Page 46 of The Briar Bargain (The Rom Com Collection #3)
D arcy stood at the window of the library, watching the first rays of light stretch across the lawn. The storm had long passed, yet its tumult lingered both in the sodden landscape littered with branches and leaves, and, if he were honest, within his own unsettled mind.
Miss Elizabeth had unsettled him. Her presence had worked upon him in ways both subtle and startling, softening some of his more rigid convictions, sharpening his awareness of faults he had once considered virtues.
She was entirely unlike the women of his acquaintance, and not simply in her countenance or conversation, though both were undeniably captivating.
No, the difference lay deeper. She expected him to be a better man than he had been.
And because he wanted her good opinion, he found himself wanting to improve.
He turned from the window and crossed to the writing desk, where a small pile of correspondence now awaited his attention.
The familiar weight of responsibility should have grounded him, returned his thoughts to more practical matters.
Instead, he found himself scanning the topmost letter, another report from his steward at Pemberley detailing the state of the barley fields nearest Lambton and setting it aside unread.
The barley could wait. Indeed, all of Derbyshire could wait if it meant he might spend another morning in Miss Elizabeth Bennet's company.
Such thoughts were unsafe. He knew this with the same certainty with which he knew his own name, his duties, his place in the world.
But he simply no longer cared.
When Miss Elizabeth looked at him with eyes that seemed to see past his reserve to something worth her regard, all his rational measures crumbled like the Roman ruins.
When she challenged his opinions with that mixture of wit and gentle mockery, he felt more alive than he had in years.
When she walked into a room, everything else faded to insignificance.
A quiet knock at the door interrupted his musing. A footman entered bearing the coffee he had requested and set it upon the side table. Darcy dismissed him with a nod, then paused as the young man reached the door.
"A moment," he said, surprising himself with the sudden decision. The footman turned expectantly. "If Mrs. Nicholls is available, please ask her to come speak with me.”
The footman's expression remained carefully neutral, though Darcy caught a flicker of curiosity in his eyes. “I shall, sir.”
When the housekeeper entered the room, Darcy smiled at her.
“Mrs. Nicholls, I am aware that this is not my place, but might I request that the tea this afternoon be rather more generous than yesterday's offering?
And kindly inquire if Cook might be persuaded to send up something fresh-baked.
I should like the Miss Bennets to have pleasant memories of their final day here. "
Mrs. Nicholls smiled knowingly. "Shall I specify any particular delicacies, sir?"
Darcy considered this. “Whatever Cook has on hand will suffice, I am sure. If she has any of the savoy cakes remaining, I would be grateful if she would include them. ”
Mrs. Nicholls nodded, as if a gentleman visitor taking on the role of hostess, as he had in small ways since Miss Elizabeth had first fallen ill, was a perfectly normal occurrence.
His younger self, the one who had first come into Hertfordshire, would have been appalled.
His present self found he cared not a whit for his younger self's opinions.
He pushed the letter tray away decisively. For now, he had a more pressing concern: how to spend as much time as possible in Miss Elizabeth's company before she left for her home.
The conservatory, he decided, would serve admirably. Miss Elizabeth had not been able to see it properly when he had last found her there.
The glass-walled space was one of Netherfield's more agreeable features, filled with the exotic plants that Miss Bingley had insisted upon but never visited.
The paths were dry, the temperature pleasant, and most importantly, it offered the possibility of private conversation without the impropriety of being entirely alone.
If he could contrive to encounter the Miss Bennets and suggest the diversion, it might appear a spontaneous kindness rather than a calculated scheme.
And perhaps he might have a chance to discover what Miss Elizabeth thought of him.
The fact that he was reduced to such machinations should have mortified him, but as he considered his strategy, it seemed entirely reasonable behaviour for a man in his situation.
Fortune smiled upon him. A short time later, as he made his way towards the main staircase, he encountered the Miss Bennets descending from the upper floor. The sight of Miss Elizabeth lifted his spirits immeasurably.
"Good day, ladies," he said, executing a proper bow. "I trust you both slept well?"
"Very well, thank you," Miss Bennet replied with her customary sweetness. "Though I confess I am eager for some exercise. The confinement, though comfortable, begins to wear upon one. "
Miss Elizabeth's laugh was like music. "Jane is too polite to say so, but we are both growing rather restless.
