Page 21 of Saved By Mr. Darcy
He was a selfish man, to deny Elizabeth the chance at comfort from her own kin (no matter how unbearable the man was) and her closest friend. She had already been denied her sister; was he any better than her mother?
He was interrupted by a knock on the door. He called to say that they may come in, and Mrs Reynolds entered. She carried a tray of tea, setting it down on his desk. Alongside the teapot, cup and saucer was a doorstop-thick slice of bread laden with yellow butter, and a rich-looking fruitcake. He recognised the plate; Mrs Reynolds had brought him the same offering after the deaths of his mother and father, and after he returned from Ramsgate with Georgiana. He was in the habit of forgetting to eat in moments of discomfort, he knew. It was no use; there was nothing that could rouse his stomach from melancholy but time.
“You must eat, sir. I have seen far too many full plates sent back to the kitchen.”
“I am not hungry. How does Miss Bennet fare?”
Mrs Reynolds gave a hum of disapproval.
“Miss Bennet is well. She would like to be moved, if possible. She will speak with the doctor tomorrow to ask what can be done.”
“Moved where? She cannot leave Pemberley.”
“She wishes to be able to move from room to room, that is all.”
“See that she has the help she needs.”
The help, as it transpired the next afternoon, was for Miss lizabeth to sit upon a chaise which was then lifted by two footmen. Darcy watched the first manoeuvre with his heart in his throat, his muscles tight as he stopped himself from stepping forward and holding her in place. They carried her to the library, Darcy trailing behind. Miss Elizabeth spent the journey with her hands clasped to the arms of the chaise, her eyes squeezed shut.
“Thank you for your assistance.”
The footmen nodded, bowing their heads and stepping out of the room. Darcy stood by the door, reluctant to step over the library’s threshold. Mrs Annelsey was engaged in Georgiana’s schooling, and he was all too aware that they had no chaperone. He had made a promise to the Gardiners, and he had no wish to disregard their instructions.
From his place in the doorway, he watched as Miss Elizabeth turned her head this way and that, taking in the room as best she could. The smile on her face grew, the sadness that seemedever present in her eyes vanishing for just a moment. There was nothing as pleasing as her joy.
“What a fine library you have. Really, it is quite wonderful. If I had a collection of books even half this size, Mr Darcy, I would never leave this room.”
The morning light danced over her. She was dressed in proper clothes today - a soft blue dress that had been sent from the village. For the first time in weeks, her face had a healthy hue to it. She looked more like the Elizabeth he knew, the bruises fading. He had expected to see her in low spirits with the departure of her family, but she seemed to be perfectly well.
“My grandfather collected books.”
“Did he design the room?” Miss Elizabeth enquired.
He stepped inside, eager to explain the intricacies of his grandfather’s contributions to this room.
“He improved upon it. The oak shelves were his addition, the wood taken from the estate itself, as well as the panelled ceiling. That window, just there, that was his doing.”
He gestured to the large bay window that stood at the rear of the library. Light poured in, and the view beyond seemed to stretch for miles.
“I can see why. Is there any view at Pemberley that is not glorious?”
“I do not believe so. I am glad it pleases you.”
“It does! Tell me, Mr Darcy, where should I start? Have you any recommendations?”
There was a lightness to her voice that he recognized. She wasteasinghim. His heart fluttered against his will as his mind tried to think of what he should say or do. He still held the hatred of being teased, for he did not understand it. Elizabeth teased him as though it were her musical instrument and she must practise as often as she could.
“It would depend on what you would like to read.”
“I believe I have exhausted all of Miss Darcy’s novels. Do you have any books about Pemberley?”
There were dozens of books discussing every aspect of Pemberley’s history on these shelves. Many were written by his predecessors, others by admirers of the estate’s extensive grounds and unique architecture. He had read each of them several times, versing himself in the past so that he might ensure the prosperous future of the place he loved so much.
“Yes.”
“Then I shall start with those. If I am to be a guest for far longer than is reasonable, then I ought to educate myself.”
He moved to the shelves, knowing precisely where he kept the collection of books that had been written about Pemberley and its history. The latest had been published just a year ago, and was the first to detail his own achievements. The author had praised his countryside management, as well as the preservation of the local woodlands. He himself had felt a great sense of pride upon reading the words. He wondered what Miss Elizabeth would make of it.
