Page 93 of Colour My World
Her tone dared him. And he felt himself answer, before thought could catch up. “Are you quite well?”What kind of asinine question is that, man?
A breath. Then—her laughter. Soft at first. Then breathless. Then, perilously close to something like hysteria.
“You find this amusing?”
Elizabeth pressed her fingers against her temple. “You”—she shook her head— “you confuse me so.”
“Likewise, madam.”
“At least we agree upon something.”
“You wish for an explanation.”
“I do.”
Darcy stared at her. He could give her the truth. Or he could give her the easy answer. For years, he had stepped back, retreated into silence, into safety. Each time, he had convinced himself it was choice, not fear. No longer.
Darcy inhaled deeply.
“Elizabeth,” he said, and her name felt dangerous in his mouth.
She froze. He had never said her Christian name aloud before. Would she think him too forward? So, he offered the only answer she would accept. The truth.
“I defended you,” he said, “because you deserved to be defended. I had listened to Miss Bingley demean you, mock you, dismiss you”—his fingers flexed— “and I could not abide it.”
Her eyes darkened as they narrowed. “You presume to speak for me?”
He reached for her hand, then thought better of it. “I presume to speak the truth.”
Chapter 33
Longbourn, October 1811
The carriage rolled past the hedgerows. Elizabeth watched the fields slip by. Jane sat opposite, pale but steady, her hands folded in her lap.
Longbourn, unassuming and weathered, stood waiting as they entered the drive. It was not Netherfield Park nor any grand estate designed to awe. Simply, it was home.
The carriage came to a halt. Their father stood beside their mother and Mrs Hill. Elizabeth barely had time to step down before Mrs Bennet surged forward.
“My dear Jane! My love, you look pale. Oh, but no matter, you are home! Hill will see that a tea tray is sent up at once.”
Jane endured her mother’s fussing with good grace, allowing herself to be swept inside with murmurs of affection and gentle admonitions.
Mrs Bennet turned to Elizabeth, gave her a once-over, and sniffed. “I suppose you’ve been out and about, as always.”
“Yes, Mama. From one sickroom to another—and in the company of Miss Bingley. A most exhilarating tour.”
Mrs Bennet waved a hand as she followed Jane into the house. “Oh, do not speak of that woman! I am quite convinced she is a viper. But no matter. You returned and that is all that matters.”
Pale yellow. She means it. I love you, too, Mama.
Elizabeth paused at the threshold. “Are you not coming in, Papa?”
Mr Bennet smiled faintly and lifted a letter in his hand. “Not quite yet. I have before me an epistle—long, pompous, and entirely unavoidable.”His tan aire was edged in brown.
“From whom?”
“My cousin, Mr Collins. Do you recall him? The esteemed clergyman of Hunsford? It seems he intends to honour us with a visit.”
