Page 2 of Shadows beneath Rosings (A Darcy and Elizabeth Quick Read Interlude #5)
D arcy flung himself in the leather wingback chair in his guest chamber after pouring a glass of water from the carafe in his room.
He stared at the drink in his hand. Even the water here didn’t quench his thirst in the same way that Pemberley’s did.
There, where he most loved to be, water was drawn fresh from the spring that bubbled to the surface not one hundred paces from the house.
That spring rose directly from the peaks, the harsh, jagged rocks seeming to imbue the water with their own strength.
Here, the water was chalky, drawn from the streams that rose in the North Downs. Healthy enough, he knew, but it gave the water a cloudiness and grittiness he could not like; although he acknowledged it was much better than London water.
He shuddered at that thought. Darcy House paid for water to be brought in from the upper reaches of the Thames where the river was cleaner.
But even so, all drinking water as well as that for cooking, was boiled for safety and it had a soapy, unsatisfying taste.
At least he could afford silver carafes, and the metal kept the water safer than it would otherwise be.
It was no wonder that so many drank ales and spirits when water was so often tasteless and unsafe in towns and cities. But that way could lead to drunkenness and all the sins that followed from it. He would not risk more than was wise.
He smiled at the glass. Which was why he was here, contemplating the differences in a glass of water. He shook his head, wondering if Miss Elizabeth Bennet would like the hard, unforgiving landscape of Derbyshire and the strength of the water that rose from it.
He closed his eyes. He must stop thinking about her; must stop imagining — all sorts of things.
Even now, he was hiding away, thinking of her, when he ought to be visiting the tenants to the west of the house, checking nothing was amiss, before finalising the account books with the steward.
Then he and Richard would be free of this obligation for another year.
He frowned a little; his cousin Anne was difficult to understand, especially as he dared not engage her in more than the briefest of communications, but today, her expression had been easy to read. Her resentful expression, especially when she looked at Miss Bennet, had been impossible to miss.
Was she jealous of the freedoms that the other girl had; perhaps envious of the healthy glow of her skin and her laughing eyes and happy countenance?
His frown deepened. Perhaps someone should attempt to find out if Anne was content to be coddled and restricted by her mother, or if she wished the family to intervene in gaining her more freedom.
He shuddered. It would not be him. His aunt would undoubtedly draw the net closer around him and he might find himself obliged somehow. And he would not marry Anne. Ever.
His inner mind drew in the image of himself standing at an altar, watching his Elizabeth, in an enchanting wedding gown, walk down the aisle towards him.
With an exclamation, he jumped to his feet, drops of water from the glass splashing down his waistcoat.
“Well, that was sudden.” Richard was in the chair opposite, looking startled.
Darcy scowled at him, brushing at his clothes. “How long have you been sitting there?”
“Long enough to begin to wonder what was taking your thoughts in such a sombre direction.” Richard’s eyebrow was raised.
Darcy shrugged and turned to the window. “If you must know, I was thinking I should return to Pemberley and get a proper glass of water that quenches thirst properly.” He scowled at the carafe, the cloudy chalk in the water visible through the glass.
“And that was — unexpected.” His cousin looked suspiciously at him. “I had thought you were pondering in quite another direction.”
Darcy shrugged. “That, as well. I was wondering if your parents ought to attempt to see if Anne is really satisfied staying here with the limited life she has.”
“Well, I suppose they ought.” Richard dismissed the subject. “No, I was thinking of the delightful young lady who is staying at the parsonage.”
“Miss Bennet?” Darcy frowned. “What about her?” Dear God, let Richard not have divined my feelings for her!
“Undoubtedly what you were thinking.” The other’s grin was knowing. “I was wondering what was so droll that she nearly laughed to our dear aunt’s face.”
Darcy smiled wryly. Thank goodness that was something he could admit to. “Yes. I nearly exposed my amusement, too.”
“What do you think was causing her such entertainment?”
Darcy shrugged. “I know not the fancies of the female mind, but I wondered if it was that she was doing as we did, sipping from an empty cup and wishing they were very much larger.”
“True. At least four times the size, and then they would be barely adequate.” Richard chuckled. “One day I shall bring my army issue tin mug downstairs. That at least has a handle a man can grasp properly!”
“Yes.” Darcy was not really listening. “What do you think annoyed our cousin so today? I have rarely seen her looking so sullen and angry.”
Fitzwilliam shrugged. “She does not like how much you watch Miss Bennet. I can’t say I blame her, if she thinks you really are betrothed to her .”
Darcy spun round to glare at him. “I am not and have never been, betrothed to Anne! If I had been, we would have been married by now. Surely she has heard me deny the betrothal to her mother? I have said so at almost every meal for the last five years we have been calling here at Easter — and I know my father used to say the same on his Easter visits before that!”
Richard shrugged. “Well, her anger seemed to be aimed at Miss Bennet’s back today, which is why I thought she might be jealous of your lack of attention to her.”
Darcy swung round to the window. “I never pay any regard to her, anyway. But perhaps it would be as well if the Hunsford party were not invited so often to Rosings.” He could always see Miss Elizabeth early each morning when she walked out through the grove.
She looked especially lovely in the morning sunlight.
“Hmmph!” Richard’s grumpy exclamation drew Darcy’s notice back to the room.
How long had he been dreaming of tomorrow’s walk?
He felt the heat of his flush at the back of his neck, and he turned and resumed his seat.
He must take the conversation to a safer subject.
“How many more tenants have we to see before we can return to London?” He ignored the twist of his heart at the thought of leaving Miss Bennet.
But he could not remain here long. The temptation to declare himself was increasing; soon he might be foolish enough to speak out.
It was an enticing dream; but something that could never be.