Chapter 28 The Library
As they descended the stairs, he thought of his father.
To his knowledge, George Darcy had never insulted his wife; he had always been a gentleman, and he never put a foot wrong nor spoke a word out of turn.
Darcy wondered how his father had managed it, for he himself found it difficult to be perfect.
Was his father truly flawless? He knew it could not be so.
He decided he would discuss the matter with Richard.
He was older; he might remember more about his parents, about their relationship.
Darcy offered his arm as they descended the stairs, leading her into a wide hall to the left.
Four doors down, they turned into another corridor, and at last, he opened a door, and Elizabeth saw a large room, much longer than the length of three of Longbourn’s drawing rooms placed end to end.
The chamber rose three stories high, and bookshelves lined every wall.
Floor-to-ceiling windows filled one side of the room, their heavy drapes drawn.
Darcy remained still as he watched her face.
She too stood motionless, taking in the vast room, the shelves lined with books, the tall windows, the rich tapestries and furnishings, the unlit fireplace, and the thick rugs beneath her feet.
At last, she looked up at him, her eyes somber.
“Sir, I have never seen so many books in one place in my life.” She turned once more to survey the room. “I can hardly believe this now belongs to me, and all because of a quirk of fate.”
“Not a quirk of fate, Elizabeth,” he said quietly.
“I wanted to marry you. When I heard that portly old fellow crying compromise, I felt desperate. I believed you were slipping out of my reach, and I spoke. I said those fateful words aloud and prayed you would forgive me for taking away your choice.”
He searched her face to read her reaction and saw surprise. “I could not let you go, Elizabeth. I could not face a life without you in it.”
She raised her eyes to his. “So you wished to marry me? But you said such things about me.”
“I did not know my own mind until I was on the brink of losing you,” he said. “Then I realized the truth: I could not live without you.”
She looked puzzled. He offered his hand and led her to a couch, where they sat down together.
“Do you forgive me?” he asked quietly. “For everything?”
She drew a slow, steady breath. “I do. You must remember, sir, you saved me from my cousin. I am grateful that you spoke for me, that you chose me. I knew from the moment I first saw you standing at the entrance of the assembly room, that we were of worlds so different that you would never consider someone of my station. I was contented merely to look upon you from a distance, to appreciate your beauty and your elegance.”
Her brow puckered. He grimaced. “And then I opened my mouth and gave you a disgust of me.”
She laughed softly. “Perhaps not quite a disgust, but certainly I learned not to draw too close to you, sir, lest I be burned.”
He took her hand in his and held it close.
She looked down at their joined hands and said, “I marvel that we are sitting here, in your home, alone, my hand enclosed in yours. I could never have imagined such a thing happening between us.”
“Elizabeth,” he said softly, “I love you.”
She lifted her eyes to his face and saw the truth in his expression.
As he leaned closer, she closed her eyes and felt the warmth of his lips upon hers.
At first, the touch was gentle, a mere grazing of lips, then he pressed them more firmly against hers, his arms drawing her close.
When he drew back, he searched her eyes.
Her face flushed, and she looked down at her hands. “Have I overstepped, Elizabeth? Should I apologize?”
She shook her head. After a moment, she said quietly, “No, sir, there is nothing to apologize for. I am not offended, only embarrassed, but my first kiss was lovely. When I enter this room, I will always remember it with pleasure.”
She looked up at him hesitantly. Darcy straightened, a smile touching his lips.
She had not invited more, but neither had she pushed him away.
True, she had not returned his embrace, but she had leaned into him.
He felt hopeful. She liked him; in time, she would come to love him, but for now, he would not press his attentions on her lest she develop an aversion to him.
Darcy stood, moved to the nearest window, and worked a lever that drew the drapes back. Sunlight streamed in, flooding the space and revealing the farthest corners of the room. Elizabeth turned slowly, taking it all in. “This library appears to be as large as a ballroom,” she said.
He nodded. “It is. It was added to Pemberley about seventy years ago. A study of the bedrock was completed before construction, and the foundations were specially designed to bear the weight of the books.”
Elizabeth was impressed. “Do you employ a librarian, sir?”
“I contract with a man who works at Cambridge,” Darcy replied. “He likes to take on additional work during the summer months. He organizes the volumes added since his last visit and updates the catalog.”
