Page 12 of The Cherry Trees of Rosings
They were silent for a moment.
“Have you wondered why you are… the way you are?” Elizabeth could feel her cheeks heating as she fixed her gaze on his face.
The slight translucency of his features against the sunlight was not enough to hide the handsomeness of his features. His dark, expressive eyes. The slightly arrogant, roman nose. The sharp line of his jaws with the perfectly groomed sideburns. Elizabeth looked away quickly.
“I do not know,” Mr. Darcy said.
“Perhaps you have some unfinished business?” she hedged.
“I cannot imagine what that might be.”
“Well, since you are at Rosings…” she said. “Might it have something to do with Lady Catherine?”
Mr. Darcy visibly grimaced. “I do not think so.”
“How about your cousin? Miss de Bourgh,” she asked. “I heard you were to marry her.”
He shook his head. An annoyed flush appeared on his face. “That is a figment of my aunt’s imagination.” Then he sighed. “It does not explain why I can only seeyou.”
Their eyes met and held.
Elizabeth could feel her cheeks heating even more. She cleared her throat and stared at the book in her hand. The two of them were silent for the longest time, with only the sound of rustling leaves and the occasional chirp of an afternoon bird.
“What if I wrote a letter to your cousin?” she asked suddenly.
Mr. Darcy looked surprised. “My cousin?”
“I meant Colonel Fitzwilliam. We could find out what happened to you.”
He was silent for a moment longer.
And then he fixed his gaze on her again. There was a deep sadness in them.
“I am willing to try anything,” he said softly.
Elizabeth felt her heart twist in her chest.
“And perhaps, once we find out…” Mr. Darcy continued. “I would be much obliged to you, Miss Bennet, if you could write a letter to my sister for me.”
Chapter 9:
An Overbearance of Indiscretion
“Not like that, Jenkinson!” Lady Catherine snapped. “You know how I detest sloppiness!”
The poor woman’s hands trembled violently, and the tea she was pouring out splashed everywhere on the tray. Elizabeth stifled a sigh.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake!”
Jenkinson placed the pot back on the table, her face paling. “I apologize for my clumsiness, your ladyship!” She had begun to wring her hands almost compulsively.
Elizabeth eyed Miss de Bourgh. The latter had her face angled away from the scene, staring almost in a trance-like fashion at the woodfire in the grate.
“It is so hard to find competent help these days…” Lady Catherine continued, shooing away Jenkinson with a wave of her hand.
The woman practically ran to pull at the servant’s bell.
“...I despair, Mr. Collins!”
