An excerpt from Abigail Sheffield's debut novel, coming January 6
Elizabeth sat down at the pianoforte, which was at least as fine an instrument as the one in the drawing room. Looking over her shoulder, she debated playing at risk of being heard. Hoping that she was far enough removed to evade detection, tedium won the day, and she began playing a melancholy tune, touching the keys gently so the notes were barely discernible to any ears but hers.
Her thoughts turned towards all that had happened in the last day. Elizabeth hardly knew what to think. Until now, she had been uncertain about what lay within Mr Darcy’s heart. While she knew he held a certain affection for her, she had never suspected the depth of his feelings. She had believed his attentions these past two weeks were merely a brief rekindling of the remnants of their former connexion, not suggestive of any genuine desire to reignite their relationship.
All of that had changed yesterday. His confession to her and his disclosures to the Bingleys had left her astonished. He openly expressed regret to her over the way things had ended between them and went so far as to praise her beauty, her intelligence, and even her family to others. With this unmistakable confirmation of his high regard for her, it was evident that his change in demeanour the previous night was not simply the impulse of the moment as she had assumed, but signified his intention to rekindle their romance.
Elizabeth grappled with her own emotions as she contemplated this newfound revelation. That she was attracted to Mr Darcy was undeniable, but was it love or simply a return to the comfort of a past love? And if it was love, was it a sound and true one? How could she possibly trust someone who had once utterly eviscerated her heart?
“I always loved the way you played. It was one of the first things that drew me to you and tested my resolve against falling in love with you.”
Elizabeth stopped playing immediately, startled to hear Mr Darcy’s voice. Of course he would find me. He likely has been searching for me. She turned her head and saw him leaning against the doorframe.
“How long have you been standing there?”
“A few minutes.”
“Oh.” She turned and looked down at her hands on the instrument. She heard his footsteps as he walked closer to her, at length taking a seat next to her on the piano bench.
“You had not come downstairs and I worried for you. Miss Bennet assured me you are well.”
“I am.” She was about to resume playing, when he spoke again.
“I have always been captivated by the way you play and sing from the depths of your heart. It is apparent that your approach is not rooted in classical training, but, as with everything you do, it is filled with charm and grace.”
“Do you realise that you often insult me in your compliments?” she asked with a little laugh.
“I apologise,” he said earnestly. “I do not mean it as an insult. I suppose what I am trying to say is you have always fascinated me by not adhering to conventional standards but still managing to leave a lasting and extraordinary impression.”
He took a deep breath before continuing, “You are unlike anyone I have ever encountered, Miss Elizabeth. I was raised with a set of expectations about what constitutes an accomplished woman, and to be honest, you do not quite fit that mould. However, in my heart, you are far more than accomplished.”
She blushed, and turned her head away before he could notice. Elizabeth knew she should leave but could not bring herself to do so. She resumed playing the melancholic melody she had been practising earlier, her fingers dancing over the keys while she ruminated about what had initially drawn her to him. He was a complex individual; his quiet demeanour and air of mystery had always fascinated her. He had a way of keeping her guessing about his true feelings, and she relished the challenge of deciphering him. Although he projected an air of aloofness, beneath that exterior, he was more engaged and interesting than anyone she had ever encountered. Since reuniting with him, she had rediscovered his kindness and gentleness. She thought of his compassion towards Georgiana, his caring demeanour with Mary, and his considerate treatment of her cousins and sisters.
If he was sometimes prideful and haughty, he also was strangely humble. For much as he possessed numerous talents and considerable wealth, he never flaunted them ostentatiously. He was calm, but not boring. And while he possessed wit and intelligence in abundance, he was quiet and understated about it—a gentleman of refined manners—which only made his wry humour all the more endearing. And there was that certain something about him that remained elusive.
Even during their disagreements, she had secretly hoped he would reveal more of himself. He did not rattle off like some men of her acquaintance, but when he did speak, it was always intelligent and impressive. He genuinely listened to her when she spoke and challenged her in ways no one ever had. Deep down, she had always yearned for a partner who would push her to grow, and Mr Darcy had fulfilled that desire, both in the past and in the present.
As he stood beside her, turning the pages, she stole a glance at his profile. His striking good looks had always overwhelmed her, and her attraction to him remained as potent as ever. Elizabeth’s heart leapt as understanding hit her like a sack of heavy stones crashing onto her chest—she loved him. Perhaps she had never truly stopped and had been lying to herself this whole time. It was not merely attraction or intrigue based on residual feelings from the past. It was genuine, profound, and undeniably alive—it was love in its purest, most authentic form.
A SHARED HISTORY is a variation of Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice and includes hidden love, enemies-to-friends-to-lovers romance, a love triangle, and above all a happily ever after for Mr Darcy and Elizabeth Bennet.
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