Chapter 1 #2
“Yet it reached them nonetheless.” Elizabeth met his gaze steadily. “Just as your assessment of my mother’s nerves reached mine.”
For a moment, she thought he might argue. Instead, to her astonishment, a rueful expression crossed his features.
“Touché, Miss Bennet.” He inclined his head slightly. “It seems we are both guilty of speaking carelessly.”
Elizabeth had not expected even this small concession from the proud Mr. Darcy. She found herself reassessing him, if only marginally.
“Then let us declare a truce for the duration of our imprisonment,” she suggested, gesturing toward the storm still raging outside. “I have no desire to spend hours in silent resignation when conversation might make the time pass more pleasantly.”
“A sensible proposal.” He moved to the table and drew a finger through the dust there, then glanced back at her. “Though I wonder what topics might be safe for us to discuss, given our apparent talent for offending one another.”
Against her will, Elizabeth felt her lips curve into a small smile. “Books are generally safe ground, Mr. Darcy. Do you read?”
“Whenever possible.” Something in his expression lightened. “Though I suspect we favor different authors.”
“How can you possibly know that?” Elizabeth challenged, intrigued despite herself.
“You strike me as a devotee of novels with adventurous heroines who defy convention,” he replied, studying her with those penetrating eyes. “While I tend toward histories and philosophical works.”
Elizabeth settled back into the chair, her shawl now merely damp instead of soaking. “You do me an injustice, sir. While I enjoy Mrs. Radcliffe as much as any woman, I am equally fond of Rousseau and Wollstonecraft.”
His eyebrows rose slightly. “Wollstonecraft? That is unexpected.”
“Because a country gentleman’s daughter should not concern herself with arguments for women’s education and rights?” Elizabeth felt her earlier irritation returning.
“Because few people of either gender have actually read her work rather than simply condemning it based on hearsay,” he corrected. “I found her arguments on education particularly compelling, if somewhat radical in application.”
The conversation flowed more easily after that, moving from literature to music, where they discovered a shared appreciation for Bach, to landscape gardening, where they disagreed thoroughly on the merits of Lancelot Brown’s designs.
As the hours passed, Elizabeth found herself reluctantly impressed by Darcy’s intellect and breadth of knowledge, even when his opinions differed from hers.
The storm continued unabated, lightning occasionally illuminating the cottage before plunging them back into the warm glow of firelight.
As afternoon surrendered to evening, Elizabeth became increasingly aware of the impropriety of their situation, though Darcy had been scrupulously correct in his behavior, maintaining proper distance and addressing her with formal courtesy.
“I should have been more attentive to the weather,” she admitted as darkness fell outside the windows. “My father always says my impulsiveness will lead me into trouble someday.”
“Was it impulsiveness or a desire for escape?” Mr. Darcy asked quietly.
His question caught her off guard. Elizabeth looked down at her hands, remembering why she had felt the need to walk so far.
“Both, perhaps,” she admitted. “After the assembly, my mother was particularly determined to... discuss my prospects.”
“Or lack thereof, according to her assessment?” His voice held no mockery, only understanding.
Elizabeth nodded, questioning her own willingness to confide in him. “She means well, but her methods leave much to be desired. I sometimes feel like a horse being trotted out at market.”
“I am familiar with the sensation,” Darcy said dryly. “Though in my case, the interested parties are ambitious mothers rather than my own parents.”
Elizabeth couldn’t help but laugh softly. “Poor Mr. Darcy. How taxing it must be to be so eligible.”
Instead of taking offense at her teasing, he smiled slightly—the first genuine smile she had seen from him. It transformed his austere features, revealing a dimple in one cheek and crinkling the corners of his eyes.
“You would be surprised how wearying it becomes,” he said, “to be valued primarily for one’s estate and income.”
The admission revealed a vulnerability Elizabeth hadn’t expected.
She remembered suddenly being twelve years old, overhearing her mother tell a neighbor that “Lizzy has nothing but her quick mind to recommend her—we must hope some gentleman will overlook her lack of beauty and fortune for the sake of having clever children.”
“I understand more than you might think,” Elizabeth said softly. “In my case, even my small virtues are dismissed as liabilities. My father values my mind, but my mother sees it only as an impediment to securing a husband who would want a more biddable wife.”
“Any man intimidated by your intellect would not deserve you,” Mr. Darcy said with unexpected vehemence, then looked away quickly as if embarrassed by his outburst.
