Page 80 of Colour My World
Miss Bennet smiled as though waiting for more.
“And the Hursts?”
“They, too, enjoy the country.”
“And Mr Bingley?” Mrs Bennet asked. Miss Bennet blushed.
Darcy hesitated. “He is quite content.”
That, at least, was true.
Throughout the exchange, Darcy chanced looks at Elizabeth.
She had yet to speak. She had not even looked up.
Instead, she sat apart, half-turned in her chair, the soft glow of the candle beside her casting golden light over the open book in her lap. Her fingertip drifted along the page margin—absent, distracted.
Darcy excused himself and crossed the room. Without invitation, he lowered himself onto the empty seat beside her. “You appear quite absorbed.”
She closed the book’s cover. “The Recluse of the Pyrenees,” she replied.
“A gothic novel?”
“You expectedPlutarch’s Lives?” She looked up and met his gaze.
One brown. One green. Up close, they were not just mismatched—they were absolute. A thousand words he had spoken to her father, and yet here, seated beside her, he felt the truth rather than recited it.It is her.
A young lady with beautiful eyes, different from one another,hair rich with copper and mahogany, who shares her laughter freely.
And I ran from her.
He drew in a steady breath. It caught anyway.
“Have you read it?” she asked.
“I have not.”
She turned a page with deliberate care. “The tale is simple enough. A young woman, orphaned, raised in the country, and given little regard by those of consequence.”
“And the hero?”
Elizabeth tilted her head. “A proud, overbearing man, high in fortune but low in warmth. He insults her, belittles her, and convinces himself she does not command his interest.”
She looked directly at him and lifted an eyebrow. “But he cannot seem to stay away.”
And when you find her, despite the opinion of others, you must never give her up.
The pianoforte played on. He rose and bowed. “Miss Elizabeth.”
She inclined her head in acknowledgement. “Mr Darcy.”
Darcy turned towards his hosts. “I thank you for your hospitality.”
Mrs Bennet sat forward. “Oh, must you leave so soon? Surely, another—”
Bennet waved a hand. “Let the man escape while he can, my dear.” His eyes gleamed as he sipped his port. “You may wish to thank Mrs Ecclestone. She has trained us well.”
Mrs Ecclestone, still leading her absent orchestra, smiled without opening her eyes. “A pleasure, I assure you.”
