Page 10 of Penned By Mr Darcy
Caroline smiled tightly.
“Splendid.”
“In fact, I think I shall retire for the night to ensure my sister’s comfort. Please, bid the gentlemen a goodnight on my behalf..”
Caroline and her sister rose, dropping into the barest hint of a curtsey as Elizabeth echoed their gesture. She left the parlour and headed towards the main staircase – only to find that she was not the only person with such an intention.
Mr Darcy emerged from the smoking room, stopping short as he caught sight of her. He really was the most peculiar man. For one so rich and influential, he had the appearance of a rabbit caught in a trap far too often.
“I am retiring for the night,” she said.
“As am I.”
“Goodnight, Mr Darcy.”
“Might I walk you to your sister’s room?”
Elizabeth hesitated. The request, though unexpected, was hardly improper—after all, they were headed the same way. To refuse him would be needlessly discourteous and would only result in an awkward silence with him trailing at her heels. She had no desire to feel his presence looming behind her the entire walk. It would be better to at least walk side by side as they ignored one another.
“Yes.”
Chapter Four
Darcy
He had drunk too much.
His head was spinning as he made his excuses and departed the small room where the men had retreated for brandy. He had had two glasses before the room had started to spin. His mouth felt as though it were coated with wool, his head much the same way. He had eaten little, and drunk the wine provided with dinner far too freely. He could not help it. Being so close to her had made him foolish, the wine some misguided attempt to make him forget his own awkwardness.
Now, as they walked to her room in silence, he wondered what an earth had possessed him to offer to escort her. An unmarried man and woman roaming the upstairs corridors could easily be misconstrued.
Some devilish part of him whispered,so what?
It was a side of himself that he had suppressed so deeply that he hardly recognised it.Desire. He wanted her in the ways a man wanted a woman, as though he had a right to want her at all. He kept his eyes fixed ahead of him, trying to ignore the intoxicating scent that clung to her that filled the air around them. Shecontinued to speak, but he scarcely heard her, so focused on his task of trying to ignore her presence entirely.
When they finally reached the door of her room, he came to a halt. Elizabeth looked up at him expectantly. It was then that he realised that ignoring someone when they were speaking to you had consequences – and one of those consequences was having no idea at all what was just said.
“I’m sorry?”
“I said thank you for your company,” she said, her eyes narrowing as she looked up at him. “Are you quite well, sir? I would not like you to catch what ails Jane. I fear Miss Bingley would never forgive me.”
“Quite well, yes. Goodnight, Miss Bennet.”
He did not wait for her reply, walking away from her and towards his own quarters. His fingers itched with the need to write, to get these damned thoughts out of his head. The library would be quiet, he hoped, and if the house believed he had gone to bed then he would not be disturbed there. He called by his bedchamber first, snatching his diary up from its hiding place.
He went to the library; the fire had already begun to die, but he cared little. He lit the lamp on the desk, placing his diary down. The ink and quill still lay where he had set them down earlier, the dark splotches that scattered across the wood dry now. They would mark the desk forever, seeping down into the wood, another mark of his shame.
He traced one with the pad of his finger, staring down until his vision blurred.
He wanted her. He wanted herterribly.
It had not even been a day of her stay at Netherfield, and already she had reduced him to a trembling wreck.
He began to write, barely even thinking as the words poured out of him. He wrote of his darkest desires, his sinful lust, everything he dare not speak aloud. It was all he could do to contain himself as he let the truth spill upon the page.
I have thought of her often these past weeks, those eyes, bright and inquisitive, burned into my memory. I do not know what spell she has cast over me– I have never known such sensations and desires. It is folly, I think, to feel such an intensity of emotion for a woman I scarcely know. I doubt we have passed fifty words between us, yet she occupies a place in my mind as though it were her right.
Marriage would be impossible, of course; though a gentleman’s daughter, her connections are reprehensible. The little I have seen of her immediate family is appalling. I see no sense in forming an attachment to her whilst maintaining her honour, and thus I must conclude that these feelings I have for her are impossible.
