Chapter 2
Elizabeth turned to the door in panic, then again to Darcy, who was now near her, holding another candle. He moved past her, towards the door and shook it hard. The door remained locked.
“Mr. Darcy…why…what happened?” she gasped.
“The doorknob is broken. We are trapped in here,” he responded severely.
“I apologise… I did not know…I only came to look for a book…” she replied.
In the low light, she could still see he was angry.
He had not changed his clothes from dinner; he had only removed his coat.
His hair was in some disorder, but it was his countenance that disturbed her.
His appearance told her that something grave had just happened.
He kept rattling the door, in a useless attempt to open it.
Elizabeth was equally nervous and amused. Surely it was not a tragedy!
“Earlier in the afternoon the door was fine. I did not expect…” she said.
“Hurst got drunk and fell on it, and now it only works from the outside,” Darcy uttered, still facing the door.
He knelt in front of the door, talking loudly and sharply while he made obvious but unsuccessful efforts to unlock the latch.
“It will be fixed tomorrow; that is why we put the log there–to keep it open. We did not expect anyone to use the library in the middle of the night.”
His cold ire did not escape Elizabeth. She could not see his face, but felt his disdainful accusations. She should not be there. Not at Netherfield, not in the library. He had not said as much, but his unspoken words were more offensive than the statement would have been.
Elizabeth paled instantly and fury enveloped her in the face of such undeserving offence. How could he hold a genuine mistake against her? What a despicable man!
“I apologise, sir,” she replied, equally harshly.
“I assure you that I do not want to be here anymore than you do. Not at Netherfield and certainly not with you in the library. It was not my sister’s choice to fall ill, nor mine to be trapped here with you.
We will leave as soon as we can, as soon as I am out of here. ”
She started to hit the door with her fists, crying for help. To her utter shock, Darcy grabbed her arms.
“Miss Bennet! Miss Bennet, stop!”
She turned to him, another cry crushed between her lips; his fingers tightened on her arms, pressing on her bare skin. His gaze was dark and troubled and he stared at her with a frown that she took as fury.
“Miss Bennet, I am trying to find a way to open the door. But we should remain silent. We cannot expose ourselves to the risk of being found here alone.”
“But why? What risk? We have not done anything wrong!”
She became increasingly irritated; distress overcame her and calm slowly evaded her. She pulled her arms from his grip and took a step back. He did not move, only watched her carefully.
“We should not be here alone, in the middle of the night. And you are in your nightgown,” he whispered. “Such a happenstance could ruin our lives forever.”
Chills ran over her skin under his gaze and she was certain he looked at her in such a way because he was again displeased about something.
Offending her for her innocent error was apparently not enough for him.
Now, he emphasised to her–as if she had any doubts left on the matter–what a tragedy it would be to be found together, and how her mistake of closing the door could ruin their lives forever.
She felt her cheeks burning and crossed her arms over her chest.
“This is ridiculous! It was a mere accident and I take all the blame for it! You have every reason to be angry that I have placed you in such a position but you are faultless. Now let us call for help!”
To her surprise, he took a step towards her, placing him just inches away. Then he spoke in a low voice and with an unexpected warmth that shocked her more than his severity.
“Miss Bennet, I beg you to forgive me if you feel I am blaming you for anything. It was a mere accident indeed. I am angered by this entire situation, but certainly you are not culpable for what occurred, nor for my feelings. I am trying to find a silent and discreet solution. Please sit by the fire–it is chilly in here and you are hardly dressed at all.”
His words, although kind and friendly, sounded awkward and improper and she blushed, averting her eyes.
“Thank you,” she said, moving towards the settee.
She sat and stared at the fire for a few moments, only then realising the seriousness of their position.
She looked almost like she was in her own bed; her hair was loose and likely messy, her nightgown was thin and translucent, her feet were bare inside her slippers.
Her whole appearance must be shameful; she was alone with a man, in a locked room, with little chance of being found until morning.
