Page 133 of Colour My World
The next day, having resolved nothing, she retreated into books. Words blurred before her eyes, the sentences slipping from meaning. Mr Darcy’s defence of her, his challenge to his formidable aunt, played repeatedly in her mind. What had he and her father spoken of for so long? Her embroidery suffered; needlework meant for delicate fingers was dropped, abandoned, and even mutilated.
By the third day, she surrendered to occupation. She emptied her wardrobe, folded and smoothed gowns, then unfolded and arranged everything again. Still, the same thoughts gnawed at her. Why had Mr Darcy held his silence? Why had he only watched? The memory of his face unsettled her more than words ever could.
And then there was Lady Catherine’s daughter. Miss de Bourgh saw the world as Elizabeth did. She had said how herairematched her eyes.
“Why do you laugh?”
Anne’s eyes had grown luminous. “Because your aire brings me such joy.”
Elizabeth smiled as she recalled the conversation; she could not help herself.
“You are surrounded by flowers,” Anne whispered, “not mere blossoms, but a veritable Kew. Old roses, sweet peas, forget-me-nots. Their colours—” she paused, head tilting slightly, “a rose like sunrise kissed with cream. I can almost smell the fragrance.”
By the fourth morning, she had exhausted all distractions. The rain blurred the world beyond the window, and she pressed her forehead against the cool pane. She remained in that attitude, mentally bankrupt, until a summons came from her father. She welcomed the interruption, though she readied herself for the riddles he often enjoyed weaving.
She entered the study, finding him in his chair, theEdinburgh Reviewin hand. He did not glance up. He turned a page as if she had all the time in the world to wait upon his pleasure.
Elizabeth crossed her arms. “You wished to see me, Papa?”
Mr Bennet still studied his book. “Indeed, I did. Though I wonder whether you have been present these last few days.”
“I have been indoors if that is what you mean.”
“Ah, but where has your mind been? Certainly not in the pages of the books you have been staring at.”
He looked at her. She felt exposed. Elizabeth lifted her chin. “Is this to be a lecture?”
“Not at all.” He closed the periodical and rested it on his knee. “I find it fascinating. My Lizzy, always opinionated, struck silent by a man’s presence. An unprecedented event.”
“You find amusement in everything.”
“Not everything, but this? This is diverting.”
Elizabeth drew a sharp breath. “If you mean to provoke me, Papa, I must disappoint you. I have no opinions of worth to offer today.”
“No? Not even on our most intriguing guest?”
“Which guest?”
“The one who does not hover, yet whose absence you still seem to note.”
Heat flooded her cheeks. “I do not—”
“Lizzy.”
She shook her head.
Her father nodded. “And yet, we passed hours in conversation. Does that not prompt curiosity?”
She turned away. The rain drummed against the windows. “His words were clear. His actions are less so.”
“Some men do not squander words.”
Elizabeth turned back. “Some men would do better than to stare.”
“That should be a comfort, not a confusion.”
“What do you wish me to take from this, Papa?”
