Chapter Twelve #2
Darcy looked at the table again. Two places had been laid, and beside one of the plates sat a small folded card. He picked it up and read the careful script.
I find myself unexpectedly detained. You must both forgive me and make the best of the breakfast.
C. Bingley
For a moment, Darcy only stared at it. Then the previous evening returned to him with sudden clarity: Miss Bingley's satisfaction at dinner, the way she had watched him and Elizabeth together and the neat little trap that had brought them both to the library.
A bark of laughter escaped from him before he could stop it, sharp enough to make Elizabeth take a startled step backwards.
"I beg your pardon," he said, still smiling as he handed her the note.
"It is only that Caroline Bingley, the Shrew of Grosvenor Square no less, has taken to matchmaking. The notion strains belief."
Elizabeth read the message, and colour rose warmly into her cheeks.
"That is very unkind, Mr Darcy. Caroline may have gone a little too far, but she meant well.
" She glanced towards the breakfast table, then down at her slippers.
"Though I confess she has made her intentions rather difficult to misunderstand.
" Her fingers tightened around the note.
"I hope you are not embarrassed. I will leave you in peace. "
Darcy's amusement faded at once. "No, please do not go. I am sorry. I should not have used that name. It was cruel, and I am beginning to realise it was unfair as well."
Elizabeth looked up at him, a question in her eyes.
"I am not embarrassed," he continued, knowing he was speaking too quickly but suddenly desperate not to lose the chance of this time with her.
"Only astonished. And, if I am honest, rather pleased that she has given me an excuse to breakfast with you.
The door will remain open, of course, and here is the footman now.
James, is it? He has brought the tea, and I can ask him to remain if you would prefer. "
Elizabeth reached out and laid one hand upon his arm, stilling the rush of words. She stood close enough that he caught the soft scent of lavender, with something sweeter beneath it. Jasmine, perhaps. He inhaled deeply, hoping the effect she had on him was not too obvious.
"I will stay," she said simply. Then she withdrew her hand, took one of the chairs beside the window and unfolded her napkin, laying it neatly across her lap.
For several seconds, Darcy remained where he was, absurdly conscious of the place upon his sleeve where her hand had rested.
The warmth of her fingers seemed to linger there, and it took a discreet movement from the footman to remind him that Elizabeth had already taken her seat and was waiting for him to join her.
Darcy sat opposite her just as James stepped forwards to pour the tea.
Without thinking, he reached for the pot himself, and the footman withdrew.
By the end of the morning, every servant at Netherfield would know that Mr Darcy had insisted upon pouring Miss Elizabeth's tea with his own hands. He found he did not care.
Elizabeth held out her cup, though her eyebrows rose. "Do you often pour tea for ladies, Mr Darcy?"
"Not often." He added a little milk but no sugar before placing the cup before her.
"My sister Georgiana is much younger than me and was very fond of tea parties when she was small.
I was expected to attend regularly and perform every duty from pouring the tea to settling disputes between her dolls. "
Elizabeth looked at him over the rim of the cup.
It was almost impossible to reconcile the sensible, broad-shouldered gentleman before her with the image that immediately formed in her mind.
She pictured him folded awkwardly at a child-sized table, surrounded by dolls and stuffed animals, while a young girl issued instructions.
There was almost certainly a bow or two tied somewhere in Mr Darcy's dark hair.
Elizabeth tried to hide her amusement behind her cup, but Darcy was watching her too closely. "You are picturing me at one of Georgiana's tea parties."
"Perhaps."
"With a ribbon in my hair?"
Her smile widened. "I cannot imagine she would have stopped at one."
He shook his head, though there was a reluctant smile upon his face. "Georgiana could be very determined."
He reached for his own cup, but not before Elizabeth glanced down at her own brew. "You remembered how I take my tea," she said, a touch of wonder in her voice.
Darcy looked at her, and his voice dropped to a murmur. "I remember a great many things where you are concerned."
The words came out more openly than he intended, and the warmth that rose into her face sent his thoughts somewhere far beyond the library.
For one fleeting moment, he saw her sitting across from him at Pemberley, her hair unbound and a teasing smile on her generous lips.
It felt so right and so real that it was almost painful to imagine.
He blinked and found Elizabeth watching him with open amusement. "Forgive me. My thoughts wandered."
"Very far?"
"Only to Derbyshire." Her smile deepened, and he found himself explaining before she could tease him further. "I was thinking of the view from the breakfast room at Pemberley."
"And how does it compare with the vista from Netherfield’s library?" she added in a teasing tone, "My mama is certain it is the finest park in all of Hertfordshire."
Darcy looked at her for a long moment. "The view here has one considerable advantage that Pemberley cannot claim."
Her gaze dropped at once, and a pink flush crept slowly up her neck.
Darcy was ridiculously pleased with the effect and made a personal vow to make her blush fiercely as often as he was able.
She turned her concentration to a delicate pastry, spreading it generously with preserve before taking a dainty bite.
When she looked up again, there was a small flake of pastry at the corner of her mouth and a trace of strawberry jam beneath it. Darcy's gaze lingered there, and before he could think better of it, he reached across the table and tenderly brushed the preserve away with his thumb.
Elizabeth went still beneath his hand. For one suspended heartbeat, she turned her face into his palm and let the warmth of her cheek rest there.
Her skin was so soft beneath his touch that Darcy scarcely dared to breathe.
Then her eyes lifted to his and the space between them seemed to disappear.
Darcy drew his hand back slowly but did not look away.
He brought his thumb to his mouth and tasted the sweetness of the preserve, watching the colour deepen in her cheeks as her gaze followed the movement.
The intimacy of it struck him only after it was done, and for a moment neither of them seemed capable of breaking the silence.
A discreet cough came from the doorway. The footman had turned his face towards the windows, but the reminder of his presence was enough to return the room around them.
Elizabeth lowered her eyes, and Darcy remained rigid in his chair, fighting the urge to cross the little distance between them and draw her into his arms. He imagined the softness of her mouth beneath his and the faint sweetness of the preserve still clinging to her lips.
He forced himself to reach for his tea instead and, clearing his throat, said, "How is Miss Bennet faring this morning?"
The question eased some of the tension between them and brought the rest of the room back into focus. Elizabeth looked up, though her colour remained high. "Much improved. Her fever has quite gone, and she was able to eat a little breakfast. Mr Jones believes she may leave her room later today."
"I am very glad, truly."
"As is Mr Bingley. He has already been to ask after her twice this morning, though Mrs Nicholls eventually persuaded him that waiting outside the door would not make Jane recover any faster."
Darcy smiled. "Only twice? He is showing remarkable restraint."
Elizabeth laughed softly and lifted her cup. The sound eased something in him, though he remained achingly conscious of every movement she made.
"If Jane continues to recover," she said after a moment, "we may be able to return to Longbourn tomorrow."
The thought struck him with surprising force. He had known her stay at Netherfield could not last forever, but to think of leaving so soon was unconscionable.
"Must you?" he said softly.
Elizabeth's brows rose. "I am sure my family shall expect me home at some point."
Darcy made an effort to recover some measure of composure. "Of course you must. I only meant..."