Page 26 of Colour My World (The Bennet Sister Variations #3)

Mr Bennet crossed to a cabinet tucked beneath the bookshelves and lifted a decanter.

Darcy nodded. Two cut crystal glasses sat waiting on a silver tray. The deep amber liquid caught the light as Mr Bennet poured.

Mr Bennet handed him a glass. “You look in need of fortification.”

Darcy brought the glass to his nose and inhaled.

Aged well, oak, spice, and a hint of vanilla.

The flavour bloomed across his tongue. Fire stitched with silk.

Heat unfurled in his chest. He lowered the glass and, as if to whistle for the hounds, released a breath through pursed lips. Slowly. Heavenly.

Mr Bennet chuckled. “My brother-in-law’s doing. Last Christmas, Gardiner left two bottles of cognac, smuggled through a Scottish pirate who quoted Burns while naming his fees.”

Darcy lifted his glass. “‘Freedom and whisky gang thegither!’”

Mr Bennet waggled his eyebrows and sipped his own.

They sat in silence, the fire crackling softly, punctuated only by the steady tick of the mantel clock.

Darcy let his gaze wander. The study was well-lived in.

The bookshelves bowed slightly beneath the weight of volumes well-handled, their spines worn and titles softened by years of use.

This was not a gentleman’s idle collection for display; it was a working library assembled for thought, not admiration.

He set his glass down. The books called to him.

He ran his fingers over the leather bindings. Plutarch’s Lives , the complete set. Montaigne’s Essais . Hume’s History of England —all six volumes. He traced the gilded lettering.

“You have a first edition.”

“One of a few indulgences I have never regretted.”

Newton’s Principia . Adam Smith’s Wealth of Nations . The complete works of Dryden. “An impressive collection.”

Mr Bennet swirled the cognac in his glass. “Adequate, perhaps.”

Darcy’s lips twitched. He turned back to the shelves. “At Darcy House, the library spans two levels. We removed the floor to accommodate the height of the shelves. Twenty-foot rolling ladders. An iron railing encircles the upper tier.”

He could feel Mr Bennet’s stare. “How many volumes?”

“Thousands.”

Mr Bennet took a slow sip of his cognac. “A modest triumph. Enjoy it.”

* * *

He rose from behind his desk and took the chair opposite Darcy. The shift was subtle, yet Darcy recognised it for what it was: the moment had come to address his errors.

A knock at the door. Mr Hill, his expression as impassive as ever, stepped inside. “The Netherfield party is departing, sir.”

Mr Bennet looked at Darcy.

Darcy did not hesitate. “The Netherfield party may leave.”

Hill nodded. “Very good, sir.” He withdrew, closing the door with the same silent efficiency he had opened it.

Darcy waited, and Mr Bennet lifted an eyebrow.

“Until I hear the carriage wheels, I cannot continue without suspicion of my hostess.”

Mr Bennet inclined his head. “As Mrs Bennet is not the type of woman to listen at doorways, I infer you speak of one of Mr Bingley’s sisters?”

“I do.”

Mr Bennet swirled his cognac, watching the amber liquid catch the firelight. “I am a father raising five daughters. Tell me of your journey raising your sister.”

Darcy rested his forearms on his knees. “The trials of raising a young girl while hardly a man?” He shook his head. “I scarcely knew where to begin.”

“You had no one to guide you?”

Darcy exhaled through his nose. “I would only inflict Lady Catherine on my worst enemy.” Wickham, perhaps.

“Lady Matlock, though a woman of superior sense, has four of her own to manage.”

“Grown, I believe?”

Darcy nodded. “All are adults, yet still…”

“A child is a mother’s joy for life.”

Darcy looked into the fire. “Was I?”

* * *

Mr Bennet leant back in his chair, swirled the last of his cognac, and tipped his glass until it emptied.

“You have surprised me, sir. Pleasantly so.”

He set his tumbler aside. “Had anyone told me I would enjoy the better part of this afternoon, I might have made a fool of myself by disagreeing.”

“You are frank, sir.”

“I am old enough to be.” Mr Bennet studied him. “But all camaraderie aside, you are here for a reason, are you not, Mr Darcy?”

