Page 88 of What Change Entails
Darcy loosened his neckcloth slightly as he descended the smaller staircase toward the library.
Miss Bingley’s expression lingered heavy in his mind.
Not jealousy alone.
Intent.
That troubled him more than open resentment ever could.
He knew Caroline Bingley well enough to recognize when wounded vanity hardened into strategy.
The library door stood partially open.
Light spilled across the corridor floor.
Darcy slowed instinctively.
At this hour, he expected perhaps his steward or Bingley searching unsuccessfully for brandy and intellectual improvement simultaneously.
Instead, he heard pages turning.
He pushed the door wider.
Elizabeth sat curled in one of the chairs near the fire, a book open upon her lap and another resting abandoned beside her elbow. She had removed the ribbons from her hair; darker curls now framed her face more than usual. One slipper lay discarded before the hearth.
For half a second genuine surprise crossed her features.
Then came color.
“Mr. Darcy.”
He stopped just inside the doorway. “I had not expected company.”
Elizabeth closed the book over one finger to keep her place. “Nor had I. I thought everyone retired.”
“Most have.”
A footman remained in the hall extinguishing lamps, and Bingley slept in a chair in the adjoining drawing room with the doors between the rooms left open.
“That sounds ominous.”
“It was not intended so.”
The corner of her mouth twitched.
Darcy crossed toward the fire more slowly than necessary. The room carried warmth from both flames and books long enclosed within paneled walls. Rain whispered faintly against the western windows. Candlelight touched the edges of everything.
Elizabeth examined the shelves surrounding them. “This room becomes more unfair every time I enter it.”
“Unfair?”
“No one ought to possess so many books privately. It encourages arrogance.”
“You accuse me while sitting among them willingly.”
“I accuse you comfortably.”
Darcy rested one hand against the back of a nearby chair. “Then I shall endure it.”
