Page 34 of Colour My World (The Bennet Sister Variations #3)

Elizabeth turned from him, retreating to the corner like a scolded child. Back to the nursery, Lizzy? How perfectly droll.

The library door swung open. Elizabeth spun around, her eyes wide.

Darcy stepped into the library, posture impeccable, expression controlled until he saw them and stopped.

Ah. Perfect. Bennet had no intention of rescuing either of them.

Elizabeth curtsied too quickly. “Mr Darcy.” Her voice? Good Lord, is she breathless?

Darcy recovered just as swiftly, bowing with precise formality. “Mr Bennet. Miss Elizabeth.”

Bennet clasped his hands over his stomach. “Well, well. How fortuitous. You have arrived just in time to settle a disagreement.”

“A disagreement?”

Elizabeth’s glare was so incendiary Bennet was mildly surprised the shelves remained unscathed.

“Indeed. I have been urging my daughter to admit something quite significant. But perhaps she would rather hear it from you.”

Darcy turned to Elizabeth, who looked as though she would prefer immolation to conversation.

Bennet pressed his lips together. This promised to be a most gratifying spectacle. He gestured towards the nearest chair. “Sit, Darcy. Let us have a discussion.”

Darcy hesitated only a moment before complying, yet Elizabeth did not sit.

Bennet tutted. “Heavens, Lizzy, must you loom like an avenging spectre?”

She perched at the edge of the chair opposite him, her posture more suited for flight than conversation.

Darcy glanced at her before settling on Bennet. “You mentioned a disagreement, sir?”

“Yes. Elizabeth, for all her wit, finds herself at an impasse. She cannot decipher your character.”

Elizabeth shot upright from her chair. “Papa!”

He ignored her.

Darcy’s brows lifted slightly. “Indeed?”

“Oh yes,” Bennet continued, utterly delighted. “She is in absolute torment over it. Cannot make sense of you at all. It vexes her terribly.”

“That is not—”

“And yet, I suspect you are an intelligent man. Capable of explaining yourself, should you so choose.”

Darcy’s expression remained impassive, but his fingers flexed against the chair’s arm. “I should like to think so.”

Bennet leant forward, lowering his voice conspiratorially. “Excellent. Because I have a question, and you must answer it plainly.”

“Papa, do not—”

“Mr Darcy,” Bennet said, his tone heavy with amusement, “do you admire my Elizabeth? ”

Darcy went utterly still. Elizabeth closed her eyes as if in pain. The room itself seemed to hold its breath. Bennet folded his hands, not bothering to conceal his enjoyment in the spectacle.

Darcy exhaled slowly and measured. “That is a rather direct question.”

Bennet smiled. “I find indirect ones tedious.”

Elizabeth looked ready to perish on the spot.

Bennet relished the silence. All the more to unearth the truth.

He counted to himself. One, two, three .

Darcy glanced at him. Six, seven, eight, nine.

Darcy stared back at Elizabeth. Twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen.

Elizabeth, knuckles white against the chair, bowed her head.

Nineteen, twenty, twenty-one, twenty-two.

Darcy continued to stare at her. Twenty-five, twenty-six, twenty-seven.

Elizabeth loudly exhaled. Twenty-nine, thirty.

Elizabeth looked up. Darcy inhaled with a sharp, short breath.

Bennet almost applauded.

* * *

“Yes.”

Elizabeth drew in a breath.

“How shocking. Lizzy, did you hear that? You are not as unremarkable as you believe.”

Darcy saw the flush creep up her neck.

“I never said—”

“I recall it was ‘insult, ignore, stare, and defend,’ yes? Were those not your grievances?”

Is that indeed how she views me?

Elizabeth’s eyes burned into him. “Why did you defend me, Mr Darcy?”

He had been prepared for many things. Not for that. He met her gaze, steady, unwavering. “Because I wished to.”

Darcy had the strangest urge to close the distance between them. He rose.

Bennet, lounging in his chair like a spectator at a play, looked between them with frank amusement.

“Now, you see, Lizzy,” her father drawled, “ that is precisely what I hoped you would hear.”

Elizabeth spun towards him. “Papa!” Her breathing quickened; her chest rose and fell in shallow, measured movements.

Bennet stood, brushing imaginary dust from his sleeve. “I shall leave you two to sort things out. Take your time. Or do not. It matters little to me.”

Elizabeth glared at her father. Darcy forced himself remain still.

Then Bennet turned to him and rendered a satisfied smile. “Oh, and Darcy? Do not hesitate. In delay, there lies no plenty.” He strode to the door and stepped through. The click of the latch echoed through the library.

He and Elizabeth were alone .

Darcy’s pulse thundered in his ears. I admire her. I confessed it.

The thought hit hard. He had gone to the ring with steadier nerves. His voice, when he found it, was lower than he intended. “Miss Elizabeth.”

“Mr Darcy.”

Her tone dared him. And he felt himself answer, before thought could catch up. “Are you quite well?” What kind of asinine question is that, man?

A breath. Then—her laughter. Soft at first. Then breathless. Then, perilously close to something like hysteria.

“You find this amusing?”

Elizabeth pressed her fingers against her temple. “You”—she shook her head— “you confuse me so.”

“Likewise, madam.”

“At least we agree upon something.”

“You wish for an explanation.”

“I do.”

Darcy stared at her. He could give her the truth. Or he could give her the easy answer. For years, he had stepped back, retreated into silence, into safety. Each time, he had convinced himself it was choice, not fear. No longer.

Darcy inhaled deeply.

“Elizabeth,” he said, and her name felt dangerous in his mouth.

She froze. He had never said her Christian name aloud before. Would she think him too forward? So, he offered the only answer she would accept. The truth.

“I defended you,” he said, “because you deserved to be defended. I had listened to Miss Bingley demean you, mock you, dismiss you”—his fingers flexed— “and I could not abide it.”

Her eyes darkened as they narrowed. “You presume to speak for me?”

He reached for her hand, then thought better of it. “I presume to speak the truth. ”