Page 14 of Mr. Darcy's Folly
His eyes were drawn once again to that lady, who was now engaged in quiet conversation with Anne about a book of poetry she had brought with her into Kent. Miss Bennet’s animated expression as she discussed her favourite verses seemed to bring out an answering animation in his cousin. He had never seen Anne so willing to express her own opinions. He felt a little guilt for not speaking with Anne more. If his aunt would only give over her thinly veiled insistence on pairing them, he would not fear having his attentions misunderstood.
“You see, Darcy?” His aunt’s voice broke into his reverie. “Anne shows greatness of mind, for she is an extensive reader.”
He murmured a response he hoped was appropriate, but his thoughts were elsewhere. He rather suspected Anne’s animation today had less to do with any greatness of mind and more with Miss Elizabeth’s lively influence.
The rain continued to drum against the windows, but the atmosphere in the room had altered. Where before there had been discomfort and awkwardness, now there was warmth that had nothing to do with the blazing fire. And at the centre of it all was Miss Elizabeth, her dark eyes bright with intelligence and good humour, the rose-coloured shawl tugged tightly about her as she leaned forward to better hear Anne’s quiet reply to her question.
Her hair was beginning to dry, forming wild tendrils about her face that made his fingers itch to smooth them back. He looked away, lest his expression betray too much of what he was feeling.
Even his aunt had heard quite enough from her parson. “Brandy for Mr. Collins, I think,” Lady Catherine said abruptly. “He is shivering.”
Fitz fetched the decanter from the sideboard and poured a glass. When Mr. Collins spluttered his thanks, Fitz poured two more and held out one to Darcy with a grin. “It would be ill-mannered to let him drink alone.”
Darcy accepted it.
“Do you know, Miss Bennet,” Anne was saying, “I believe we have several volumes of poetry that might interest you. They are in the library. You ought to have something more to read, especially when the weather keeps you inside.”
“I should like that very much,” Miss Elizabeth replied, and Darcy found himself captivated by the way her eyes crinkled slightly at the corners when she smiled.
Anne stood. “Do allow me to fetch a few for you.”
Miss Elizabeth reluctantly stirred, intending to stand and accompany his cousin to the library, but Anne shook her head. “No, you should remain here by the fire, Miss Bennet. I shall be perfectly fine alone.”
“Darcy,” Lady Catherine declared quite suddenly, “you will accompany Anne.”
Darcy shared a resigned look with Anne before approaching her to offer his arm.
Chapter Five
“Theymakesuchafine pair,” Lady Catherine said to no one in particular. “Anne has always found such comfort in Darcy’s company. Why, I remember when they were children, he would read to her for hours when she was ill.”
“How kind of him,” Elizabeth replied neutrally. She was relieved that Lady Catherine had not asked her to play, for she was only now beginning to feel warm again and had no desire to remove her hands from where she had slipped them beneath the blanket.
“Indeed. Few young men show such consideration, but he has always been so tender with her.” Lady Catherine’s tone grew wistful. “They used to play together in this very gallery—well, Darcy would play while Anne watched. Such happy times.”
Elizabeth had been told by Mr. Wickham, a militia lieutenant and former friend of Mr. Darcy, that the marriage Lady Catherine seemed to hope for was a settled thing. She had not been in the company of Miss de Bourgh and Mr. Darcy together very often, but when she was, they did not seem inclined to that sort of attachment. It was difficult to say why she had begun to doubt Mr. Wickham’s information. Mr. Darcy was gentle with Miss de Bourgh and solicitous of her welfare. He adjusted his long stride to match her shorter steps, paused when she needed rest, and occasionally made comments that brought a fleeting smile to her pale features. But it was not the kind of care one gave one’s intended. And while Lady Catherine seemed to wish for the pairing, there was no absolute statement of attachment.
It frustrated Elizabeth that she could not put words to these feelings. She simply did not think that this hope of Lady Catherine’s would be fulfilled.
Mr. Wickham had said that he and Mr. Darcy were no longer friends. Perhaps his understanding was simply outdated. Or perhaps he had been wrong. And if he had, would that not suggest she ought to at least reexamine the other things he had told her?
She closed her eyes and surreptitiously slid her feet closer to the fire. One error did not mean everything he had told her was incorrect. But it also meant he was not always right.
Elizabeth and Charlotte exchanged glances as Lady Catherine continued to extol the virtues of Miss de Bourgh and delight in Mr. Darcy’s attention to her. Colonel Fitzwilliam caught Elizabeth’s eye and gave her a knowing look and the slightest shake of his head. It suggested he too saw what she did. At least she was not the only one.
“And of course,” Lady Catherine went on, “Anne has always appreciated Darcy’s taste in books and music. They both have such refined sensibilities.”
Mr. Collins nodded vigorously. “Indeed, such compatibility is a rare and precious thing. Your ladyship’s wisdom in fostering such a connection cannot be overstated.”
Colonel Fitzwilliam, now seated near the window with his book, raised his eyebrows slightly but maintained a studied attention to its pages.
“Mr. Collins,” Lady Catherine suddenly pronounced, “you must tell me how you find my suggestions regarding the parsonage garden?”
Not that anything in the garden was likely to survive this torrential storm, but that was in Charlotte’s favour, for her husband would be required to mitigate the damage. He would be in his garden a great deal more than usual in the coming weeks, as soon as the rain stopped.
As Mr. Collins began his lengthy response, Elizabeth’s thoughts wandered. She rubbed her hands together. The fire’s heat seemed unable to fully penetrate the damp chill that had settled into her bones during their walk through the rain. She caught Colonel Fitzwilliam watching her with sympathy.
“Miss Bennet,” he said, setting aside his book, “I trust you have had the opportunity to explore some of Rosings’ paths?”
