Page 7 of Penned by Mr Darcy (…By Mr Darcy #3)

His gaze flickered to the book clutched against her chest. He knew.

Somehow, impossibly, he knew. Could his eyes, so intent with their staring, see beneath the book’s cover?

Did he know that she was at this very minute suspecting him of depravity?

When his eyes eventually lifted from the book, he could not quite meet her own.

His gaze darted away from her, as though something about her had repulsed him.

“Excuse me, Madam. We must both take more care.”

He left with a nod of his head, and she scurried away and into Jane’s empty bedroom, her heart thudding. She would return to Jane when she was certain Mr Darcy was gone.

After a moment or two had passed, and her composure had returned, Elizabeth returned to her own room. Jane lay in her bed, her eyes opening when she heard the door.

“You were not gone very long.”

“I…I could not find anyone. I will try again shortly, but I did not want to leave you alone.”

“I thought I heard you talking to someone in the corridor,” Jane pressed. “It sounded like Mr Darcy.”

“Oh…Oh, yes. Yes, it was.”

“Are you sure you are well, Lizzy? You seem very out of sorts.”

“Quite alright, thank you. I’ll go and see to the water.”

Later, when she had found a maid who had seen to her request, Elizabeth went downstairs for the day.

She had missed breakfast, for Jane had been right about the lateness of her waking.

When she entered the parlour, she found Mr Bingley in his riding things, sitting beside his sisters.

Caroline lifted her head from the book she was reading, one dark eyebrow raised.

“There you are, Miss Eliza! We were worried you were coming down with something yourself. Are you quite well?”

“Yes, thank you. I did not sleep well; Jane’s breathing was uneven, and I could not sleep peacefully for worry.”

“Is she worse?” Mr Bingley asked at once.

“A little.”

“I will send for the doctor at once.”

Caroline let out a little huff of disdain.

“Really, Charles. It is merely a cold!”

“I feel a doctor would be prudent, Mr Bingley. I would not delay in getting her the appropriate care, as she has indeed worsened in her condition. I am sorry once again for all the trouble.”

Caroline opened her mouth to respond, but Mr Bingley spoke first, stepping closer and obscuring his sister from Lizzy’s view.

“It is no trouble, no trouble at all!” he said effusively. “I will go myself at once. Darcy wanted to go out riding, and we may combine the two.”

“Thank you.”

“No thanks are required, I assure you. And you, Miss Elizabeth, have you everything you require?”

“Yes, thank you. We are both very comfortable; you are a generous host, Mr Bingley, and we shall be forever in your debt.”

“Not at all. Miss Bennet’s health is most important to me. In fact, Miss Elizabeth, I…”

Mr Darcy entered the room, also dressed for riding.

He had changed since she’d glimpsed him in the corridor, and her gaze lingered, however briefly, on the trim lines of his lean frame—undeniably masculine, strong and admirable.

He was, as always, impeccably attired, as befitted a man of his station, yet there was nothing ostentatious in his appearance.

His style, though refined, remained restrained; marked by taste rather than vanity.

Elizabeth shook her head; her sister lay upstairs and she was remarking on Mr Darcy’s tailoring!

“Darcy, we must depart at once for Meryton. We can ride after, but I must see that the doctor comes at once.”

“Of course. Is there anything your sister requires, Miss Elizabeth?”

“No, she has water, and is inhaling the vapours your valet provided. They are very soothing to her, Mr Darcy.”

“Is your valet a doctor now, Darcy?” Caroline asked. “I did not know he was involved in Miss Bennet’s care.”

“It is a family remedy that I knew would benefit Miss Bennet’s lungs, that is all. These ailments are common at Pemberley, with the harsh winters.”

“How very cold it must be!”

“Indeed. Shall we leave, Bingley?”

The two men departed, and Elizabeth made as if to follow—but paused, her curiosity anchoring her in place. A few gentle enquiries about the literary habits of the household’s gentlemen would likely go unnoticed by Miss Bingley, or at worst be dismissed as merely odd.

“I wonder, Miss Bingley,” she said casually, “have you ever kept a diary?”

“A diary?” Caroline echoed, wrinkling her nose in faint distaste. “When I was a girl, yes. I found the practice dreadfully tedious. Reliving one’s day on paper always seemed more exhausting than the day itself. Why do you ask?”

“I was only thinking,” Elizabeth replied lightly, “that if I were in the habit of keeping one, these past days would certainly provide much to write about.”

“I daresay,” Miss Bingley agreed. “It must all be quite the change of scenery for you. Mr Darcy, on the other hand, does keep a diary– though I doubt he’s had much of significance to record recently. We’ve hardly left the house.”

“Mr Darcy keeps a diary?”

“Oh, quite religiously,” Caroline said, with a self-satisfied nod. “He began the habit as a boy, I believe, and has never set it aside. A man of his standing must have no shortage of significant matters to document. I imagine his journals must be... fascinating.”

“I wonder at that. Mr Darcy is a man who says so very little…”

“Mr Darcy is a man of a most private and guarded nature,” Miss Bingley placed a hand dramatically to her chest. He does not share his thoughts lightly, and every man must be allowed his secrets.”

“And what of your brother? Does he follow in Mr Darcy’s footsteps?”

“Charles?! Oh, no! He loathes writing; when he was at school, they had a job keeping him still enough to even put pen to paper. He barely attends to his correspondence in a timely manner. Really, the idea of him being so fastidious in his record keeping is quite amusing. His handwriting is barely legible.”

“Mr Darcy is the only man I know who has ever kept a diary,” Mrs Hurst interjected. “A man who is so skilled at so many pursuits is quite a rarity, let alone one who cares to make note of it all at the end of the day.”

“Yes,” Elizabeth said, her chest tight. “Very unusual.”