Page 2

CHAPTER 2

T he door squeaked as I pushed it open. Bingley had not yet replaced the antique latch, though it needed to be done—as Bingley had discovered after closing the library door behind him and becoming trapped inside until I found him an hour later. With multiple other distractions taking precedence over a room that neither Bingley nor his sisters used very often, he had simply informed me to make free use of the library... only warning me that I should not, for any reason, close the door.

Moonbeams shone through the gap in the curtains nearest the door, providing me with just enough light by which to see. It was cool and blissfully quiet inside—the perfect environment for a respite. Had I not had an important duty to perform, I would certainly have lingered. Knowing, however, that I would be ill-at-ease until my obligation was properly dispatched, I walked to the nearest arrangement of furniture, hoping to find Mr. Bennet asleep in a cushioned chair. He was not there.

Traveling farther down the length of the room, I inspected each chair and reading nook for a slumbering figure until I reached the unlit fireplace at the end of the empty room.

Where the devil was Mr. Bennet? He would not have departed without his family, would he? Certainly not. Perhaps I had passed over him. I would have to return to the festivities and search anew.

Once I found him, I would have to reveal what I had prevented in a manner he could not ignore. While I rarely lacked confidence in my abilities, I was not certain he would heed my warning. After all, I had been unable to convince my own father of Wickham’s duplicity.

How tiresome it was to be tied to someone who constantly called my family’s honor into question! I thanked the heavens that Wickham was only my father’s godson! Had we been blood relations, his depravity would have cast a shadow over the Darcy name. Much like Miss Lydia’s shameful behavior would do to Miss Bennet and Miss Elizabeth if left unchecked. To allow Wickham’s selfishness to threaten the reputations of an entire family when two of the daughters were above reproach would be a terrible disservice. I could not guard my silence, though I resented any involvement with a ne’er-do-well who had lost my good opinion years ago.

Frustrated to find myself embroiled in yet another of Wickham’s ruinous schemes when I thought I had washed my hands of him months ago, I steeled myself to return to the throngs below for another attempt to find the elusive parent. I had reached the middle of the library when a flurry of movement in the moonlight caught my attention. I had time only to raise my arm before the door banged shut and the intruder leaned against the solid barrier to heave a loud, decidedly feminine sigh.

“No!” Panic added urgency to my voice and quickness to my step.

She screamed and jumped out of my path.

It was too late. The door was closed. I reached for the latch, pushing and pulling and tugging to no avail.

“Mr. Darcy?!” I heard at my elbow. It was the voice of a lady I had been thinking of only moments ago.

I closed my eyes and gulped. Of all the ladies at Bingley’s ball, she was the one I would least suspect of entrapment. I exhaled deeply and turned to see her standing in front of the window, bathed in the ethereal glow of the moon. Ever the gentleman even in these circumstances, I bowed. “Miss Elizabeth.”

Having nothing else to say and feeling disagreeably unsettled, I returned my attention to the latch in another attempt to knock the lock loose. It was no use, and yet I continued trying. Perhaps a servant had heard her scream and would free us before we were missed. Before assumptions would be made.

“What are you doing here?” she asked.

If Miss Elizabeth knew I sought her father, she would demand to know why, and I saw no benefit in distressing her… especially if we were to be trapped together for an indiscernible length of time. “I was looking for someone.” I pounded the lock with my fist and tugged at the door. Nothing.

“In the library?” Her brow arched and her hands propped on her hips in a stance of disbelief that ruffled my feathers. As though her presence in the library was more justified than mine.

“It is a room the person favors,” I replied.

“Who would hide in another gentleman’s library during a ball?”

Her father, for one. However, as Mr. Bennet was not in the library, I kept that opinion to myself. “I might well ask what you are doing here. As Bingley’s guest, this is my residence. You ought to be in the open rooms.”

She gestured at the offending barrier. “The door was wide open.” She continued, her tone clipped and resolute, “Mr. Bingley offered to allow me to borrow a book I had begun to read to Jane during her convalescence. I am here at his invitation and have as much right to be in the library at this hour as you do.”