He led her to a section of shelves where several large ledgers rested. Taking one down, he said, “This is the current ledger. It begins with January 1, 1805. Each new book is entered here.” They studied the pages for several minutes, and Darcy showed her how to locate any title in the collection.
“May I see your sets of The Odyssey?” she asked.
“Of course.”
Crossing to a nearby desk, he retrieved a ring of keys, then led her to a glass-fronted cabinet. Unlocking it, he gestured to the books arranged neatly along the left-hand side. One entire shelf held all twenty-four books, bound in fine leather and embossed with gold leaf.
“Is this the rare ancient set, sir?”
“Yes,” he said.
“What year was it printed?”
“In the year 1614. It is one of George Chapman’s first translations.”
Darcy carefully closed and locked the cabinet before leading her to another shelf. “This set,” he said, “was translated by Alexander Pope and published in 1725. It is the edition I use for casual reading.”
Elizabeth said, “The set you gave me was also an Alexander Pope translation. We have enjoyed reading it, sir. I love reading about Penelope. She was a strong woman and was ahead of her time.”
Darcy’s expression softened. “Then you will have ample reading material for several long winters,” he said, smiling as she laughed with him.
They walked through the various sections of the library before rejoining the others for luncheon. It consisted of an elaborate collation of cold meats, several kinds of cheese, an assortment of breads with fresh butter and jellies, and apples, oranges, and sweetmeats.
Darcy poured a little ratafia into Elizabeth’s glass and leaned toward her. “How are you holding up, Mrs. Darcy?”
“I am very well, sir. My sisters and I are to walk in the gardens after luncheon. Georgiana has offered to take us to the folly. She says there is a magnificent view of an old castle from that location. Jane and Mary hope to sketch it.”
“And you, Elizabeth? Do you draw?”
She smiled ruefully. “No, sir. I play the pianoforte a little, sing, and study.”
He chuckled. “How have I not yet heard you sing? Perhaps you will favor us with a song tonight after dinner?”
“I will. It will be my pleasure.”
That evening, after dinner, Darcy invited the ladies to exhibit. To his surprise, Georgiana offered to begin.
Richard leaned toward him. “Having three sisters has been good for Georgie. She has never before played in company and usually refuses when I ask her to perform for my mother.”
“Yes, she seems more animated as well. Did you see her run away with Miss Mary to show her the tree house? Have you ever seen my sister run?”
Richard laughed. “No, I have not. Though that is something my mother would hardly approve.”
Darcy chuckled. “I am glad to see Georgiana becoming more…” he paused to consider the word, “more human.”
Richard nodded. “I know what you mean. She is learning to relate to others.” He gave Darcy a pointed look.
Darcy smirked. “You are thinking the same of me, I suppose.”
Richard lifted his brows. “If the shoe fits.”
Just then, Georgiana began to play, with Mary turning the pages. After two pieces, she leaned nearer to her companion. “Mary, do you have any music with you?”
Mary flushed. “I do, but I am a beginner compared to you. I would rather not play tonight.”
“Tomorrow then,” Georgiana said kindly. “Join me during my practice hour and bring your music. I will help you improve.”
Mary looked surprised. “Truly? You would help me?”
“Yes. I have studied for ten years, since I was five. I can teach you much, and when you grow beyond my help, your sister will surely engage a master for you. You are teaching me French, and I shall teach you the pianoforte.”
Mary’s expression brightened. “Thank you, Georgiana. I will come.”
The two girls rose from the bench and moved aside. Darcy turned to Elizabeth. “Mrs. Darcy, will you favor us with a song?”
Her eyes were smiling as she inclined her head in agreement.
She approached the instrument, placed her hands on the keys, and began to play the prelude to a ballad.
Then she began to sing, and her voice filled the room, rich, powerful, and hauntingly pure.
Her voice struck Darcy; it reminded him of Elizabeth Feron, whom he had once heard sing in London.
Richard turned toward him and raised his brows, silently expressing admiration.
Darcy could only nod. Her voice was comparable to the great sopranos of the age.
When the song ended, Elizabeth sat still, her gaze lowered to her hands as if returning from another world. Darcy asked, “Elizabeth, will you sing another?”