Page 64 of Companions of Their Youth
He paused as he saw her, then tipped his head. “Miss Bennet. Good morning.”
She curtsied. “Good morning, Mr. Darcy.”
“I hope your sister is continuing to improve?”
“She is, thank you. She slept soundly through the night and woke only once.”
He nodded, and for a moment they walked together in silence.
“I must thank you for the books,” she said at last. “Your taste is quite… varied.”
A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Do you approve?”
“Very much. Though I hope you will not be scandalized to learn I had already read the tract on crop rotation, and not the novel.”
“Not at all. I rather suspected it.”
She laughed softly. “I have been fortunate to be encouraged in learning. My brother’s tutors never barred me from their lessons, and our governess was content to let me study what I pleased.”
He glanced at her with real interest. “That is uncommon.”
“I daresay,” she said. “But I can conjugate Latin verbs, calculate large sums, and have read both Plato and Homer—in translation, of course.”
He gave a short laugh. “Then you are more learned than several of my schoolmates. Most had their fags do their work for them, and reserved their time for racing, gaming, and worse.”
“I have always wished women could attend university,” she said frankly. “I would not have wasted the opportunity.”
“You believe young men do?”
“Many. Thankfully, Mark grew up hearing my complaints and has taken it more seriously than most.” She paused, then added, “I miss him dreadfully when he is at school.”
“I imagine it must be a trial after growing up so closely.”
Elizabeth nodded. “Our father misses him as well. Before Mark left for the first time, Papa began drawing me more into his evenings—asking for conversation and even teaching me to play chess.”
Darcy’s brow lifted. “And are you any good?”
“I play passably well. I beat my brother regularly, but my father was a master at school. He wins nearly every game.”
“A master, you say?” Darcy asked thoughtfully. “I myself am quite good at chess.”
Elizabeth’s eyes lit up. “Then you must play my father when you next come to call!” She blushed slightly, realizing how her words must sound. “I mean… that is… well, my father frequently complains that no one nearby can challenge him. He is forced to play by mail, and the delay frustrates him beyond words.”
“I should be pleased to accept.”
They had nearly completed their circuit of the garden, drawing closer to the back terrace with every step. Thewarmth between them—so tentative, so newly established—made Elizabeth loath to disturb it. Yet the note weighed heavily in her pocket, a tangible reminder of what she had seen. She had no right to read it. She had not meant to. But she had.
Twice she opened her mouth to speak, only to close it again. What if he thought her prying? What if he believed she had searched his gift for secrets? She had promised herself to return the letter at once, and yet now that he was beside her, she could not bring herself to say the words.
They turned back toward the house. Another minute, perhaps less, and the moment would be lost entirely. She felt the pressure build behind her ribs, the way it always did when she stood on the edge of doing something difficult—something right.
Elizabeth slowed her steps.
“There is something I must give you,” she said at last, her voice careful. “When I opened the novel this morning, something fell from it. At first, I thought it was merely a bookmark. I am sorry, if it lost your place.”
Darcy frowned slightly. “I… had not yet opened it,” he said, puzzled. “I purchased it just before I left town. Most likely it was a scrap left by the printer or even another patron of the bookshop.”
She hesitated, then reached into her pocket and drew it out, still folded.
