Page 28 of Darcy's Guarded Heart
He began to understand why he felt this way, though he did not like it, for if there was one thing Fitzwilliam Darcy disliked above all else, it was feeling helpless.
He rose then and shook his head. “No, I really am rather fatigued. If you do not mind, I shall take my book into the library and read there.”
“Very well,” Bingley said. “It is perhaps best if we do not linger much longer. I have a grand idea you must hear before you retire, Darcy.” Darcy braced himself but nodded for him to continue.
“Tomorrow, we shall all go riding. The gentlemen, as well as all the ladies.”
“Oh, what fun!” Georgiana exclaimed from the instrument while his sister grimaced, not fond of riding. “Thomas, perhaps you could show us the riding path you were telling us about at dinner—the one that goes by the lake and ends in that large clearing overlooking the lavender.”
“I would love to,” Thomas said. “It is truly quite splendid.”
“There! Then,” Bingley said, clapping his hands in joyful excitement. “It is settled. We shall all go riding together in the morning.”
Darcy gulped, for he had hoped that by morning the Bennets would wish to see their carriage pulled out of the mud and be on their way. It appeared, however, that they were in no haste whatsoever. And as he left, under the watchful gaze of Elizabeth, Darcy found himself wondering once again if these repeated incidents involving the Bennet carriage were, perhaps, by design after all.
Chapter Fourteen
Elizabeth
Elizabeth found herself quite unable to sleep that evening. She was uncertain whether it was the discomfort of an unfamiliar bed or the peculiar sensation of Mr Darcy’s gaze upon her throughout the evening, but slumber eluded her. She tossed back and forth until, at last, she could no longer bear to remain in bed. Rising, she donned the gown Georgiana Darcy had lent her before making her way down the hall.
She wondered if perhaps the library’s fireplace still burned, so she might find a book to read or perhaps take one back with her should the fire be extinguished.
In any case, she required a distraction. As she approached the library, she felt relief wash over her upon seeing a familiar yellow light flickering beneath the door. Perhaps she was fortunate and the fireplace remained lit. Carefully, she opened the door, not wishing to wake anyone in the vicinity with unnecessary noise.
Upon entering, her anticipation of discovering a good novel heightened when she suddenly heard, “Good evening, Miss Bennet.”
How typically unfortunate, she thought to herself. Of all the individuals she did not wish to encounter, Mr Darcy was seated before her in a wing chair, his legs propped up upon a stool as he read.
“Good evening, Mr Darcy. I did not mean to disturb you. I believed everyone had retired for the night.”
“And you thought right. Everyone has. But I found I could not sleep, thus I came to the library. I take it you had the same notion?”
She nodded. “I did, but I shall not disturb you.”
“You are not disturbing me. Please, help yourself. Mr Morris maintains quite the selection.”
She pursed her lips, pondering whether it would be worth her while to respond, but she could not refrain from retorting, “Mr Morris does not own Netherfield Park. He is merely the agent. Mr Chamberlain is the owner.”
Mr Darcy possessed a vexing penchant for needing to know everything better than anyone else and feeling superior. Thus, for once, when she knew something decidedly more than he, she could not resist the opportunity.
“I see,” he said. “Well, whoever the owner may be, they have quite an eclectic taste in books. There are volumes written in a multitude of languages, of which I cannot even make out half.”
Elizabeth smiled and approached the shelf he had indicated, immediately spotting the books to which he referred. Some she could discern, French, German, even Russian. However, there were others she could not decipher. Picking up a novel—or perhaps it was a prayer book—filled with characters resembling square shapes, she set it aside. Another bore a similar script but more curved, which too she returned to the shelf. “I did not know Mr Chamberlain possessed so many booksin so many different tongues,” she remarked as she selected another, noting the different alphabet yet again.
“But I do know this one,” she said, recognising it to be Japanese. She turned to Mr Darcy and extended it towards him. “This is Japanese.”
“And how do you know this?” he enquired, his tone genuinely curious rather than supercilious.
“The shape on the front depicts the Japanese islands,” she replied, tracing the outline with her finger.
“Well, it seems you possess a keen eye for geography. It was never my strong suit.”
“Is that so? I must admit, Mr Darcy, I am surprised that you would so readily acknowledge your shortcomings as you have this evening.”
Indeed, it astonished her that he had even confessed to not being particularly skilled in certain areas, particularly after a series of card games. It had been apparent how uncomfortable he became after losing hand after hand.
“I do not perceive it as shortcomings per se, but rather as areas in which I have yet to acquire proficiency,” he replied, placing the book aside. She craned her neck to ascertain the title and chuckled when she noticed it was a book on card tricks. “I see,” she said with a grin, “you are ever keen on self-improvement.”
