Chapter 8
EIGHT
Darcy’s hope for sharing a private breakfast table with Elizabeth ended when he arrived at the mortifyingly late hour of nine o’clock and was met only by Mrs Philips.
He mostly listened as the lady, clearly pleased by his role as audience, chattered on about inanities; he spoke only to assure her he had slept wonderfully in her guest chamber.
When Elizabeth entered, he could hardly look at her, fearing his feelings would be exposed to her aunt.
When he did chance a gaze, she seemed anxious to avoid it.
Was she also conscious of her aunt, or did she regret what had passed between them in those long, wonderful hours?
Shifting in his chair, he reached for his coffee and looked again at Elizabeth, finding her now watching him curiously, with an expression of deep interest.
“Did you sleep well, Lizzy? I was surprised to find you from your bed.”
“I blame your kitchen, Aunt, for tempting me to filch a biscuit after I went to the parlour to fetch one of your magazines. And then, of course, I fell asleep on your comfortable sofa.” Elizabeth looked to her aunt; only the light pinking of her cheeks betrayed any awkwardness.
Mrs Philips, seemingly unaware of her husband’s somnolent symphony of snoring, looked pleased by her niece’s praise.
“I am glad. Mr Philips has gone to his office. The rain keeps farmers from their fields and ladies from their calls, but my dear husband has no such excuse when it comes to the important work of the law.” She smiled at Darcy.
“You must employ many solicitors in town for your contracts and those petty disputes a landowner with your holdings is bound to be embroiled in.”
He managed a nod, grateful for the excuse of having taken a bite of ham to delay any fuller response.
The matron’s effusions were wearying, even when he was not so tired and his mind was fully occupied on the young lady sitting across from him at the breakfast table.
Warmth thrummed through him, his thoughts animated with memories of what they had shared hours earlier.
How could I have ever thought myself above her? Everything about her calls to me.
“Meryton is fortunate to have my uncle as its leading solicitor and equally fortunate his office requires only a few steps from his dining room. In weather such as this,” Elizabeth gestured at the rain hitting the windows, “he is one of few able to conduct his business.”
Darcy raised his eyes to Elizabeth to convey his thanks for her politic response.
Despite her own lack of rest, her eyes betrayed no fatigue; they were soft and kind and brilliant with intelligence.
He was desperate for more time together; Mrs Philips evidently had similar ideas and led them to the drawing room after they had eaten.
Weak sunlight peeked through the light rain still falling; recognising the roads were thick with mud, Darcy doubted whether either could return to their own beds tonight.
Despite an eagerness for fresh clothes and a proper shave, he was at peace with the prospect; Elizabeth, however, was restless, and pacing the small room.
It is concern for her family that makes her restless, he assured himself.
“You will wear a hole in my rug, Lizzy,” her aunt admonished from the sofa where she sat suffering with the head-ache she assured him was often brought on by rain.
Elizabeth sat in the chair next to Darcy’s and sighed.
“Neither of us is made for idleness,” he said quietly.
She turned to him and nodded. “We are not. I would be of much better use at Longbourn, aiding in my family’s care, than I am here, much as I enjoy the company,” she added, turning a smile to her aunt.
He wished she had smiled at him, and encouraged one by offering to drive her to Longbourn when the rain let up. “I thank you, but I am a rational creature, content to wait till the roads dry a little. Mr Jones has told Papa and Jane I am here. They will send word.”
“Yes,” said Mrs Philips weakly. “You should rely on Jane and Mr Bennet rather than my sister, who is content to wallow in her illness.”
Darcy exchanged a glance with Elizabeth, making evident their minds were as one on the Gardiner sisters of Meryton. Much as he wished her aunt away, the lady had inconveniently found her voice.
“Will your friends at Netherfield wonder at your absence, Mr Darcy? Will they worry your family if you do not return?”
Darcy said nothing, answering only with a shake of his head. He found himself overcome with a sudden longing for the warmth he had felt mere hours ago with Elizabeth. He rose and went to inspect a painting he had not noticed yesterday, rubbing his damp eye to restore his vision.
Sighing heavily, Mrs Philips announced she was retiring to her chambers for the afternoon. Rising, she asked her niece to assist her. Like her husband, she was unused to guests with ears, and much to Darcy’s horror, her voice carried as they walked to the stairs.
“Lizzy, I know this is not easy for you, away from Longbourn when they are so ill.”
“I am reassured that it is a brief spell of stomach-ache and dyspepsia.”
“Indeed. I am glad for your effort to be kind to Mr Darcy. I know how you hate him, but I think he is quite charming.”