Chapter Eight #2
“It appears we are all on high alert,” Mr. Darcy said.
He moved closer to Elizabeth and took the pistol from her, replacing it in the desk drawer.
“It is prudent to remain vigilant, but fortunately there is no crisis at hand, and after tomorrow my cousin Colonel Fitzwilliam will be able to assist us in defending Longbourn.”
Elizabeth peered up at him and nodded, grateful for how he had diffused the situation. “Yes,” she agreed. “I was too worried to sleep, and only meant to come downstairs to find a book to occupy me.”
“Myself as well,” Mr. Darcy said, looking between Elizabeth and Mrs. Hill.
The housekeep rose her eyebrows, amusement and presumption twinkling in her eyes as she gave them an indulgent smile.
“Of course. I suppose I’d best make sure nobody else heard the scream and took a fright—wouldn’t want the whole house in uproar, would we?
Well, I shall leave you to your… books… perhaps we’ll not be tellin’ your mother about this, either, though it’s after midnight and that makes it Christmas Eve—and everybody knows that nothing that happens between Christmas Eve and Epiphany really matters, anyhow. ”
Mrs. Hill bobbed into a curtsey and made a hasty retreat, taking the shotgun with her and giving Mr. Darcy a look that dared him to prevent it.
He only gave a bemused shake of his head and a slight bow as he watched the older woman go.
She cast one last look over her shoulder at Elizabeth, winked, and then closed the door behind her.
Elizabeth was suddenly very aware of Mr. Darcy’s proximity, of how he was clad only in his shirt and trousers and she wore only her nightgown and the shawl that had fallen down her shoulders in the commotion.
He reached for it, pulling the thick wool up around her, and then ran his hands down her arms. “That was very brave of you,” he said softly.
“But if you thought there was burglar, why did you not seek me out? I would have protected you.”
“I do not know,” Elizabeth replied honestly. “I know I ought to have. I am very angry with the men who have conspired against my home.”
“So am I.” He offered her a reassuring smile. “Richard will advise us on what is best to be done. I hope that makes it a little easier for you to sleep.”
“That, and a good book,” Elizabeth replied. “What shall you read?”
“I was thinking of some essays by David Hume, earlier this afternoon. They seem just the thing that your father would enjoy, and as it happens, he has all of them in his collection.”
“I see,” Elizabeth mused. “Have you been contemplating sensory experience or the human tendency to act out of emotion rather than reason?” She drew in a sharp breath, suddenly aware of the provocative tone of her question.
“Yes,” Mr. Darcy said huskily. He gazed down at her, the firelight flickering on his face.
Elizabeth rubbed her lips together, dampening them as she arched her neck upward.
He made a strangled sound and took a step backward.
“It will be warm enough with a blanket, but I think it is too dark in here to read.”
Elizabeth shuddered from disappointment as he withdrew. “Oh, ah… yes….”
Mr. Darcy added a couple logs to the fire, watching as the blaze grew larger, and then he retrieved the blanket he had dropped and laid it over a sofa near the window that faced the front drive of the manor. “I… umm… what are you going to read?”
“I was thinking about Gulliver’s Travels earlier today,” Elizabeth replied, turning away from him to retrieve it from the shelf where her father kept his favorites.
“My sisters and I used to read it together when we were younger and talk about all the places we wished to travel. We would imagine what strange and marvelous things we would see—and now they are all traveling without me.” Emotion hitched in her throat.
Mr. Darcy was at her side in an instant, offering her a handkerchief and a look of concern. “Would it cheer you if we read some of it together?”
“I would like that.”
He led her to the sofa, and they each took a seat, keeping a respectable distance between them.
Elizabeth curled her legs up next to her, covering her feet with one end of her shawl, and Mr. Darcy frowned before silently retrieving the blanket he had dropped.
When he returned to the sofa, he sat a little closer so that they might both be covered by the thick woolen blanket, and Elizabeth shifted herself, ostensibly making herself comfortable, but managing also to close the gap between their bodies.
“I suppose I ought to start at the beginning,” she said, lifting the book up from her lap.
“I do love a good beginning,” he whispered, his lips twitching in a smile.
She stared at his lips for a moment, then made herself open the book and think of anything but kissing him.
Panic and adrenaline had made her take leave of her senses, but reading had always calmed her.
She opened the book to the first page, and began to read aloud.
After a quarter of an hour, Mr. Darcy offered to take a turn at reading.
They had each grown relaxed in their posture as they let the words of the story wash over them.
Elizabeth leaned back against the sofa, her body angle ever so slightly toward her companion; Mr. Darcy had crossed one leg over the other and rested an arm atop the sofa just behind her neck, using the other to reach for the book.
After she passed it to him, Elizabeth let her head tip backward until it was resting in the crook of his elbow.
She tugged at the blanket, pulling it upward to cover herself, and her legs brushed his as she shifted into a cozy, recumbent pose.
Neither of them could be quite sure when Mr. Darcy ceased reading and reclined back into the corner of the sofa as his arm encircled her, or when Elizabeth shut her eyes and let her body melt into his beneath the blanket, her hand resting on his chest and her fingers curling around the fabric of his shirt.
But by the time the fire had ebbed away, they were both slumbering comfortably.