Page 51 of Penned By Mr Darcy
“Stop thinking,” Bingley muttered under his breath. “Come in and go for a damned walk.”
He followed Bingley into the room, finding Mr Bennet sitting in his chair.
“Well, what an unexpected delight. What can I do for you, gentlemen?”
“I wondered, sir, if I might be able to invite Miss Bennet for a walk this afternoon?”
“Oh? And you, Mr Darcy, what is your business?”
“I am simply accompanying Mr Bingley.”
“A pity,” he muttered. “But yes, I suppose I should give my consent. Jane mustn’t go far in this cold air, or her mother will have my head. Would the gardens at Longbourn be sufficient?”
The gardens, as far as Darcy could tell, would take no longer than two minutes to walk around.
“Very sufficient, Mr Bennet. Thank you.”
“Elizabeth will chaperone.”
“I hardly think…” Darcy began to protest.
An unmarried sister was not an appropriate chaperone, and a true gentleman would know this. Mr Bennet himself would be far more suitable (Mrs Bennet would not suit at all, Darcy thought, for he could not bear the prospect of having to walk by her side), but it seemed the man had no desire to prise himself from his chair.
“Our garden is rather compact, Mr Darcy. I assure you my wife will be watching from the windows, and will quickly intervene ifshe believes it to be necessary. I am sure Mr Bingley will contain himself.”
There was a creak from the hallway.
“Lizzy?” Mr Bennet called out suddenly. “Is that you?”
“Yes, Papa. I was just going out for a walk,” Miss Elizabeth replied from behind the door.
“Let her in, will you Mr Darcy?”
Darcy turned, opening the door. Miss Elizabeth stood on the other side, clutching a book in her grasp. He glanced down, curious to see her taste in literature now that she was returned to her own home.
This was no penny novel; in her hands, her knuckles white as she gripped fiercely, was his diary.
When he managed to drag his eyes away from his most prized possession, he found her pale, her face tight with shock. He knew without doubt that she had read it – and was going to read further, for why else would she carry it about the house? Perhaps she read it with her sister, laughing at him – or, even worse…Wickham.
He was, after all, familiar with her younger sisters. Who was to say that he had not charmed Miss Elizabeth as easily as Miss Lydia? He was seemingly irresistible to women, a mystery Darcy had never quite worked out, for insincerity seemed to come off him in waves. Flattery was a powerful weapon, and one Wickham wielded with far more skill than his sword.
“Darcy?” Bingley asked.
Miss Elizabeth took that opportunity to walk away. He did not reply to Bingley, instead following her. Her pace quickened, and he stopped. What sort of a man chased a woman in her home?! How could he explain such barbarity away?
“Miss Elizabeth,” he called.
She ignored him, slipping through a door and closing it swiftly behind her.
“What is the matter with you?” Bingley asked, suddenly behind him. “You look as though you’ve seen a ghost.”
“Not a ghost,” he replied. “But I have found my missing diary.”
“Here?” Bingley asked. “You lost it before we came here.”
“Oh, it is here – in the hands of Miss Elizabeth.”
“You are not serious!”
