Page 28 of Mr. Darcy's Folly
“The lack of a governess does not seem to have done you any harm, Miss Bennet. You are more than intelligent. You are clever without malice.” He paused. “Yours is a rare character.”
She had no answer. The realisation of his admiration settled over her like the shifting dust around them, displacing everything she had been so certain of.
Mr. Darcy chuckled, though it was rather pained. “I find I am enjoying your surprise.”
Elizabeth huffed a laugh in response and rolled her eyes. “I thought you were too dignified for such petty satisfactions.”
“Even I am not immune,” he murmured.
Elizabeth looked at him then, truly looked at him, and wondered how she had not seen it before. She exhaled, willing away the persistent ache in her ribs. “Well, if you truly do not think ill of me, perhaps I shall take the liberty of another inquiry.”
“Shall I brace myself?”
She ignored that. “Your notions of an accomplished woman,” she began. “Do you truly believe she must possess all of those skills?”
“I was attempting another compliment to you, Miss Bennet.”
Elizabeth scoffed. “A dubious one. Do you imagine many ladies attain such an impossible standard?”
His eyes glinted in the dim light. “A few,” he said, meaningfully.
Elizabeth stared at him, incredulous. Then, to her own surprise, she laughed. She could not laugh too freely, for her ribs protested when she did. “I fear you greatly overestimate my abilities, sir.”
Mr. Darcy shook his head, exhaling in what might have been amusement. “Do you always have such a difficult time accepting that you are extraordinary?”
“I do, because I am not. I am perfectly ordinary. I cannot draw, I play indifferently, embroidery I am rather good at but do not enjoy, and I speak only French and Italian.”
“You are stubborn.”
“Apparently, you enjoy it,” she countered.
He sighed. “I find I do.” He was about to say more when the ground shifted beneath them.
Elizabeth’s breath caught in her throat as the stones moaned and dust cascaded from above. Her hand shot out instinctively, finding Mr. Darcy’s arm. The motion was brief, fleeting, but his presence grounded her.
The tremor stilled, but her heart pounded.
Mr. Darcy’s voice was calm when he spoke. “It is only settling.”
She swallowed. “You are certain?”
“I must be. We are still here.” His tone was steady, but there was something else beneath it. Resignation, perhaps. Or determination.
She forced herself to release him, though the imprint of his presence lingered against her fingertips. “I do not care for this.”
His gaze softened. “Nor I.”
Silence stretched again, but this time, it was different. Less oppressive. Less bleak.
Elizabeth exhaled through her nose and forced herself to lean back against the stone. They were still trapped. Still injured. Still uncertain of when—or if—rescue would come.
But at least she was not alone.
Chapter Nine
Thehoursstretchedon,the dim light weakening as the sun travelled the sky further west.
Darcy was conscious of Miss Elizabeth beside him, her presence oddly comforting despite their dire predicament. She had spoken earlier of Mrs. Collins’s probable concern, and he had agreed that Fitz, if not others, must surely be looking for them. Yet still, no voices called their names, no shifting rubble signalled an approach.
