Page 91 of Colour My World
“What colour?” He measured his words. Long ago, he had learnt that silence was the surest prod.
Elizabeth’s breath came short and quick. Her jaw clenched, then released. Then, with the force of a dam breaking—
“Because”—she pressed a hand to her mouth as if to catch the words— “because he admires me. And I am not entirely averse to it.”
He was surprised that Homer reared its unwelcome head:Truth is seldom pleasant; but always noble.
Instead, he said, “Ah. Now we are getting somewhere.”
Chapter 32
Elizabeth turned from him, retreating to the corner like a scolded child.Back to the nursery, Lizzy? How perfectly droll.
The library door swung open. Elizabeth spun around, her eyes wide.
Darcy stepped into the library, posture impeccable, expression controlled until he saw them and stopped.
Ah. Perfect.Bennet had no intention of rescuing either of them.
Elizabeth curtsied too quickly. “Mr Darcy.” Her voice?Good Lord, is she breathless?
Darcy recovered just as swiftly, bowing with precise formality. “Mr Bennet. Miss Elizabeth.”
Bennet clasped his hands over his stomach. “Well, well. How fortuitous. You have arrived just in time to settle a disagreement.”
“A disagreement?”
Elizabeth’s glare was so incendiary Bennet was mildly surprised the shelves remained unscathed.
“Indeed. I have been urging my daughter to admit something quite significant. But perhaps she would rather hear it from you.”
Darcy turned to Elizabeth, who looked as though she would prefer immolation to conversation.
Bennet pressed his lips together. This promised to be a most gratifying spectacle. He gestured towards the nearest chair. “Sit, Darcy. Let us have a discussion.”
Darcy hesitated only a moment before complying, yet Elizabeth did not sit.
Bennet tutted. “Heavens, Lizzy, must you loom like an avenging spectre?”
She perched at the edge of the chair opposite him, her posture more suited for flight than conversation.
Darcy glanced at her before settling on Bennet. “You mentioned a disagreement, sir?”
“Yes. Elizabeth, for all her wit, finds herself at an impasse. She cannot decipher your character.”
Elizabeth shot upright from her chair. “Papa!”
He ignored her.
Darcy’s brows lifted slightly. “Indeed?”
“Oh yes,” Bennet continued, utterly delighted. “She is in absolute torment over it. Cannot make sense of you at all. It vexes her terribly.”
“That is not—”
“And yet, I suspect you are an intelligent man. Capable of explaining yourself, should you so choose.”
Darcy’s expression remained impassive, but his fingers flexed against the chair’s arm. “I should like to think so.”
