Elizabeth did not want to lie to her though.
“I suppose it would hardly be a secret if he told you,” Mary added with a smile when Elizabeth did not reply.
“I have a suspicion,” Elizabeth said at last, her voice was a little shaky, “but I do not wish to say what it is.”
“How horrible might it be? But I understand. If you do not know, it is likely better not to speculate. But the whole is so odd.”
That Elizabeth could heartily agree with.
Chapter Fourteen
Early in the day following Elizabeth Bennet dining with his aunt, Darcy encountered her walking in a favorite grove of his in his aunt’s park.
Darcy’s thoughts had already swirled about her, both a little confusion about how little she knew of her family background—that there was some mystery that his aunt had guessed—and how pretty she had looked.
The way she had looked when she had stepped into the drawing room would be imprinted forever on his memory.
She had sat straight and smiled as his aunt interrogated her. It made him...proud.
As he contemplated that, Darcy saw Elizabeth stepping along her path confidently, despite the book that she held up before her face.
He smiled to watch her, and the smile widened as she came close enough for him to see that the title’s lettering was in Greek. As she had not yet noticed him, he said aloud, “Homer again, Miss Bennet?”
Elizabeth startled and laughed. “No, one of Plato’s more incomprehensible dialogues. The one about the one and the many.”
“Parmenides?”
“That is the one. Or is it the many?”
“I knocked my head against it as well,” Darcy said, rather more impressed by that than he would have been had she been reading Homer again. Homer was a pleasure. This was philosophy. “I never made head nor tail of it, and in the end was forced to assume that the correct interpretation was the one advanced by my professor.”
Elizabeth laughed. “And I might ask what your professor said, as I cannot understand it at all either.”
“Something about eternal forms. I do not recall any details, beyond everything having been about whether everything is one or many. It seems to me to be clear that it isboth, and the confusion is in our language, not in reality or our perceptions. I think that is the true solution to many of Socrates’ queries.”
“Youhave thought deeper thanIif you can say so much.” Elizabeth grinned at him. “My deepest thoughts prompted by this was a confusion about how the author ofThe SymposiumandPhaedocould write something so difficult.”
Now it was Darcy’s turn to laugh. “Plato was a man of many capabilities, and that is why he was great, and we are not—I must apologize for my aunt’s treatment of you last night.”
“No...” Elizabeth paused for a long time after he said that. Then she shook her head and smiled at him. “I did not mind in the end.”
“I see that it affected you strongly to be treated in such a manner. I had not imagined that she would act in such a way.”
“Mr. Darcy, I only wish that she had explained what prompted the whole—but I do not dislike Lady Catherine. On the contrary. She was kind to me afterwards, as you saw. And she has been most kind to Mrs. Collins, though her kindness takes a form that I would not wish to experience myself.”
Darcy studied Elizabeth.
She wore a fetching sprigged muslin that fit far better than any he’d seen on her at Longbourn. Her bonnet looked very fetching, with a beautiful ribbon whose color set off her hair and eyes. Her eyes sparkled, and she pressed a delicate hand against her cheek.
“I was glad to see you again,” Darcy said. “Very glad.”
She flushed and looked down. “I too. Beyond words, when I heard you would be in the neighborhood while I was here...I often think about our conversations and your friendship.”
A strong thump in his chest. Darcy needed to swallow.
A magnetism existed between them.
He turned a bit away, and placed his hands together behind his back, he began to slowly stride forward.
