich again, poor starving man. He looked up briefly and nodded.
“They’re littermates. I brought them both back. They shouldn’t be separated.”
“Oh, Fitzwilliam,” she said warmly. “How kind of you. That’s amazingly, perfectly right.”
Her eyes stung, and she didn’t know what else to say.
She looked down at her plate and silently finished her sandwich.
This dear lovely man—who, after a bad beginning and a senseless misunderstanding, had never been anything but kind and artlessly, sometimes stupidly, awkward around her—had brought home that black kitten from Netherfield.
And its sibling. Oh, he was too good. And he seemed unable to make any more small talk.
Elizabeth sighed when she finished her last spoonful of Mrs. Reynolds’s delicious minestrone. She peeked over at Darcy. He looked miserable. What’s wrong? She stopped herself from asking. She’d seen him look this way in the past when he was unsure of himself or of her.
She’d have to help him for once.
After wiping a few crumbs onto her plate, she sat back among the cushions. “This day has turned out to be pretty wonderful—amazing food in a beautiful home with charming company. Thank you.”