“I need to show her, not tell her,” Darcy mumbled.
“Show her what?” Richard set down his glass.
“That I truly see her. That I comprehend my error and why it was wrong. That I am willing to…” He paused, searching for the proper words. “Willing to work for her regard, to become the man who deserves her.”
“How?” Richard’s palms turned up.
Darcy pressed his fingers together to give his cousin no hint at his agitation. His mind raced. He needed… He wanted… Suddenly, an image from the game fell into place. Not of what was, but what could have been.
“I need pen and paper.” He looked at Richard. “And I need you to stop asking questions.”
“Ha!” Richard grinned. “Now you sound like the Darcy we know and love. Decisive. Resolute. Authoritative with a hint of tyranny.”
“Go find Bingley and tease him, Cousin.”
“If only I could. I need to return to my regiment.” Richard moved toward the door, then paused. “For what it’s worth, I studied her as she played. She is everything you believe and more.”
His last comment stopped Darcy in his tracks. “What do you mean?”
“Did you not hear the little comments her father made to encourage her? When she looked at him, she displayed loving devotion and fierce pride. She did not gloat when the game proceeded exactly as she anticipated. And Darcy—” Richard met his eyes. “There was no hatred in her eyes when she looked at you across the table. Challenge, certainly. But she does not loathe your very being. In principle, she reached her goal of bringing you to your knees without any idea that you would end up wanting to propose to her. All in all, I think she is worth your effort.”
“I thank you, Richard. Your opinion and support mean everything.”
His cousin gestured toward him. “I rode into that field this morning expecting to see you defend your values and your life. Instead, I saw you find your purpose. And your future.” Saluting, he added, “Be well, Darcy. I wish you success.”
After Richard departed, Darcy sat at his desk. For the first time since the early hours of the morning, his restless energy had direction. Or as Richard said, purpose.
Gathering paper and pen, he knew exactly how to begin.
Elizabethand her father entered Longbourn in time to break their fast with the only other occupant of the breakfast room, Mrs. Francine Bennet.
“You never have any care for my nerves! Where on earth have you been at this hour? You might have caught a chill, Mr. Bennet. Where would I be if you died today?”
Her father bussed his wife on the cheek before taking his seat at the head of the table.
“Lizzy gathered information last evening at the assembly that Mr. Bingley is housing a chess master. Neither of us could wait for a proper introduction. Therefore, we set out early only to discover we were in error.” He gestured to one of the platters. “Do leave me some ham, my dear, Mrs. Bennet. Our exertion has left me famished.”
“Mr. Bennet, how you delight in tormenting me.” Her mother scoffed. “You presumed to go to Netherfield Park early after a public ball? Why, what were you thinking?” Her gaze sharpened. “Did you happen to see Mr. Bingley?” Flinging her hands into the air, her volume rose accordingly. “You should have taken Jane.”
Her father lightly patted the back of her wrist. “As it was, there was no need for Jane. We saw two men in the field who informed us that we were mistaken. While we saw the house, we never spotted Mr. Bingley or his sisters.”
“Oh, I see.” Calmed, her mother’s critical eye scanned Elizabeth, who was seated to her father’s right. “I say, it is a fine thing that you were unseen since that gown is at least two years old and is as plain as plain could be. I fear that if Mr. Darcy were to see you today, he would be even more scathing with his opinions.”
Elizabeth’s hand shook at the mention of Mr. Darcy’s name, threatening her tea.
Mr. Darcy!The fury that sustained her through the morning had burned itself out during the games. What remained was…she was unsure. Not hatred. Not quite liking either. Perhaps it was closer to…neutrality? Wariness?
No, not even that. Whatever complicated feeling threaded through her heart was uncertain, nothing she could name.
“Mr. Darcy’s opinions are none of my concern, Mama.”
Her mother’s eyebrows shot up. “Well! Last night, our neighbors could speak of nothing else.”
Elizabeth said, “I am less angry this morning, Mama. I hope the talk will die down soon.”
Her mother’s countenance eased. “That is good and well, Lizzy, for while Mr. Darcy was cruel in his assessment—and do not think I have forgiven him for it, Lizzy, for I have not—he is Mr. Bingley’s guest and friend. His closest friend, from what Miss Bingley claims.”
“Mama, what does that signify?” Elizabeth asked, though she suspected this would lead back to Jane, as always.
