Chapter 7 #2
The carriage turned at this moment, and Elizabeth looked outside to observe with pleasure the quaint Golden Daffodil Inn, with its cobblestoned yard and charming red brick walls.
***
Stockton Bookstore
A Few Hours Later
Fitzwilliam Darcy opened the front door of the bookstore and held it wide for his companion, Miss Elizabeth Bennet.
The last few hours had been pleasant enough as the party from Netherfield and Longbourn, either together or split into two or three groups, had visited a toy store, a milliner, a dressmaker, and a general store.
Darcy had been impressed by the Bennet ladies, who had purchased nothing for themselves at all, but rather they had secured a number of tops and marbles and toy soldiers and tea sets for the children of the tenant families, along with bonnets and axes and lengths of fabric for the tenant farmers and their wives.
It was a simple enough thing, he supposed, but given that the Bennet’s estate of Longbourn was entailed away, it was most generous of the family to offer gifts of not just practical items but also toys for the children.
Georgiana and Caroline had also purchased generously, and Bingley had already arranged with the innkeeper at the Golden Daffodil to have the ladies’ purchases carried to Netherfield and Longbourn by cart.
It would soon be time to enjoy a meal before returning home, but Darcy longed to visit the bookstore, and Miss Elizabeth was of the same mind.
The rest of the party had agreed to return to the inn to have tea, and Miss Elizabeth had promised that they would not linger long in the stacks of books.
Darcy followed his fair companion into the store and found himself inside a surprisingly large room full of books, with a pleasant fire at one end of the room keeping them warm, while large windows let in the winter sun.
“Good afternoon, Sir, Madam,” a voice said from his left, and he turned to observe an older man of some five and fifty years, with silver hair, approaching with a courteous smile on his lips. “May I help you?”
“I would like to see the Gothic novels,” Miss Elizabeth said promptly.
“And I would like to peruse the histories,” Darcy said.
The proprietor nodded and said, “The Gothics are in the corner over there, and the histories over there, sir.”
Darcy obediently made his way over to the shelf of historical books, and it took a full twenty seconds for him to realize that he was disappointed. It took him another minute to discover that he very much wanted to look at Gothic novels with Elizabeth Bennet, not historical books without her.
Which was absurd and, indeed, dishonorable. He was engaged to another woman, and even though the engagement was for show, he was nonetheless legally promised to Caroline at the moment.
And yet, the more time he spent with Miss Elizabeth, the more drawn he was to her beauty, and her cheer, and her lightness of spirit.
His mind and his feet warred with one another, and his feet won. He found himself walking across the smooth wooden planks to where Miss Elizabeth was standing with a copy of The Mysteries of Udolpho in her gloved hands, her eyes eagerly devouring the words on the page.
She looked up in some surprise, and then she smiled and said, “Did you not find anything of interest, sir?”
“I did not,” he said. He had not even really searched, but she did not need to know that.
He was often uncomfortable and awkward in company, but in this moment, inspiration struck and he continued, “I was thinking of purchasing some novels for Georgiana and Caroline and Louisa. The library at Netherfield is entirely devoid of such books, and I am confident the ladies would enjoy having a few additional books to read.”
“Especially Mrs. Hurst, who is eager for distraction,” Miss Elizabeth said with an approving nod. “Have you read many Gothic novels?”
“No.”
“Well, I quite like Ann Radcliffe’s novels, and there are several here. I would especially recommend The Italian. The plot is rather absurd in many ways, but the mystery is well done and the writing is truly excellent.”
“I will purchase that one, then,” he said with a smile and forced his gaze away from her piquant face and onto the shelf beside her. “Do you know anything about The Monk?”
He noted in his peripheral vision that she was now grimacing and turned a puzzled look on her. “No?”
“No,” she replied very decidedly. “My father borrowed it from a friend some years ago and returned it unfinished, which is unusual for Mr. Bennet, because he loves the written word. He warned me against The Monk, informing me that the plot is both prurient and, in his words, stupid.”
He was shocked at this statement, and it must have showed on his face, because the lady withdrew a step and said in a cooler tone, “I have liked all of Maria Edgeworth’s books, and I hope that the ladies of Netherfield would like them too.”
His inclination was to follow her lead in changing the subject, but he realized he had made her uncomfortable by his reaction and forced himself to say, “Thank you for telling me about The Monk. It was good of your father to protect you, and your warning enables me to protect my dear sister, who would not enjoy a book with such topics.”
She smiled warmly and said, “Given how many wonderful books there are, it seems foolish to waste time on a book which is both unpleasant and ungodly. Now, I wonder if there is an 1805 version of Lyrical Ballads by Wordsworth and Coleridge here. My father has expressed an interest in it, and it has not been available at our lending library.”
“Shall we ask?” Darcy suggested.
She nodded, and the pair approached the proprietor, who quickly laid his hands on the volume in question. Darcy was impressed when Miss Elizabeth chose that book alone to purchase, given that she obviously enjoyed Gothics.
It was a simple enough thing to acquire The Mysteries of Udolpho and three others that were recommended by his companion for the benefit of the ladies of Netherfield.
Moreover, given how close Longbourn was, and the friendship between Miss Bingley and the Bennet ladies, perhaps Miss Elizabeth would be able to borrow the novels soon.
That provoked a strange warmth in his chest, and when it was time to leave, he realized he was smiling as he held a tidy package of books in the crook of his left arm as he escorted Miss Elizabeth out of the book store and across the street to the inn.
Her slender fingers on his right arm made his heart beat strangely faster, and he found himself pleasingly bewildered. What was it about this lady that drew him so?