Chaos Comes To Kent by Rowland Jann

Author:Rowland, Jann [Rowland, Jann]
Language: eng
Format: azw3, epub
Publisher: One Good Sonnet Publishing
Published: 2017-05-21T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter IX

As matters between Darcy and Miss Elizabeth were becoming much more serious far more quickly than Darcy could ever have imagined, he determined to have an earnest conversation with her, one which he felt was long overdue. There were a certain number of items which might stand between them, and he wished to have them settled so he could continue with his courting without worry.

Miss Elizabeth was, as he had always known, an avid walker, and rare was the day she could not be found on the grounds of Rosings, skipping through the fields or running the paths, walking and twirling under the canopy of trees which towered over the hills of Rosings. With the patchwork of shade and sun Darcy could almost confess that Rosings was the equal of Pemberley in beauty, at least in certain locations. Almost. Pemberley was his home, and without equal, after all.

It was in the last attitude that he found her, two days after Easter. He watched, leaning against a tree trunk as she approached, and saw her turn and twirl twice, her arms extended out as she spun around, joy evident in her every motion. Never had Darcy felt so affected by the sight of her.

And suddenly he knew it: he was in love with her. She had stolen his heart without trying, without realizing she had done it. There were still impediments within his own mind to any sort of union with her, but the fact that he loved her opened up so many possibilities that simply had not existed before. Darcy felt almost drunk with the headiness of the feeling of utter love and devotion.

When Miss Elizabeth stopped spinning and turned toward the path again, she caught sight of him. Her eyes widened, and her cheeks turned the color of ripe strawberries.

“Oh!” exclaimed she. “I did not know you were here, sir.”

“That much is evident,” replied he. He stepped away from his tree and approached her, noting with pleasure that her eyes never left his. “I am very glad you did not notice me.”

The skin between her perfect eyebrows creased, and she looked at him, the question written upon her brow.

“Why, if you had seen me, you would not have danced with such abandon. I was treated to a sight that I will not soon forget—the dance of a wood sprite.”

“Is a wood sprite not a mischievous creature?” asked she, an impudent challenge in her tone.

“I believe I have prior knowledge of that,” replied Darcy dryly. “As mischievous as can be, I would say. If you are amenable, this humble man would dearly love to walk with the wood sprite. Do you think she can endure his poor mortal person for a time?”

“Mortals are the bane of all faery creatures, Mr. Darcy,” replied Miss Elizabeth. “I should fly away, lest you capture me, turn me into a novelty for all to see.”

“Never, Miss Elizabeth. You are far too precious.”

She flushed again, but she shyly nodded and took the arm he extended to her.

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