Page 68 of Companions of Their Youth
He paused, deliberating, then gestured towards the notebook “No. Not a letter. A list. Since you know something of my troubles, I see no reason to conceal it. I am attempting to determine who might have had access to my books. Knowing that the note you discovered was in a book that had only been in my possession for a day significantly narrows down the list of suspects.
Elizabeth shut her book gently. “May I?”
He nodded, and she stepped behind his shoulder. Her rose-water scent teased the air. He tried not to notice the nearness of her hand resting lightly on the back of his chair.
“I hope you do not mind,” she said. “I am curious.”
“Curiosity is hardly a fault,” he murmured. Her presence was unnervingly pleasant. He felt her breath as she leaned closer, her hand resting lightly on the back of the chair. Her fingers were within inches of his. He longed to shift his hand just slightly. One brush of skin—
“I must say,” she broke in gently, “I am impressed. Do you truly know the names of all your staff? And all of these people work in your London home?”
He blinked and pulled himself back from the brink of folly. “Er, yes. I know all of them, even the kitchen’s errand boy. Many of them come from Derbyshire. The household is long-established, and the majority of the London staff are children or grandchildren of tenants or servants at Pemberley. I have known many since either their childhood or mine.”
“That must help, to be able to trust them.”
“One would think,” he said grimly, “but such assumptions have proven false before. Still, there is generally never any gossip in London. Much to Miss Bingley’s disappointment.”
Elizabeth’s eyes widened as she lifted her hand to her mouth to stifle a giggle. “Surely not! She asked your own servants about details of your household?”
“She sent her own staff to inquire after mine. It is more common amongst thetonthan you might suppose.”
She laughed. “Well, I suppose the gossips of Hertfordshire must seem tame by comparison.”
Darcy smiled faintly and returned to his list, but her next observation startled him.
“They are all women.”
He blinked. “I… yes. I suppose I thought—well, it only makes sense.”
She tilted her head. “You should not rule out the possibility that a man wrote them. Or had someone written them on his behalf.”
He gaped at her. “You believe—surely not—what man would write such things to another man?”
Her mouth twitched. “You would be surprised.”
How on earth would she know about that sort of thing?He cleared his throat stiffly. “In any case, the style is feminine.”
“I agree. But for thoroughness, you ought to consider all possibilities. What if it were a lover of a male servant, and he was placing them on her behalf?”
He nodded slowly and began to add male names, though his mind had begun to drift again.
She was so near. Her hand still rested on the chair behind him. Her shoulder brushed his. Her profile, half-lit by the window’s filtered light, was exquisitely calm. The warmth of her presence dulled the sharp edges of his nerves.
He dared not look at her. He dared not move.
Part of him was suddenly, sharply aware of how easy it would be to shift, just a little, to turn his head, to brush his lips against her cheek in feigned accident…
He would never permit himself such liberty—but the longing had rooted itself firmly, stubbornly.
Just then, a sharp voice sliced through the quiet. “Mr. Darcy!”
They both turned.
Miss Bingley stood in the doorway, painted lips pulled into a cool smile, her eyes flicking between them with visible disapproval.
Darcy rose at once, stiffening. “Pardon me, Miss Elizabeth. I had promised Bingley a discussion before luncheon.”
Elizabeth looked amused, though she curtsied. “And I should check on Jane.”
