He continued to read. There were instructions about introductions, about not permitting Elizabeth to become fatigued by too many visitors, about refusing any “over-zealous courtier” who attempted to lecture her on her duties before she had even seen Thurnia. There was a pointed paragraph reminding Adrian thatany commentary on the length, expense, or general pointlessness of court ceremonials will be unwelcome when presenting Elizabeth to Their Majesties.
They finished the second page and began the third, Adrian clearing his throat. They had completed the reading of two more pages when Mr. Darcy, who had been holding himself with rigid patience, asked, “Does it say anything about marrying?”
There was a brief silence.
Then Adrian looked at Mr. Darcy properly for the first time, and said, with slow relish, “Marrying?”
Elizabeth’s cheeks warmed. She could not help it. She had just enough time to think that Mr. Darcy looked absurdly pleased with himself before Colonel Fitzwilliam added, “Darcy, I have known you since you were in short coats, and I do not believe I have ever seen you so—”
“Smug?” Adrian supplied.
“Secretive,” Fitzwilliam said. “This is deeply unsettling.”
Mr. Darcy’s gaze did not leave Adrian. “Well?”
Adrian let the moment draw out precisely long enough to be cruel, then said, “There is something here. Let me find it.” He ran a finger down the page, lips moving soundlessly as though he were sincerely searching.
Elizabeth watched him enjoy himself at their expense. “Adrian.”
Colonel Fitzwilliam leaned back in his chair. “Is it written in lemon juice, Adrian? Shall we hold it over a flame to see the letters appear?”
“Do not be absurd,” Adrian said. “This is merely the preface. There is always a preface.”
Mr. Darcy’s gaze did not move from Adrian’s hand. “You have already read it.”
Adrian looked up, all innocence. “I haveskimmedit.”
“You have memorised it,” Colonel Fitzwilliam corrected.
The prince turned the page with a slow, reverent deliberation that would have suited the unveiling of a portrait. “Ah, yes, here we are. No, I beg your pardon. That is the section inviting Elizabeth to choose books for the library.”
Elizabeth was briefly distracted. “Library?”
“It is better than the goat,” Mr. Darcy muttered.
Adrian turned another page. Then another. His finger continued its leisurely journey down the lines.
Mr. Darcy’s voice, when it came, was quiet. “Adrian.”
“Yes?”
“If you prolong this moment any further,” Mr. Darcy said, “I will be forced to remind you that several gentlemen from Cambridge still speak of a foreign prince who borrowed the cord from every bell-pull in his lodgings and left the housemaid to search for them.”
Adrian lifted one hand to rest over his heart. “That is a vile slander.”
“That young prince replaced them,” Mr. Darcy went on, unmoved, “in such a way that nothing in the house rang where it ought.”
Elizabeth bit her lip.
Adrian shrugged. “In my defence, I replaced them neatly.”
"Two days later," the colonel added.
“You also,” Mr. Darcy continued, “persuaded a perfectly respectable tutor that the college had instituted a new rule requiring every young gentleman to appear for chapel with his stockings pinned over their breeches, and you watched from the cloisters while the first-year men marched in looking either confused or mutinous.”
Adrian smiled. “Glorious. Whoever managed that was brilliant.”
Mr. Darcy’s gaze did not waver. “And if you insist upon continuing, I shall write your father about the pudding.”