Page 21 of Penned By Mr Darcy
“I am not sure what you will find.”
“I imagine all cooks are the same when it comes to their hiding places,” she said with a smile. “I have become an expert at locating food in the dead of night; with five girls, I am afraid we are rather like little mice scavenging for food at all hours.”
“I imagine such undisciplined habits would spoil your appetite.”
She said nothing in reply; trust him to take all the fun and joviality from life. Miss Georgiana Darcy, she supposed, never ate between meals or strayed beyond where she ought to. Lizzy was now well aware of Mr Darcy’s exacting standards and expectations of what a woman ought to be – and if he imposed them upon his young sister, then she felt very sorry for the girl indeed.
She scrabbled around in the pantry, Mr Darcy and his candle standing behind her, finding a block of cheese and some breadthat had already been sliced. She took both plates and set them down onto the counter.
“Might I tempt you, Mr Darcy?”
His face, illuminated by the glow of the candle he held, darkened at once. Her breath caught, and they were locked in one another’s gaze.
“I…” he swallowed thickly. “Yes.”
She cut enough cheese for the pair of them, setting it on its own plate. She returned the rest of the food to its rightful spot, before returning to the hastily made feast before them. A creak from somewhere beyond the kitchen startled both of them.
“Shall we eat in the library?” she whispered. “If Mr Bingley’s cook is as terrifying as ours, I should not like to be caught.”
He nodded again, taking the plate in one hand, his candle still in the other. She walked in step beside him, unsure of the way. They walked in silence, and she was not sure what had taken possession of her that she wished to be alone in his company.
When they reached the library, she noted that the fire was still roaring happily in the grate.
“Were you intending to remain here for a while yet, Mr Darcy?”
“I often have trouble sleeping. There are times when I do not rest until three or four in the morning, and I did not want to be cold.”
“I see.”
They settled in front of the fire, Elizabeth taking a seat on the floor. She stared into the flames, nibbling at her cheese.
“Why did you ask about my diary?” Mr Darcy asked suddenly. “What interest is it to you?”
She could not say that she had found the discarded page confessing his ardent lust for an unnamed, unknown woman.She could not tell him that the words had inflamed some sort of forbidden feeling within her, some burning between her thighs that both repulsed and intrigued her. She could not tell him that she found herself thinking of him in the quiet moments where her sister slept, that her curiosity felt as though it would drive her mad…
“I have seen you more than once writing something, and I was just curious.”
“I see.”
“How long have you kept such a journal?”
“For as long as I could remember. I do not wish to speak of it; it is private.”
“By its very nature, of course. You do not say much, Mr Darcy. I was merely surprised that you are capable of confession at all.”
“I am a man with thoughts, Miss Elizabeth – unlike others, I do not allow them to exit my mouth without proper consideration.”
She bristled, his barb intentioned and perfectly executed. Her pride was wounded, it was true, but she could not say she had been entirely undeserving of the insult. To a man like him, her honesty and direct manner would surely be jarring. She would much rather be as she was, than adopt even a percentage of his own character.
She said nothing in reply—though dozens of sharp retorts sprang to her lips. What point would there be in speaking them aloud? He would not understand. Or worse—he would understand too well and mock her for it, if not aloud, then behind those carefully shuttered eyes.
She chewed silently, her gaze fixed on the flames. The cheese was sharp, the bread dry—but it was sustenance. And sheneeded the steadiness of food far more than she needed the sharpness of further conversation.
Yet even as she kept her eyes on the fire, she could feel his presence beside her, still and unwavering. He had not touched his plate, though he held it in his lap.
“Do you truly think me so proud?” he asked suddenly, as though he had been wrestling with the question in silence.
She blinked, surprised by the openness of it.
