Page 59 of Mr. Darcy's Folly
Not when she was still trying to understand how she felt about the answer to his conundrum.
Miss de Bourgh regarded her for a moment longer. “As you wish.”
Jane, who had been sitting quietly by the window, finally set her book aside, her gaze warm but assessing. “It was rather a romantic choice, was it not?”
Elizabeth scoffed, though it lacked conviction. “It is only a game.”
Jane’s lips curved knowingly. “Are you sure?” She exchanged a brief glance with Miss de Bourgh.
“I suppose I should not be surprised that he answered mine correctly,” Elizabeth continued, willing herself back to a steadier, more familiar footing. “He is a clever man.”
Miss de Bourgh’s brow lifted slightly. “He is and therefore would carefully consider the meaning of any riddle he might send.”
Elizabeth had believed so too. She hesitated. Her thoughts drifted back over the past week, over the quiet exchange of words in margins, the playful battle of wits, the stolen moments of amusement that had made this tedious convalescence something more than bearable—something enjoyable.
It had been a diversion, yes. But now, she was not certain it had only been that.
She thought of the way he had met her challenge at every turn, the way his humour had woven itself through his responses, dry and unassuming but ever-present, the way she had begun to anticipate his next move with a kind of gleeful anticipation.
And now—this. This riddle that made her pulse stutter. She swallowed. What a moment for her aunt to have stepped away!
Miss de Bourgh, who had been watching this exchange with mild curiosity, now inclined her head with the air of one making a final pronouncement. “Your marriage will be a happy one.”
Elizabeth turned to her, startled. “You say that with great certainty.”
Miss de Bourgh gave a delicate shrug, her voice as calm as ever. “He is utterly unmanageable, but you have nearly succeeded doing so. That alone is remarkable, but you actually appear to enjoy it too. That is nearly miraculous.”
Jane laughed softly at that, while Elizabeth merely shook her head. “You make it sound as though I have tamed some wild creature.”
Miss de Bourgh tilted her head. “Have you not?”
Elizabeth had no answer for that.
Instead, she glanced down at the book still resting in her lap, running her fingertips lightly over the worn spine, as though searching for an answer that would not be found in its pages.
“I believe,” she said at last, her voice softer now, “that I should like to think on it a little longer.”
Jane nodded in understanding, and Miss de Bourgh, for once, offered no argument.
The silence that followed was not uncomfortable. It was only something . . . new. Something that, Elizabeth suspected, was at last beginning to take shape.
Chapter Eighteen
Itwasthetwelfthday of her convalescence, and Elizabeth had resigned herself to yet another day of restless captivity when Aunt Gardiner entered.
“I am taking you to the gardens,” she said decisively.
Elizabeth blinked. “You are?”
Aunt Gardiner nodded. “I have no intention of allowing you to be shut away indoors any longer. You will crawl out the window if you are kept in your rooms even one day more.”
Elizabeth sat forward at once, still sore but a good deal better than she had been. “I would not saycrawlprecisely,” she said, though she was far too eager to be convincing.
Aunt Gardiner arched a brow. “You have spent the past four days gazing wistfully through that window, even during Charlotte's visit yesterday. Had I not intervened, I feel certain I should have found you attempting some ill-advised escape down the trellis.”
Elizabeth laughed, already reaching for her pelisse, the one with the long sleeves. It fit over her injured arm without disturbing the bandage. “And had you discovered me in so undignified a position, you would, of course, have rushed to my aid.”
“Indeed not,” her aunt replied serenely, offering her arm. “I should have left you hanging there, as a cautionary tale for others.”
