during the dinner when Mrs. Bennet had attempted to force Darcy to eat every dish which had been served, stating he had been in need of feeding up.
No, indeed, the day had not gone well at all for Darcy.
Some minutes later, when he was on the verge of sleep, calmed with the thoughts of seeing his Elizabeth tomorrow, being close to her, having her fine eyes looking at him, he heard a sort of scraping.
“Mice?” he frowned.
The scraping repeated, followed by prolonged, stifled giggling coming/emanating? from the corridor.
“What the hell?” he murmured as he got out of bed and strode across the room.
He shoved the door open with one wide move of his arm, only to see the two youngest Bennet girls just in their nightclothes, long blonde hair hanging loosely around their shoulders, squatted on the floor at his feet.
For a long moment, Lydia and Kitty only gaped, with round, blue, unblinking eyes at his imposing figure, clad in a nightshirt, but then Lydia glanced down at his hairy, bare legs. She nudged her sister with her elbow to look down, and both girls erupted into a new wave of wild laughter at the sight of his calves and feet.
Darcy shut the door, turned the key in the lock and checked again whether it was definitely closed.
“If you knew what I suffer for you, Elizabeth,” he murmured into the pillow as he got back under the covers.
***
Earlier that day, Darcy had been seated in the dusty, darkish library, cluttered with the books from the floor to the ceiling, watching Mr. Bennet, who sat in the overstuffed armchair, his dark eyes, Elizabeth’ eyes, concentrated on the letter in his hand, which Darcy had handed to him, read it with the most the incredible expression on his face.
For the first time, perhaps, Darcy had the opportunity to take a good look at the older gentleman and was stricken with the great resemblance between his beloved and her father. They had the same eyes, framed with feminine, extremely long, curled at the ends thick eyelashes, thin nose, and high intelligent forehead. Even what little was left of Mr. Bennet’s silver hair had a decided curl to it.
Mr. Bennet arched an eyebrow, imitating Elizabeth's expression to perfection. “Mr. Darcy, I congratulate you.”
Darcy gave him a cautious look. “You do?” he cleared his throat. “Thank you, sir.”
“Yes, I do, I do.” Mr. Bennet smiled. “You surprised me today, and I can tell you that there is very little in this world that can surprise me.”
“There is?”
“Yes, indeed. Your visit was a surprise in itself, to be sure, but this...,” he waved the paper, “I am reading this letter, and I see that my daughter’s hand penned it, though I still cannot believe that she wrote it.”
Darcy frowned. “I assure you that I received it from her this very morning.”
“Still, it definitely sounds as if it had been written by someone else, and not my Lizzy. Listen to this, Mr. Darcy. Mr Bennet reopened the letter and quoted. „The gentleman has done me an honour to propose marriage to me, and you can be sure of my full consent to his kind offer.”
Darcy smiled.
Mr. Bennet folded the letter, put it into a thick volume, which he placed on the top of one shaky book heap beside him.
“Forgive me, Mr. Darcy, but I simply cannot understand why she wants to accept the man she always called most disagreeable, whom she professed to dislike most of all the gentlemen of her acquaintance.”
Darcy’s smile fell flat. “I know nothing of that,” he murmured.
The other man gave him a long, inquisitive, assessing look. “Mr. Darcy, may I ask how it happened that you developed such an affection for my daughter Elizabeth? I understand that you indeed have some feelings for her if you want to marry her.”
Darcy tried to square his shoulders even more than he already had. “From the very beginning of our acquaintance, I have held Miss Elizabeth in the highest esteem....”
“You have?” Mr. Bennet interrupted
Learning to Kill: Stories