The air was thick with the smell of ink and paper; Elizabeth took a deep breath and allowed the scent to fill her senses. Around her, shelves and shelves of books threatened to overwhelm the unprepared, but she felt as though she had just walked into a room full of old friends waving hello, and new friends waiting to be introduced.
Visiting the booksellers had always been her favourite part of coming to London. At times, the only redeeming part of the experience. The crowds of people and hovering clouds of coal smoke did not excite or inflame her, instead causing her chest to tighten every time she found herself in the middle of the crowds. But here, in this shop, she felt free.
She needed the feeling more than she cared to admit. Her journey into Kent had not been the relaxing trip she had hoped it would be when Charlotte Lucas—Charlotte Collins, now, she corrected herself—had invited her to stay.
Elizabeth had been completely unprepared for the expectations that had arisen from Mr. Collins’ patroness, Lady Catherine de Bourgh. To provide such constant social companionship for the elder woman had been taxing enough, but Elizabeth had nearly been undone by the presence of her nephew, Mr. Darcy.
Mr. Darcy, Elizabeth shivered unconsciously at the name. Such things had passed between them, she could not imagine where to begin. Prior to her adventure into Kent, she had fully believed Mr. Darcy to be in possession of little regard for her. Two weeks ago, to her lasting horror and disbelief, he had corrected this thought in the most shocking manner possible: He had proposed marriage—which she had promptly, and vehemently, rejected.
“Are you quite alright?” Jane asked from her elbow, searching Elizabeth’s face. Elizabeth realised her countenance must be reflective of her inner thoughts and she quickly schooled her face into a pleasant expression.
“You are kind to ask, dear sister,” Elizabeth replied smoothly. “But I am more than alright.” She squeezed Jane’s hand tightly. “I missed you while I was away, and I am so glad to be reunited with you! Even if it is in London.” She made a face at the mention of the city, and Jane laughed in reply.
“Lizzy,” she scolded gently. “You are much too negative about the town. It has its good points and if you would allow yourself to see them, then visiting would not seem quite so onerous.”
“And you, Jane, can never say a negative word about anyone or anything! I swear, you could look upon Hades itself and find a glimmer of positivity upon which to focus.” Jane started to look hurt for a moment, and Elizabeth quickly continued, “Which is a wonderful quality that balances out my penchant for melancholy in a manner for which I am continuously grateful.”
The hurt look passed away as quickly as it came, and was replaced by a blush.
“You are far too kind,” Jane said. “I am not nearly so good as you claim. But I do enjoy the diversions of the town so in that, perhaps, I can accept your too-high praises.”
“Jane, Elizabeth,” a soft voice said from behind them, breaking into their conversation. They turned around and faced Maria Lucas, waiting for the girl to continue.
“I am going to be over there.” Maria pointed to a shelf of ladies’ magazines. “I know Elizabeth will be a while.”
Elizabeth smiled, her penchant for reading was well known, and Maria knew her sister’s dearest friend well.
“You are quite right, Maria,” Jane quickly agreed. “We’d best leave her to wander undisturbed if we have any hope of making it back to my aunt and uncle’s house for dinner.”
Maria giggled behind her hand, surprised to hear Jane speak in such a manner.
“Shall we learn what the fashionable ladies are wearing in Paris?” Jane asked with a smile, taking Maria’s arm.
Maria nodded eagerly and they went to the shelf near the counter, picking up a colourful magazine with a picture of a beautifully gowned woman on the cover.
Elizabeth watched them, but was grateful for the opportunity to explore alone. Besides her love of books, she did not want to contemplate what had happened at Rosings. She had not yet told Jane of the matter, and she was afraid she would blurt it out in a most undignified manner if given enough time chatting with her sister.
No, she would tell Jane, but she wanted to prepare her story carefully.
So she walked slowly by each shelf, scanning the titles closely, attempting to put Mr. Darcy and his rejected proposal from her mind. Philosophy, theology, biology, poetry, novels: this bookseller had everything she could possibly imagine.
She pulled down a memoir, and began to read the first pages. Though she was intrigued, she knew her mother would not approve and Elizabeth did not want to waste her limited funds on a book she would not be able to enjoy. Perhaps she could borrow it, she thought to herself, as she put the tome back in its place.
