The housekeeper opened the French doors to the upstairs sitting room. She led the ladies inside. The chamber was large and bright, the colours soft pastels. To Lizzy, it felt as cheerful as a spring day.
She eyed the décor. Two sofas faced each other across a mahogany coffee table, and a low fire burned in the fireplace. The room was feminine and well appointed, with floral prints on the drapes and upholstery. The Queen Anne chairs were so delicate, they looked as if they would collapse under a man of Darcy’s imposing size.
And now Lizzy was thinking of his broad shoulders again—something she must absolutely stop doing. She remembered how it had felt to dance with him at the Netherfield ball. How his movements had been strong and sure as he towered over her. Yet nothing about him inspire