I crossed my arms over my chest, fully focused on her in open disbelief. “You came to fetch a book? During a ball? In the dark?”

She bit her lips and avoided looking at me. There was something she did not wish to tell me. “I know where it is on the shelf.” She looked at me then, and I knew she spoke the truth, although there must have been more to it than that. As I had no interest in revealing my reason for being in the library either, I pressed no further. Besides, we had a bigger problem.

I pointed at the door. “The lock is damaged. I fear we are stuck together until someone opens the door from the other side.”

“Surely not,” she huffed, once again returning to the door to prove me wrong. She pulled the latch, shaking and tugging it with a vigor that grew with each attempt to open it. Her breath came in pants and several pieces of hair fell from their pins.

She spun around and strode up to me, eyes bright, chest heaving. “You mean that all those times I read by the window while you sat near the fire, not once did you think to warn me that the latch was broken?”

It seemed she was intent on finding me at fault, but there had been no danger then—with the advantage of an open door and the constant presence of servants seeing to their duties—and I would not assume all the blame now. “I am not the one who shut the door.”

Miss Elizabeth raised her eyes heavenward, her lips pinched together and her hands tightened into fists. Had she been a gentleman, I had no doubt that she would have uttered a few choice words.

After a few moments, she regained her restraint and shook her head. A humorless laugh escaped from her lips. “To think I came here to escape from one disagreeable man only to lock myself in a room with another.”

Now that was an explanation I could believe. She was avoiding someone. True, she called me disagreeable, but people said many things when they were vexed. I overlooked her exaggeration. “Whom were you seeking to escape?” I asked, taking over the tug of war with the lock.

“Mr. Collins,” she said with disdain, only to utter my name in her next breath. “Mr. Darcy, I have no desire to be found here with you, just as I am certain I am the last lady in the Kingdom with whom you would wish to be found alone in a dark room.”

That was what she said, but could I trust her when she had been the one to close the door? She had trapped me . She had not done it on purpose, had she? It had all been done so convincingly, so effortlessly. I was inclined to believe it was an accident, but was it?

More importantly, how could she compare me unfavorably to Mr. Collins?

She motioned me out of the way, taking another turn at the door, rattling the latch and pounding her fist against the oak barrier until I feared she would hurt herself.

Looking about, I grabbed the candelabra sitting atop a nearby table and held it out to her. “Use this.”

She narrowed her eyes at me, and I nearly scoffed at her stubbornness. Was she so determined to think me disagreeable that she would refuse my attempt to prevent her injury? However faulty her reasoning was, I could not allow her to come to harm when I could prevent it. I shoved the candelabra closer to her. “This will make a louder sound than your fist.”

To my relief, she accepted the hefty object. “We shall take turns until we are rescued.” She hefted the item over her shoulder and swung the candelabra against the door with a resounding thwack.

Not the reaction of a young lady pleased with her conquest.

“Maybe my father will seek out the library,” she said, raising the candelabra for another bash at the door.

I groaned. If only that gentleman was easier to find, we would not be in this situation. “He will not insist on a marriage to protect your reputation?”

“He will trust me when I tell him my reputation is as pristine as it was before I set foot in here.”

Even if she considered me a touch disagreeable, at least she believed me honorable. “Then let us hope it is he who finds us and not another member of your household.” I shivered at the thought.

She stiffened, holding the candelabra over her shoulder. “What do you mean to say, sir? Speak plainly.”

I chose my words with care. I did not fear a violent retaliation, but Miss Elizabeth had just proven herself adept at wielding a blunt instrument. Holding my hands in front of me where she could see them, I clarified, “Only that I would rather be found by your father than your mother.”

“And why is that, sir ?” That last word she infused with so much disdain, I had to remind myself who I was—a gentleman born from an impeccable family. A Darcy.

Perhaps she needed to be reminded, too. “You cannot deny that your mother would love to have a reason to trap a gentleman like me for one of her daughters.”

“Because you are such a catch, sir?”

