But when had love ever been sensible?
He ran one hand through his hair, recalling the moments on the landing at Eaton Socon, when he had nearly kissed her. She had not uttered the slightest protest.
Darcy stopped pacing.
He found himself standing beside the window. The glass reflected his own face: grave, controlled, respectable. He looked like a man prepared to do his duty.
He did not look like a man who had fallen in love with a woman he ought never to have met.
He turned away from his own reflection with irritation when a knock sounded upon the door. Darcy did not answer at once. It was late, and he was not prepared for visitors. He was not prepared for anyone.
The knock came again.
“Enter,” he said, and hoped his voice carried authority rather than exasperation.
It was his butler, who was followed by a footman who held something in both hands with the careful solemnity of a priest carrying a relic. It was a saucer. There was no cup upon it. And upon the saucer lay two dried peas.
Darcy stared.
The footman advanced as if he were approaching a temperamental animal. “From Gracechurch Street, sir,” he said.
Darcy took the saucer. It was a ridiculous object to send to a gentleman. It was more ridiculous to find one’s pulse altering because of it.
“There is a note,” his butler added, and held out a folded paper.
Darcy’s fingers were, for the briefest instant, unsteady. He took the note and dismissed them.
When the door closed, silence returned. It felt charged, as if the room itself were aware of being an accomplice.
Darcy set the saucer upon the desk with great care, as if the peas might roll away. He unfolded the note. The handwriting was neat and firm.
Mr. Darcy,
I return to you the pea you left behind, though it did not remain alone; I have added one of my own.
If you should wish to return mine, you would be most welcome to do so in person tomorrow morning.
Miss Elizabeth Bennet
Darcy looked down at the note. Elizabeth had sent him a pea as an invitation. It was, he thought, either the most imaginative flirtation in England or the strangest. Perhaps both.
Darcy’s mouth, without his permission, curved. His gaze returned to the note.
If you wish to return mine, youwould be most welcome . . .
It was not a command. It was not an entreaty. It was an invitation.
Darcy stared at the paper until the words blurred slightly.
A gentleman ought to refuse. A gentleman ought to thank Princess Elizabeth for her kindness, send back the saucer, and keep his distance. A gentleman ought to remember that Elizabeth was a princess, and that to encourage her attention was to invite disaster.
Darcy folded the note with care. He placed it beside the saucer.
Then he rang the bell.
When his man appeared, Darcy said, “Have the carriage made ready at nine tomorrow.”
“Very good, sir.” His man withdrew.