Continuing along, a bright, beautifully gilded, crimson spine caught her eye. Gently lifting down the volume, she saw it was a book of poetry. Opening it, Elizabeth began to read some of the poems, and was immediately lifted away from the dreary London scenes. She wrapped her mind around each word, savouring the sweet taste, seizing each picture brought to her mind by the lilting poetics.
She closed the book slowly, and held it to her chest. The volume spoke to her and she knew she wanted it. Elizabeth flipped to the back of the book and gazed at the light pencil mark giving the cost and her heart sank. It was entirely too expensive!
All the spending money she brought, plus her income for the next several months, would not cover the price of the book. And she still had some books at home that she had not yet read. There was no way she could purchase the book, so she may as well replace it and move on.
Sighing heavily, she went put the book back on the shelf, but her hand hesitated. She flipped open the pages again, and devoured the poem on the page. Glancing up, she was startled to see that someone was watching her. A tall young woman, elegantly dressed, watched her nervously. Elizabeth closed the book again and gave the young lady a small smile.
Blushing, the girl smiled back hesitantly. She was clearly embarrassed at being caught staring. Elizabeth examined the girl more closely: there was something familiar about her, but she could not place her finger on what it was. Her eyes, that was what drew Elizabeth. She possessed a set of bright brown eyes that would look almost green at certain angles. As she studied the young woman, Elizabeth realised that she was not staring at her person, but at the book in her hands.
“Burns?” The girl asked shyly, pointing to the book.
“Yes,” Elizabeth replied with a smile. She held out the book to the other woman. “Here, I was finished.”
“Oh, no!” She said, holding up her hands in protest. “I couldn’t possibly take it from you. You picked it up first, it is yours.”
“I insist,” Elizabeth said smoothly. She did not want to admit to this stranger that she could not afford the book. Especially since, by her dress and manner, the other woman would hardly blink over the price.
“Well,” the woman said, hesitantly. Elizabeth could see that she was wrestling with herself—wanting the book but not wanting to impose upon Elizabeth. “If you are sure you do not mind.”
Elizabeth smiled, seeing the moment the girl gave up feigning politeness, and passed the book over. Up close, she could tell that the woman was even younger than she’d initially thought—no more than seventeen, to be certain. But it was clear she had the manners and mentality beyond her years.
“Not at all,” Elizabeth said. “I can see that you are a true enjoyer of his works.”
“Well,” the girl replied. “I wish to be. I heard these poems read last evening at the house of a friend, and I haven’t been able to stop thinking about them since. This is the third bookseller I’ve visited today hoping to find a volume!”
“I understand the draw,” Elizabeth said. “I have, just now, encountered Mr. Burns for the first time, and I shall not soon stop thinking of it. What is that one I read: ‘Oh, my love’s like a red, red rose…’”
“‘That’s newly sprung in June’,” the girl finished for Elizabeth. “Yes, that is my favourite.” She blushed. “Are you certain you do not mind? I feel as though I could not possibly take it now.”
She tried to push the book back into Elizabeth’s hands but Elizabeth refused to take it.
“I do not mind in the least! Especially since I can now see that you are as ardent as I,” Elizabeth said. “How could I deny such a pure appreciation from yourself?”
“You are far too kind, miss,” the girl replied. “Much kinder than I deserve, I assure you.”
Elizabeth smiled. Perhaps the sense of familiarity she felt was because the girl reminded her of Jane. Had she and her sister not had a similar exchange only a few minutes before?
“Please accept my sincerest thanks and gratitude for this volume.” The young woman curtsied in appreciation.
“Think nothing of it,” Elizabeth said, waving away the thanks. She was beginning to feel guilty for leading the woman to believe that she had intended to purchase the book herself. The girl would undoubtedly think very differently if she knew that Elizabeth had not the means to own the volume. Elizabeth noticed that the young woman had begun to look past her, towards someone that was walking up behind her.
“Brother!” The young woman cried, before Elizabeth could turn to see who had caught her attention. “I found the book I’ve been searching for!” She held up the red book for the unseen man to examine.
Curiously, Elizabeth turned to see to whom she spoke, but as soon as her eyes took in the stranger, her heart leapt into her throat, and her jaw dropped involuntarily. She whipped her head back around, hoping the man had not seen her face. For the man standing by a shelf, examining a book of his own was no stranger.
It was Mr. Darcy.