She panicked, realising the enormity of the situation and the possible consequences of her simple attempt to borrow a book.
She felt her hands trembling and clasped them together in her lap, glancing reluctantly at Darcy.
She was alone with him! Beside his unpleasant manners and repulsive haughtiness, did she know enough of him to feel safe in his company?
She had no chance of fighting him off, if he had any intention of taking advantage of her.
He turned and their eyes met for a moment, then she looked towards the fire again.
Why would she even consider something so dreadful?
She had no reason to suspect him of anything dishonourable.
Perhaps his horrible pride–more than anything–would force him to behave in a gentlemanlike manner.
She despised him, she was angry with him, she found him an insupportable, insensitive man–but an honourable one, and she felt safe in his presence.
Uncomfortable and distressed, but safe. No, she was in no danger. Of that, she was certain.
Then, shivering from the cold and fighting her panic, she laughed to herself.
He did not consider her handsome enough to even dance with her; surely he had no interest and no attraction to her.
That was the reason why he was so desperate to not be caught in a compromising situation that would force them to marry and would destroy their lives forever.
What a joke! Surely such a perspective was as laughable as it was ludicrous.
While Elizabeth mused in silence, cuddled on the settee near the fire to warm herself, Darcy kept working on the doorknob. Elizabeth was correct–he was indeed angry and highly distressed but not by her. However, it was because of her. Because of the situation they found themselves in.
After Bingley left, Darcy had remained to finish his wine.
Soon enough, the tiredness and the drinks he had consumed throughout the evening overcame him; he lay comfortably on the couch, by the window, listening to the rain and the wind and thinking of Elizabeth.
When she appeared in the doorframe, he was certain it was only a vision.
Yet, she was real. With her hair loose, in the silky nightgown that clung to her curves and revealed her alluring body, her bare feet in slippers and her eyes open wide in surprise, she was a picture he would never forget.
His eyes caressed and lingered on her appearance only as long as a heartbeat, but it was enough to have her image deeply burned in his mind and soul, like a scar that would never heal completely.
He had dreamed of her many times in the last weeks but never imagined he would ever see a glimpse of what he had only imagined.
Yet, fate had been very good, or very cruel to him, allowing him to see what he did not allow himself to even desire.
Then the door closed behind her, and he found himself trapped with her in the most disturbing situation, one he did not know how to bear or how to solve.
Feeling helpless, his temper betrayed him, his self-control evaded him, his usual ability to find the key to any problem suddenly vanished.
So he pretended to fix the doorknob, to avoid looking at her.
He did not recollect what he had said, but his words had upset her and she accused him of blaming her for her mistake.
She had pointed out that it was not her choice to be there and said something about her sister.
She was too close, her fragrance too strong, her nearness too overwhelming for him to pay attention to anything else.
He apologised and asked her to go to the fire, both to warm herself, and to be away from him, while he desperately attempted to open the damn door, broken by the annoying Hurst.
“Mr. Darcy, may I help you with something?” she asked and he startled, while her words ran like chills down his spine.
“No…”
“We must find a way to get out. The wood is scarce and it is getting cold. Besides, regarding what you said earlier…I admit you are right but…would it not be better if we knock and shout to be found now rather than later on or perhaps in the morning?”
She looked at him with seriousness but with a trace of a smile on her lips.
Was she mocking him? Was she laughing at his concern?
Or perhaps she was not unwilling to be found in a compromising situation that might secure her a comfortable future?
Surely she must know that he would do what duty requires from an honourable gentleman. Was that what she wished for?
“This is what I am trying to do now, Miss Bennet. Trying to find a way to leave this room,” he answered, still working on the door, his back turned to Elizabeth.
He knew his gesture dismissed her and hoped she would return to the fireplace. But she remained.
“Sir, your effort is commendable but apparently unsuccessful. I fear that if you continue, you may push out the latch on the other side and we would truly be locked in here.”
He glanced at the door, then at her. “You might be right. I will be careful, but I see no other choice if we wish to be discreet.”