The ice between us thinned, but her purposeful misunderstanding of me set me on edge. “Can you deny it? Why else would she send your sister to Netherfield by horseback when it rained? It is because of mothers like yours that gentlemen like Bingley need friends like me.”

She scoffed. “To save poor, unsuspecting gentlemen from the dastardly matrons out to ensnare a husband for their unmarried daughters?”

“Yes.”

She lowered the candelabra from her shoulder, holding it between her hands. “My mother takes an interest in her daughters’ futures, as any loving mother should.”

Mrs. Bennet, loving? More like overreaching and manipulative! I was not so insensitive to give voice to my opinion, but neither did I believe that Miss Elizabeth believed her mother capable of such altruism. “By forcing a daughter to accept a gentleman’s hospitality when she falls ill? How can that lead to happiness?”

“It can when the daughter and gentleman are already inclined to prefer each other over anyone else!” Her eyes narrowed. “Or do you impute evil motives to Jane as well?”

“I do not believe she loves Bingley.”

“You know nothing of Jane’s heart!”

“And you do? Can you tell me honestly that she would encourage his affection without the coercion of your mother?”

“I am certain of it! If you cared to notice the view past your own nose, you would see how she blushes whenever he speaks, how she endures the condescension of his sisters so she might spend more time with him. You are so disinclined to like people that you would poison him against Jane when she is the kindest, most gracious woman he could ever be so fortunate to meet.”

Although I was not convinced, she spoke with such passion that I determined I would henceforth observe her sister more closely.

Unfortunately, Miss Elizabeth was not done expounding my transgressions. “Just like you have poisoned society against Mr. Wickham.”

That was a blow I had not expected. I took a step back and struggled to restrain the bitterness threatening to seize me. “You have already accused me of ignorance. Pray, inform me of Wickham’s complaints. I have heard so many; I wish to address those relevant to this conversation.”

The momentary confusion on her face was a small satisfaction. Still, she rose in his defense. “You denied him the living your father promised to him.”

“The living he gave up in exchange for a large sum of money?” Her gasp was reply enough. I continued, “Yes, he often leaves that part out of his tale of woe. There is a great deal about Wickham you do not know. If he were here?—“

“He did not come because of you.”

Her eagerness to see him, to defend a man undeserving of her good opinion, severed the last thread of my patience. “Oh, he came! I can summon at least two other witnesses to confirm that he was, indeed, here. He would have done everyone a favor not to trespass at all.”

“I suppose you chased him away?”

“Well done, Miss Elizabeth. That is precisely what I did.”

“You take pride in it?! You, sir, are nothing but a bully.”

That was precisely what Wickham would lead her to believe about me. I was hot and agitated and had no business speaking until I had regained my composure, but I wanted her to know how wrong she was. “Do you want to know why I am here in the library? I was searching for your father. I wished to warn him of Wickham.”

“He has been nothing but kind and attentive to our family.”

“Indeed, he certainly is attentive! Only minutes ago, I peeled him off Miss Lydia’s person and hauled him off the balcony to the garden where he slinked away.”

“It cannot be!” She twisted her hands around the candelabra.

“His foot caught in your sister’s skirts, and he twisted his ankle. He will limp for a day or two?and more if it gets him out of his duties.”

“I must get to my father.” She spun away from me, the candelabra thudding to the floor, and tugged again on the latch. No remark on Wickham’s character, no expression suggesting the possibility she had been wrong about him... nothing.

I was disappointed, but that did not dismiss me from my responsibility. “I will speak to him. It is my duty.”

“And allow you to glory in our shame?” she hissed. “No, Mr. Darcy, I will talk to my father about your claim.”

I was stunned. I had told her the facts, including the proof, and still she would side with that rake? “You do not believe me?”

“Why should I?”

“You believed Wickham, and he cannot have offered any proof besides his own word.”

“From the moment I met Mr. Wickham, he has behaved like a gentleman . I cannot say the same for you, sir.” She turned her back on me, grabbed the candelabra, and resumed pounding on the door.

Her words were a slap to my face. Me? Not a gentleman? I braced my hands against my knees, my head reeling when the library door flung open.