Page 5 of Before She Knew Him

“If it is not too much trouble, I have a small favour to ask—though you must say so if it is too much for a visitor to request.”

At the wordfavour, Darcy felt himself grow wary before he could prevent it. Experience had taught him that such requests were rarely as small as they were first represented, and he waited, regretting that suspicion had intruded upon so agreeable an acquaintance.

Miss Bennet seemed to perceive the change in his manner, for she hurried on.

“I would not presume to impose, and you may, of course, deny my request, but I assure you I mean no harm. It is only—I find that I am very eager to better see the library. While I truly appreciated the glimpse Mrs Reynolds gave us, to be able to see the books themselves would be marvelous…”

As she continued, Darcy’s apprehension gave way first to surprise and then to amusement. She wanted nothing more consequential than an opportunity to examine his books. He was ashamed that experience with more calculating ladies had caused him, even briefly, to suspect her of similar motives.

“…but a library is an exception in every case, I think. And yours has been so highly praised that I cannot help but wish to see it for myself, particularly if it is as exceptional as I have heard.”

“Of course,” he replied, rising. “It would be a poor return for your admiration of Pemberley if we denied you the room you most wished to see.”

“If you do not mind, sir, I will accompany you and my niece, and allow these two gentlemen to continue their discussion about investments,” Mrs Gardiner said, standing to join them.

The three made their way out of the room. As they passed through the hall, Darcy instructed a footman to open the library and see that everything was in readiness. The servant preceded them and remained near the doors while they entered.

Inside, the double doors opened upon shelves of books stretching in every direction. The library rose two storeys, with a broad open space at its centre and a gallery running along the upper level. At one end stood a large picture window, admitting ample light, while opposite it a substantial fireplace occupied the wall, well positioned to guard against any draughts that might find their way into the room.

A fire had already been laid, though not yet lit. Darcy had long ago learned that the room, facing north as it did, received little warmth from the sun, and Pemberley—despite every effort—could still be prone to chill even in the middle of summer. The room was often in use by some member of the household, and his father had always encouraged servants who wished to borrow books to do so, provided they returned them in the same condition in which they were borrowed.

Nonetheless, it was not the books that held his attention on this occasion, but the young lady before him. Since entering the room, she had not spoken, and, strange as it felt to admit such even to himself, he felt an unexpected sense of accord with her, unlike anything he had experienced with another young lady.That she could be so affected by a library as she appeared to be was a circumstance at once surprising and deeply gratifying.

Any number of young ladies had visited Pemberley over the years, particularly when his mother was alive, and he had never observed any of them regard this room with anything other than polite indifference. Miss Bennet's countenance, however, betrayed no such artifice. Her eyes moved with quiet eagerness from shelf to shelf, as though she longed to examine each volume in turn, and there was in her expression a liveliness of mind which no feigned enthusiasm could imitate.

He found himself watching her more closely than propriety might strictly allow, almost unaware of the presence of any others in the room. He was struck by the ease with which she appeared to belong in a space so often reserved for solitude and reflection. It was not merely that she admired the library, but that she seemed to understand it, to value it, as he did.

The thought gave him pause. He had never before imagined that another person’s admiration of the library could matter so much to him.

Chapter Four

Elizabeth could scarcely believe she had returned to Pemberley so soon. The previous afternoon, she and the Gardiners had toured the house as visitors; tonight, they had been received as guests of the family.

Her first visit had contained more embarrassment than she cared to remember. When the portrait gallery revealed that the man she had mistaken for a gardener was, in fact, the heir to Pemberley, she had consoled herself with the belief that she would never be obliged to face him again. Even when Mrs Reynolds announced that the master wished to invite them to tea, Elizabeth had felt some relief upon discovering that she meant the elder Mr Darcy.

That relief had been short-lived. They had scarcely been served when Mr Fitzwilliam Darcy entered the room. Elizabeth had risen perhaps half a second later than everyone else, heat creeping up her chest and into her cheeks until she was certain she had turned as red as the strawberries in the tart Mrs Reynolds had insisted she take.

To her astonishment, the younger Mr Darcy had neither exposed her mistake nor appeared offended by it. Instead, hehad welcomed her graciously, chosen a seat beside her and quietly assured her that the misunderstanding had been entirely reasonable. Any lingering mortification had faded during the hour they subsequently spent among the books. Though reserved at first, he had gradually grown easier, and by the time they parted, Elizabeth had found their conversation remarkably agreeable.

Indeed, her thoughts had lingered upon Pemberley throughout the evening—upon its gardens, its magnificent library and, most persistently, upon the younger Mr Darcy.

She had therefore been astonished when her aunt and uncle told her that they had been invited to return. She was the daughter of a gentleman, certainly, but Longbourn was nothing to Pemberley, and her uncle’s connexion to trade could hardly recommend them to a family of the Darcys’ consequence. Perhaps the elder Mr Darcy’s regard for her aunt’s father was explanation enough.

Elizabeth was not entirely persuaded that it was.

Upon their arrival at Pemberley, they were shown into the same sitting room they had occupied the previous afternoon. Mr Darcy and his son rose to receive them, and beside them stood a young girl whom Elizabeth readily believed to be Georgiana Darcy. An older lady stood slightly behind her, almost certainly her governess.

Elizabeth’s suppositions were soon confirmed as the introductions were made. Once everyone was seated, she took a place beside Miss Darcy, while the girl’s governess, Mrs Livesay, settled nearby.

“How are you this evening, Miss Darcy?” Elizabeth asked.

“I am very well, thank you, Miss Bennet.” Although Miss Darcy’s voice was quiet, she met Elizabeth’s gaze with a tentative smile. “Mrs Reynolds told me that you admired the library.”

The words sounded carefully prepared, but the interest behind them appeared genuine.

“I did indeed,” Elizabeth answered, endeavouring not to speak with too much enthusiasm. “I have never seen so many books gathered in one place—unless one counts the circulating library my aunt and uncle have taken me to in London. Still, there is a considerable difference between visiting such a place and having so many volumes always at one’s disposal. I confess I am quite envious.”

She smiled as she said it, hoping Miss Darcy would recognise the teasing spirit in which the admission was offered.