Page 134 of Colour My World
“Only that silence is not always a lack of feeling. And that waiting serves no purpose but to prolong uncertainty.”
Elizabeth swallowed. “You believe I should speak first?”
“I believe,” Mr Bennet said, “that if you seek clarity, you must ask for it. Do not wait for certainty to be handed to you.”
* * *
Netherfield Park, those same four days…
Unbeknownst to Darcy, the rain had driven Elizabeth indoors. He had chosen the opposite course.
Since the Bennets’ departure, the house had settled into anuneasy silence, broken only by the lingering presence of Lady Catherine, whose command of the household had only grown more oppressive. She patrolled the halls with the precision of a seasoned strategist, commandeering the drawing room, the morning room, and even the library, where she held council with the servants, issuing demands that left no corner untouched by her authority.
Darcy would not be captured.
At first, he had taken to the stables, overseeing the care of his horse with a diligence that startled the grooms. When that no longer sufficed, he set out on long walks across the estate, the rain lashing at his greatcoat and soaking his boots through. He convinced himself that the physical misery was preferable to confinement within walls where Lady Catherine lurked, waiting to ensnare him in yet another inquiry regarding Miss Bennet.
“Rain and mud,” Barty muttered as Darcy dripped onto the stone floor of the rear hall. “Find a bit of frost and throw yourself in it. You might complete the ruin.”
Darcy ignored him and ascended the stairs, only to halt at the sound of approaching voices. Lady Catherine’s unmistakable tones echoed from the upper landing. Instinct took over. He turned sharply and darted towards the narrow servant’s staircase.
“Coward,” Barty said into his sleeve, loud enough for Darcy, soft enough for the drapes.
Darcy climbed two steps at a time, moving swiftly, his damp boots making little sound against the worn wood. He reached the upper floor and stepped out into a dim corridor, shaking droplets from his sleeve. He exhaled, and then a hand yanked him sideways. He stumbled into an unoccupied chamber, the door clicking shut behind him. A lamp cast just enough light to reveal his cousin.
Anne de Bourgh stood before him, arms crossed, expressionunimpressed. “You look like a drowned rat.”
“Anne.” He straightened, brushing a hand through his damp hair. “Was that necessary?”
She ignored the question. “I have been looking for you. I knew you would avoid my mother, but this is excessive, even for you.”
“She is relentless.”
“She is consistent.” Anne tilted her head. “And she is not wrong, is she?”
“I do not know what you mean.”
“This from the man who abhors fabrications.”
Darcy winced. The truth landed harder than he expected. The room’s shadows deepened, and the storm outside rattled the panes.
Anne stared at him. “You care for Miss Elizabeth.”
“Do I?”
“I know you do.”
Darcy inclined his head.
“You defended her.”
“I ended your mother’s tirade.”
“Ha!”
Darcy rolled his eyes.
Anne pointed at him. “There. There it is. You rolled your eyes at me.”
