Page 52 of The Difference of a Darcy
He coughed lightly, schooling his voice. “That sounds… pleasant.”
She glanced at him sidelong, her brows arched in amusement. “Pleasant? From you, Mr. Darcy, that is practically a sonnet.”
His lips twitched. “Then allow me to wax rhapsodic. Nothing would give me greater joy this evening than acquiring a worn pamphlet of overblown verse and sharing it aloud before a crackling fire.”
Elizabeth gave a small, delighted laugh. “Careful, or I shall begin to think you enjoy poetry.”
“I enjoyyouenjoying it,” he said, almost without thinking. She looked at him, her expression softening. For a long second, neither of them moved.
Then she nodded and turned down the lane. “Come, sir. I believe Mr. Reid closes at six.”
Darcy followed, the chill evening suddenly not quite so cold. The air smelled faintly of chimney smoke and pine, and beside him walked a woman whose smile warmed more than any fire. A false world, perhaps—but one in which he was beginning to feel strangely alive.
As they entered the bookshop, the scent of old paper and pipe smoke wrapped around them like a memory. The shelves,overfull and lovingly disorganized, ran almost to the low ceiling beams.
Elizabeth smiled, her fingers trailing lightly across the spines of well-worn volumes as she wandered down a narrow aisle. Darcy followed her silently, his eyes scanning the titles: treatises on botany, volumes of poetry, tattered novels printed in small batches and passed from hand to hand.
Near the counter, two voices drifted to them—soft enough not to be intended for eavesdropping, but loud enough to carry nonetheless.
“My aunt is here,” Elizabeth said in surprise.
Darcy looked over and saw Mrs. Philips at the counter, bundled in a thick shawl and chattering away with a man he could only surmise to be Mr. Reid.
Mrs. Philips gave a cackling laugh, the sound carrying across the nearly-empty shop. “She turned him down at first, you know. Poor Mr. Collins left the room with his tail tucked, according to Kitty and Lydia. But then her mother made her see reason.”
Mr. Reid’s voice was tight as he responded, “But you must admit, madam, that Mr. Collins is far below your niece with regards to intellect. If you ask me, I would have said she would marry someone with the sense to keep up. Someone who could match her wit.”
Mrs. Philips let out a sigh. “She always was clever. Too clever, some would say. That tongue of hers—”
“She was a sharp one, Miss Lizzy. Came in every fortnight like clockwork, always asking after the latest essays or travelogues. Had more opinions on Cowper and Barrow than most educated gentlemen I have met.”
Darcy felt a rush of something fierce and bright surge in his chest at that, but he made no sound.
“Better a foolish parson’s wife than a spinster,” retorted Mrs. Philips, shaking her head. “We cannot always marry poets and princes, Mr. Reid. And if Mr. Collins is a bit pompous, well, Lizzy will manage him. She always had a way with words. If you ask me, it is Jane you should feel sorry for, abandoned like that.”
“Ah yes,” Mr. Reid said with a note of distaste. “That Netherfield fellow… he was in here once or twice. Smiled a lot. Did not read.”
“That is the one.”
“Pity,” Mr. Reid muttered. “Miss Bennet seemed quite taken with him. And he with her.”
“Precisely! It was nearly a certainty, you know. All the town expected it. But there was no proposal—nothing but smiles and calls—and then he was gone. Gone!”
“Quite rude of him.”
Mrs. Philips sighed. “We all thought so. The whole household packed up and left overnight. No farewells, no explanations—and none of the usual settlements. It was obvious then that Elizabeth needed to accept Mr. Collins after all, to secure the family’s future.”
There was a pause. Then Mr. Reid added more quietly, “I hope Miss Lizzy finds some peace. She deserved… well, something more.”
Darcy could feel Elizabeth go very still at his side. He stepped slightly closer to her—not touching her, not yet—but just near enough that she could feel his warmth.
After a long moment, she turned back toward the shelves and selected a slim volume of Cowper’s poetry.
When they approached the counter to make their purchase, Mr. Reid greeted them with a polite smile and made no mention of the conversation. Elizabeth asked after a pamphlet or two, her voice light. If he recognized her, he gave no sign.
When they stepped out into the cold again, Darcy reached gently for her hand to put on his arm and repeated his earlier question. “Shall we return to the inn?”
She nodded. “Yes. I think I have learned quite enough about my reputation for one evening.”
