36. Lizzy
Lizzy
The next day, Darcy entered the library around eleven, carrying a large tea tray.
He’d been in an hour ago on the pretense of finding a book, running a hand along the stacks like a lovelorn teen in a school library, glancing back at me, blushing when I caught him looking, which made me smile so hard for the next sixty minutes.
“Don’t mind me,” he said crisply. “I saw Mrs. Reynolds bringing the tea and thought I’d give her a hand.”
Or was he looking for an excuse to be with me? Certainly, after our walk yesterday, I had plotted all sorts of reasons to pop into his office this morning. “Stay and have some tea with me,” I said.
He put the tray on the side table and pulled it in front of us, arranging the plate of biscuits on the side. Ooh, my favorite variety. But there was only one.
“You don’t like Jammie Dodgers, do you?” I said, reaching for it.
“Love them,” he said.
I hovered my fingers over the lone biscuit. “What? I thought you were a gentleman.”
“Not when it counts.”
There was a smile in his eyes, but the way he looked at me felt like a touch.
“Especially when it comes to Jammie Dodgers,” he clarified, but I fidgeted in my seat, still hot and bothered.
For something to do with my hands, I cut the one in half with a lot of crumbles and turned the plate toward him.
He spluttered out a laugh. “Seriously? You are offering me the small half?”
Dammit, he’d noticed. “No ladies here when it comes to Jammie Dodgers.”
We settled in.
“Shall I pour? Do you take milk?” I asked.
“Black. Like your coffee.”
I nodded with a small appreciative smile. He’d remembered.
We sipped our tea and chatted for a minute about other biscuits we liked.
He leaned back in his chair, stretching out his long legs clad in dark denim. “What did you think about Victoria as your next main female character?” he asked, returning to yesterday’s discussion about my next book.
I turned to him, delighted by his undisguised interest. “What do you like about Victoria?”
He ran a slow fingertip along his jawline, and the small, sensuous movement utterly liquefied my lower body.
“She’s the most underrated of the sisters, what with her talent for woodwork and nursing stray cats back to health, and her beauty is a quiet one.
I love how the bottoms of her skirts are always dirty from mud because she walks the hills so much. ”
I chuckled. “She’s the original power walker.”
“Bit like you.” He teasingly tugged at my curls.
“She’s always getting herself in scrapes, falling from trees and into the lake.
And she loves her family, even though she knows all their faults—the giggly twins who chatter incessantly about their bonnet ribbons, the nervy mother, the withdrawn, sarcastic, but amusing father.
Victoria is likable and lovable. I’m thinking that arrogant lad next door she hates—”
“Hugo.”
“Yes, Hugo is going to inherit the dukedom after all, and he chooses her above all others, to the disgust of the mamas of the town. Victoria rejects him because he’s such a supercilious shit, but on further acquaintance, it turns out he’s taciturn and distanced because he’s kind of shy and awkward and lonely.
” He sat up straight as if inordinately proud of his character’s development.
“And then he turns out to be a bloody brilliant bloke after all.”
Seeing Darcy speak so animatedly about Victoria and Hugo was like the drear of a thousand fogs had lifted.
A morning sun blasted bright into my eyes, as if to say, how could you have doubted I was here?
It was all so clear now who my next main characters should be, but Darcy’s passion for them made the choice obvious.
My chest was filled with a blissful warmth at how Darcy paid so much attention to my writing and my characters and cared about them.
I loved how he was showing me how funny and clever and inventive he was.
And I wondered if the way he talked about them was a window into himself—his true, wounded self.
He felt things deeply. He didn’t always show it.
I slipped my fingers through his. I wanted to crawl into his lap and kiss him, but instead, we did this funny little push-and-pull motion with our hands.
“Darcy Wainwright, you have given this a lot of thought. And I do believe you are trying to influence me.” Something about his description of the arrogant lad next door sounded familiar. Had Charlie used those exact words? To describe what Darcy might be like?
“Who were you considering for your next book?” he asked.
“I was trying to write the younger sister, Peony, and Thomas. Friends-to-lovers.” I stopped. “What? What’s that face?”
He drew back, surprised. “Sorry, I don’t see it. No chemistry.”
I couldn’t defend my choice; I knew he was right. I sighed. “Neither does my agent, so you’re in good company. Charlie said it was lacking conflict.”
He smiled at me. “I don’t know Charlie, but sounds like she has your back.”
“Oh no. That’s all I need, you and Charlie in cahoots.” I smiled at the thought of the two of them working together.
“Have you thought about Victoria and Hugo’s meet-cute?” he asked.
I chuckled. “Darcy, you’re cracking me up with the lingo.
” I rested my chin on my palm and looked outside dreamily.
Not only were the grounds exquisite, but talking plotting with Darcy was my new favorite conversation.
Leaning back in my chair, I crossed my bare legs and nudged his knee with mine.
He watched my every move with a small smile. “But I’d love to hear more.”
He hooked a foot around my chair and dragged me closer, his eyes glittering with intensity.
“What about…maybe Hugo arrives back from Europe, and his sister drags him to a dance. And he’s being all ridiculously handsome but imperious and rude and thinks everyone is a country bumpkin and beneath him, even though he grew up there. ”
I laughed at his recounting of our meet-cute and nudged my pink toenails playfully against the tip of his suede shoes.
“And Victoria is sitting with the wallflowers since there aren’t enough men to dance with, but still, they’re having a good laugh because they’ve known one another since they were babies.
And they overhear someone pleading with him to dance, and he says—”
He moved in close, draping an arm along the back of my chair, and rubbed a strand of my hair between his fingers. “There’s no one here I want to dance with,” he whispered, dragging his nose up my jaw.
I blew a breath into his ear and watched the goose bumps spread on his skin. “Something like that.”
He groaned. “My boorishness is going to be preserved for all time, isn’t it?”
“Maybe think of it as inspiration for others to change?”
“Ah, yes. Rebranding, much better.” He grinned at me and traced a finger below the short sleeve of my peasant blouse. He pulled back my hair and looked like he wanted to bury his face in my neck.
Even though my body was waiting for his move with a held breath, my writer brain turned over the plot, and I glanced over at my laptop. I was hoping this was the kiss I’d been waiting for, but I was also itching to commit thoughts to typed words.
Reluctantly, he got to his feet. “I better get back to my terribly important, terribly busy business…whatever it was.” He gave me a wink that made my mouth go dry.
“Thanks, Darcy. You’ve been an incredible help.”
His lips quirked. “How thankful are you, exactly? Can you ask your mother to fast-track my application to your Facebook group?”
I chuckled and grabbed my phone. “Texting her now.” I tapped in and gave him a saucy raised eyebrow. “If you desire to become one of Lizzy’s Licentious Ladies, so ye shall.”
“I desire. So much,” he said slowly, longingly, backing out of the room.
As much as I hated to see Darcy go, I couldn’t wait to make a start on this new story idea.
For the next four hours, I barely glanced up.
The first chapter flew out of me. The two characters fully formed in my head, the second chapter wrote itself.
And when I finished the third chapter, I grinned.
These pages were better than anything I’d ever written.
Spending time at the estate, with Darcy, had provided all the inspiration and affirmation I’d needed. Bliss.