The fire had begun to die down. Elizabeth added another log, watching the flames leap higher. The cottage had grown chilly as night descended, and despite the continuing rain, the wind had picked up, whistling through small cracks in the window frames.
Mr. Darcy stood and removed his coat. “You’re shivering. Please take this.”
Before she could protest, he draped the garment around her shoulders. The wool was warm from his body, and she caught a faint scent of sandalwood and something uniquely masculine that she instantly associated with him. The coat engulfed her smaller frame, but the warmth was too welcome to refuse.
“Thank you,” she said, pulling it closer. “But won’t you be cold?”
“I retain heat more efficiently than most.” He returned to his position by the fire, standing with his back straight. “My sister claims I generate enough warmth for the entire library at Pemberley during winter.”
“You have a sister?” Elizabeth realized how little she actually knew about the man beyond his reputation and wealth.
“Georgiana. She is ten years my junior.” His expression softened noticeably. “She lives primarily in Pemberley with a companion, but she makes the journey to London a few times per year. If am attending to estate matters and she is in town, I visit as often as possible.”
As the night deepened, their conversation continued in fits and starts. Elizabeth found herself fighting exhaustion as the fire’s warmth and the sound of rain created a soporific effect. Mr. Darcy noticed her struggling to keep her eyes open.
“You should rest, Miss Bennet,” he said gently. “I will keep watch and wake you when the storm passes.”
“That would hardly be proper,” Elizabeth protested, though her eyelids felt impossibly heavy.
“I will remain on this side of the room,” he assured her. “Your reputation will suffer no further damage from a few hours’ sleep than it already risks from our unfortunate circumstance.”
The practicality of his argument was irrefutable. Elizabeth arranged herself as comfortably as possible in the chair, his coat still around her shoulders. “Promise you’ll wake me at first light if the storm hasn’t passed.”
“You have my word.” His deep voice was the last thing she remembered before succumbing to exhaustion.
Elizabeth awoke to birdsong and a shaft of sunlight across her face. For a moment, disorientation clouded her mind before the events of the previous day came rushing back. She sat up quickly, Mr. Darcy’s coat sliding from her shoulders.
He was asleep—sitting on the floor with his back against the wall, head tilted at an angle that would surely pain him when he woke. The fire had burned down to embers, but pale golden light streamed through the windows, indicating early morning.
Horror washed over her as she realized they had spent the entire night here—alone, unchaperoned. No explanation would suffice to counter the scandal that would erupt if they were discovered.
She rose quickly, wincing at her stiff muscles.
“Mr. Darcy,” she called softly, reluctant to approach him while he slept. When he didn’t stir, she spoke louder. “Mr. Darcy!”
His eyes opened immediately, alert despite his awkward position. Understanding dawned in his expression as he surveyed the morning light and Elizabeth’s concerned face.
“I gave my word to wake you,” he said, rising gracefully to his feet. “I failed.”
“We both slept longer than intended,” Elizabeth replied, anxiety making her voice sharper than she intended. “We must leave immediately.”
The sound of voices outside interrupted her. Darcy moved swiftly to the window, and his expression confirmed her worst fears.
“Farm workers,” he said grimly. “Three men and a boy, coming this way.”
Elizabeth felt the blood drain from her face. “Perhaps they won’t enter.”
They were not that lucky. Footsteps approached the cottage. In moments, the door swung open, admitting four startled faces that quickly registered shock, then scandalized comprehension at the sight of Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy alone in the cottage, clearly having spent the night.
“Begging your pardon, sir, miss,” the eldest man said, touching his cap while exchanging meaningful glances with his companions. “Didn’t know the cottage was occupied.”
“We sought shelter from the storm,” Darcy explained with rigid dignity. “The lady was caught walking when the weather turned.”
The workers’ expressions made it clear no explanation would mitigate what they were witnessing. The damage was done.
“We’ll just be going about our business then,” the man said, backing out and pulling his companions with him.
When the door closed, Elizabeth met Darcy’s gaze, seeing her own understanding reflected there. By noon, everyone within ten miles would know that Miss Elizabeth Bennet had spent the night alone with Mr. Darcy in an abandoned cottage. Her reputation—and her family’s—would be irreparably damaged.
“What happens now?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
Darcy’s expression was unreadable as he retrieved his coat and shrugged it on. “Now, Miss Bennet, I believe I must speak with your father.”