Chapter Ten #2
She reached the doorway and pulled him through it in a trice, pausing only long enough to secure the latch, before shuttering the cover on the lantern once more.
With her hand on Mr. Darcy’s back, she guided him down the stairs, one slow step at a time to prevent tripping or noise, until they arrived at the landing by her own chamber.
Within moments she opened her own panel and stepped forward, inviting a man once more into her own private rooms.
When the door was closed and the lamps all ablaze once more, Mr. Darcy turned to her with a most bemused look upon his face. He stared at her for a moment, then chuckled. It was the most unexpected sound, and really rather pleasant. “You truly are mechanically inclined!”
She blinked at him. Whatever did he mean by that? “Sir?”
“You saw something in that machine. When you told me you were the one to repair broken things, I expected you meant a hinge on a sewing box. But you were looking at that code machine as if you understood its workings. I am amazed and impressed.” He repeated his laugh, and the sound of it sent tingling sensations up her spine.
Now was not the time to be worked upon and wooed; she must hold firm against him.
“I cannot get your meaning, sir. Am I exempt from an interest in machines because I am a woman?”
“It is a rather unusual fascination, you must admit!”
“And so I am to be laughed at for my aptitude?” She stood straight and levelled narrowed eyes at him. To his credit, he ceased his laughter and shook his head before running a hand through his dishevelled hair.
“You mistake me, Madam. I am not laughing at you by any means. I am laughing at my own stupidity and pride. When first I met you, I believed you a remarkable young woman, but I did not once imagine that you might possess skills and abilities such as you profess. I laugh from the pleasure of knowing that you are even more remarkable than my first estimation suggested. And I laugh because you might very well teach me something that I desire to know.”
His words were mollifying, but her caution remained high. “What is it, then, that you wish to learn?”
He walked to face her and reached out to place a finger beneath her chin, lifting her face to meet his, eye to eye, despite the differential in their heights.
“You trusted me by bringing me here. I will return that trust by divulging some more of my mission. I have been assigned the task of drawing as many details of that machine as I can, with the hopes that my sketches will help the people who sent me here to construct a duplicate machine that is in full working order. My understanding of mechanics far surpasses that of most men, but my skill is in the rendering. If you can understand the machine itself...”
“Then I might assist you.” She completed the statement with little enthusiasm.
Silence filled the room, as deafening as any noise. She challenged him with her eyes, and he defied her dare. At length he said, “This does not satisfy you, and yet I cannot determine why.”
It took tremendous effort for her not to roll her eyes.
Why were men so often so daft? “If it turns out that my father is not working for the benefit of the Empire, my work would then be used to implicate him in some terrible crime. I cannot be a part of that, and you are unfair to ask me to do so.”
“I... That is...” He paused and drew breath. “You are, once again, correct.”
There was one other issue that troubled her still. “Furthermore, if Papa is, indeed, involved in this matter on England’s behalf, then why do the people who sent you hither, to discern his secrets, believe him to be serving in the interests of France?”
Mr. Darcy blinked at her as if she has spoken in tongues.
“I shall... I shall have to consider that,” he replied at last. “I was so pleased on your father’s behalf to believe him a loyal Englishman and not a traitor that these matters and all thought of them fled from my thoughts. Forgive me.”
“I believe you intended no harm.” Why was it so difficult to dislike the man? She had every reason, from her own experience, to his mission to prove her father a traitor, to Mr. Wickham’s disavowed but still credible cautions, but he drew her towards him in a way no other man had.
He talked to her as a rational being, he conversed with her as with an equal, and he was not repelled by her self-professed skill at solving matters mechanical.
Other than her father, she could not think of another man she had met who had not teased her or belittled her interests.
And he had called her remarkable! He was, she considered, quite remarkable himself.
Yes, it was very difficult to dislike him.
As she considered her feelings toward him, he stretched in a sort of yawn and winced once more.
“Your arm and shoulder?” He nodded. “Look at the time, sir.
‘Tis nigh on five o’clock. Let us get you back to your bed, and perhaps John can see to your aches.
Have him apply more of the strongly scented oils to your temples as well, to ward off a relapse of the megrim.
They do not often return so quickly, but it is best to be careful.
He rose and rubbed his shoulder. “That sounds wise.”
She led him down the hidden stairs and into the drawing room below, and thence, slowly and cautiously, back to his room.
They saw nobody, for which she was most thankful; explaining this situation would have been most challenging!
Before she turned to part with him for the nonce, he stopped her with a gesture and held out his hand.
“Are we friends? I would like to count you as a friend, and a comrade. When I can prove myself and my goodwill to you, will you consider me as such?”
Acting on instinct rather than thought, she grasped his hand and shook it in the manner of gentlemen. “Yes, I believe we are friends. Goodnight, Mr. Darcy.”
She closed his door and returned to her room, wondering anew about the strange things she had learned that night.