“Darcy. Please.”

Mr Bennet stared at him for several seconds. Then, with a nod, he stood and extended a hand.

“Bennet.”

Darcy rose and clasped it. “Pleased to make your acquaintance, Bennet.”

“And I, yours, Darcy.”

Releasing his hand, Bennet clapped his together, the sound decisive in the quiet study.

“Now then. As cathartic as this past hour has been for you, I recognise that you have held your high cards back.”

He folded his arms across his chest. “Time to play them out, Son.”

The study settled into quiet once more. Darcy did not immediately speak. He stared at the amber liquid in his glass. The conversation had taken its natural course, yet now it veered into treacherous waters. He needed to proceed with caution.

Bennet gestured towards the chair. Darcy sat; Bennet did as well.

Darcy exhaled slowly, collecting his thoughts. “My mother… You have allowed me to speak of my grief, of her passing. But I would rather you know of her as she was.”

He looked towards the firelight.

“She was vibrant,” he said. “She had a laugh that filled a room, a presence that made you believe, truly believe, that no trouble could best you so long as she was near. My father called her the heart of Pemberley, and he was not wrong…. She loved fiercely. And above all things, she wished the same for me.”

He set his glass down and laced his fingers together. “You recall I mentioned Lady Catherine.”

Mr Bennet’s lips twitched. “How could I forget?”

“She and my father once argued over a cradle betrothal. To her daughter, my cousin Anne.”

Mr Bennet’s brows rose.

“I overheard them. I was a nine-year-old boy eavesdropping outside his study door. I understood little, save that my future was being bartered.”

“I take it you did not care for the terms.”

“I did not. But my mother…” Darcy’s throat tightened. “She found me listening at the door.”

Bennet said nothing.

“She took me to her special drawing room and sat with me. Held my hand. She said our family viewed marriage as duty, an obligation to continue the line. But she believed in something more.”

Hair like a Derbyshire autumn.

“She told me I would know.” His fingers curled into fists. “That she would be special.”

Bennet frowned. “Special?”

“A woman with brown hair, kissed by the autumn light. And fine eyes.”

A long silence.

Bennet repeated, “Fine…eyes.”

Darcy forced himself to nod. “Yes, sir. Fine eyes.”

“And what was your mother’s definition of fine eyes?”

“Eyes like hers but…more unique.”

“You said both your mother and sister have matching eyes.”

“Yes. Both have blue eyes, but one is ringed in gold.”

Bennet’s gaze did not waver. “But your mother’s prophecy was more specific, was it not?”

“It was.”

He watched as understanding dawned across Bennet’s face, slow at first, then sharp, like the tightening of a spring. Amusement faded, recognition set in and then stone. Bennet straightened his posture. Shoulders taut. His voice dropped to a cold baritone. “I would hear it from your lips.”

Darcy swallowed against the dryness in his throat.

“My mother made me promise to find my soulmate,” he said, voice barely above a breath. “A woman with eyes of—”

Bennet finished for him. “Differing colours.” Bennet’s gaze sharpened. He did not blink. “Did she name the colours?”

Darcy hesitated. “No… She said they might be different. Perhaps even different from one another.”

“And now you claim certainty?”

Darcy nodded. “Because I have seen them.”

Bennet straightened in his chair, his voice now hard as iron. “Say it.”

“Miss Elizabeth’s right eye is brown. Her left is green.”

“Rather exacting.”

Darcy touched his temple. “It is an image I shall never forget.”

A sharp knock at the door.

Bennet smoothed his expression into something unreadable. “Enter.”

Hill stepped inside. “Sir, the mistress inquires whether Mr Darcy will be staying to dine.”

Bennet’s regard slid back to Darcy.

His throat felt tight. The weight of the conversation pressed upon him. He had no appetite, yet something told him walking away now would be unwise. “If the invitation stands, I would be honoured.”

“See that our carriage is at Mr Darcy’s disposal.”

Hill withdrew as smoothly as he had entered. The door closed.

There was no turning back now. “I suspect the evening shall not want for drama.”

Bennet smiled. “Irony. The gentleman’s weapon. ”