Chapter One The Hazards of Hatchards #2
It was not that the book was rare. It was popular.
But he had seen this book in her hands. It had been a rainy afternoon at Netherfield.
Elizabeth had been sitting on the sofa, seemingly engrossed in the volume.
He had asked her an inane question about the weather or the roads, just to hear her voice.
She had lowered the book, marking her place with a slender finger. "Do you not think, Mr Darcy, that books are a perfect way to avoid conversations one has no wish to have?"
She had been teasing him. She was always teasing him. And he, fool that he was, had taken it as a rebuke instead of an invitation.
Darcy stood in the middle of the crowded bookshop, the noise of London fading into a dull buzz.
He held the book as if it were a holy relic.
He opened the cover, staring at the print, but he was not reading the words.
He was remembering the way a loose curl had fallen over her ear as she read.
He was remembering the intelligence in her gaze.
He was remembering that he had walked away from the only woman who had ever made him feel like he was in danger of losing his mind.
He stroked the leather binding with his thumb, a look of profound, hazy longing softening his usually severe features. He looked less like the Master of Pemberley and more like a man who had been hit over the head with a very heavy realisation.
"It is a good book," he whispered to no one. "She liked this book."
He felt a sudden, desperate urge to buy every copy in the shop. To build a fort out of Cecilias and live inside it.
"Fitzwilliam?" Georgiana's voice came from his left. "Did you find a book for Robert?"
Darcy did not answer immediately. He could not look away from the page. "I found... something."
"Is it a novel?" Georgiana sounded surprised. "Who is it for? You never read novels. You say they are full of improbable coincidences and people behaving irrationally."
"People do behave irrationally," Darcy murmured, closing the book but clutching it tightly to his chest. "They behave with absolute madness."
He was aware he was standing in public, hugging a romance novel. He did not care. For a moment, holding it felt like holding a connection to Hertfordshire.
And then, the universe, which had been waiting for this precise moment of vulnerability, decided to strike.
"Well, I'll be damned."
The voice was smooth, cultured, and laced with an intolerable amount of amusement.
Darcy stiffened. His spine snapped straight, though he did not—could not—relinquish his death grip on Cecilia. He closed his eyes briefly, praying to any deity listening that it was a hallucination.
It was not.
He turned slowly to find Robert Fitzwilliam, Viscount Keathley, standing at the end of the aisle.
Robert was thirty-three, possessed of a lazy grace that Darcy envied, and was currently dressed in a coat that fit him scandalously well. He leaned against a bookshelf, looking for all the world like he owned the place, or at least had a controlling interest in the alphabet.
"Robert," Darcy said, his voice dropping three octaves into his 'Master of Pemberley' register.
"Fitzwilliam," Robert replied, his eyes dancing. He pushed off the shelf and sauntered over. "And fair Georgiana. You look charming, Cousin. That shade of grey suggests a delightful melancholy."
"Hello, Robert," Georgiana said, managing a genuine smile. "We are shopping for gifts."
"As am I," Robert sighed, gesturing to a pile of books a clerk was holding for him. "The tedious annual tribute to the parents. I was considering getting Father a book on the history of sheep, but Mother says I must be 'thoughtful' this year. It is a terrible burden."
His gaze dropped from Georgiana's face to Darcy's chest. Specifically, to the novel Darcy was clutching like a lifeline.
Robert's eyebrows rose. They kept rising. They threatened to disappear into his hairline.
"I say," Robert drawled, pointing a gloved finger at the book. "Is that Cecilia?"
"It is a book," Darcy said defensively.
"It is a novel about a young heiress navigating society," Robert corrected. "I read it years ago. Excellent satire. But you, Cousin? You consider fiction to be a moral failing. Last Christmas, you gave me a book on Drainage Systems of the Fenlands."
"It was educational."
"It was dry. Literally and figuratively." Robert took a step closer, his eyes narrowing with the precision of a hawk spotting a field mouse. "And yet, here you are, hugging Miss Burney's work with a look on your face that I can only describe as... lovesick."
Darcy bristled. "I am not lovesick. I am merely inspecting the binding."
"You are inspecting the binding with your heart?"
"It is a gift," Darcy lied. "For Georgiana."
Georgiana blinked. "I have read Cecilia, Fitzwilliam. Twice. You said it was 'frivolous nonsense' when I read it."
Darcy shot his sister a look of betrayal. Georgiana covered her mouth, her eyes wide.
Robert let out a low whistle. "Caught out by your own infantry. Tragic." He crossed his arms, leaning in conspiratorially. "So. Who is she?"
"There is no 'she'," Darcy snapped. "I am simply broadening my literary horizons. Is a man not allowed to grow?"
"A man like you grows by reading a new agricultural journal," Robert countered. "A man like you does not stand in Hatchards in the middle of December looking like a poet who has lost his muse unless there is a woman involved. A woman who, I wager, likes this book."
Darcy felt the heat rising up his neck. This was exactly why he avoided Robert. The man was too observant by half.
"You are imagining things, Keathley. As usual."
"Am I?" Robert grinned, and it was the grin of a wolf who had found the door to the sheepfold unlatched. "Let us see. Dark hair? Witty? Probably figured you out within five minutes of meeting you, which is why you are obsessed with her?"
Darcy's jaw twitched. It was a microscopic movement, but Robert saw it.
"Precisely," the Viscount whispered. "Oh, this is going to be the best Christmas since Richard set the gazebo on fire."
"We are leaving," Darcy announced, pivoting on his heel. He still held the book.
"You just arrived!" Robert protested, falling into step beside him with annoying ease. Georgiana trailed on the other side, looking between her brother and her cousin with fascination.
"We have completed our purchases," Darcy lied.
"You have not purchased it yet," Robert pointed out. "You are effectively stealing Cecilia. Is this your new rebellious phase? First, romance novels, now petty larceny? I like it. It gives you an edge."
"I intend to pay for it," Darcy gritted out, marching towards the counter.