We had thought to go into the garden, but I fear the wind is too strong and biting even for me.
I fear we shall soon be reduced to racing each other up and down the gallery for want of proper occupation. "
The image this conjured—Miss Elizabeth running through Netherfield's halls with her skirts in one hand and her cheeks flushed with exertion—was so appealing that Darcy nearly forgot to respond. He cleared his throat, hoping his expression remained appropriately composed.
"Then perhaps I might suggest a remedy," he said, pleased that his voice remained steady. "The conservatory is warm, and I had wondered whether the two of you might find it agreeable to walk there.”
The ladies exchanged a glance, and he cleared his throat gently. “Miss Bingley rarely ventures beyond the music and drawing rooms, so you are unlikely to be interrupted."
He held his breath, waiting for their response. Miss Elizabeth tilted her head slightly, considering, and he found himself studying the graceful line of her neck and the way the morning light caught the auburn lights in her dark hair.
“Oh, I fear I must finish my letter to Mamma,” Miss Bennet said quietly. “John is riding back before midday, and you know she will worry if he does not bring her some word from us.”
“I thought you wished for a walk,” Miss Elizabeth said, sounding genuinely puzzled.
“The truth is, Lizzy, that you needed one, and I thought you might require supervision,” her elder sister teased. “Now that Mr. Darcy has offered to take on that role, I find myself wishing to complete that letter. ”
Miss Elizabeth made a face at her sister but then smiled. “I have already written mine to Papa. It is on the writing desk in my chamber. Would you include it with yours?”
“Of course. Enjoy your walk, Lizzy, Mr. Darcy.”
Darcy, though he bowed with grave civility, could scarcely help marvelling that Miss Bennet understood his wishes more plainly than her sister, and, with angelic generosity, had set herself to removing every obstacle from his path.
"This is very kind, Mr. Darcy," Miss Elizabeth said when her sister was gone.
"I am pleased to offer the distraction," he replied. "Perhaps this time you will allow the gardeners to deal with the pots?”
Miss Elizabeth gave him a sly look. “I am certain I can find something that needs to be done.”
The casual way she accepted his company, as though spending time alone with him were the most natural thing in the world, thrilled him so thoroughly that he hoped it was not visible on his face.
"Shall we?" he asked, extending his arm.
She placed her hand lightly upon his sleeve, and he was grateful for the layers of fabric that prevented him from feeling her touch upon his skin. Together they walked through the passage to the conservatory, and he found himself acutely conscious of her presence beside him.
"I hope you will not find the plants too exotic for your taste," he said teasingly. "Miss Bingley has horticultural ambitions."
"I shall endeavour to contain my provincial shock," Elizabeth replied solemnly, though her eyes danced with mischief. "Though I cannot promise I shall refrain from swooning, should it all become too much. "
"I shall be prepared to catch you should the need arise," he said, then immediately regretted the boldness of the remark. What had possessed him to say such a thing?
But Miss Elizabeth only laughed. "How gallant of you, Mr. Darcy. I shall do my best to swoon only where it will cause no inconvenience."
They had reached the conservatory doors, and Darcy paused to collect himself as they stepped inside. Exotic blooms in shades of orange and crimson cascaded from elevated planters, while orange and lemon trees stretched their branches wide. It was, he had to admit, rather impressive.
“It truly is beautiful,” Miss Elizabeth said beside him.
Her genuine pleasure transformed the space for him.
What had seemed merely Miss Bingley’s extravagant whim now appeared as something wonderful, a small paradise hidden within the ordinary walls of an English country house.
Miss Elizabeth moved from plant to plant with the enthusiasm of a child exploring a new world, asking questions about their origins and care with such sincere interest that he found himself wishing he knew more than he did.
"This one is from the West Indies, I believe," he said, indicating a plant with broad, glossy leaves. "Though I confess my knowledge is not very thorough."
Their eyes met across the space between them, and for a moment the air seemed charged with something beyond mere conversation. Then Miss Elizabeth looked away, focusing her attention on a cascade of small purple flowers.
"These are lovely," she said. "Do you know what they are called?"