Elizabeth turned back to the shepherdess and tried to remember how to breathe.
Across the room, Lydia's voice rose above the general conversation, bright and heedless as always.
“Lizzy, do you think Mr. Wickham will attend the entertainment? He must—he is the handsomest officer in all of England!”
The room's mood shifted.
Elizabeth felt rather than saw Mr. Darcy stiffen. His posture, already rigid, became something closer to stone. The easy warmth of moments ago vanished as though it had never existed.
“Mr. Wickham is certainly... memorable,” Elizabeth said carefully, watching Mr. Darcy from the corner of her eye.
“He is divine,” Lydia declared. “And so charming. He told me the most fascinating stories about his time in Derbyshire.”
Mr. Darcy's expression had gone sharp, guarded. His jaw was set in a hard line. When he spoke, his voice was clipped.
“Young ladies would do well to look beyond charm when assessing a gentleman's character. A pleasing manner can conceal a great deal.”
Lydia tossed her head. “And a lack of charm speaks no better to a gentleman's character than an abundance of it. At least Mr. Wickham makes an effort to be agreeable.”
The barb landed. Elizabeth saw Mr. Darcy stiffen, saw the flash of something in his eyes—not anger at the insult, but something deeper. Something that looked almost like fear.
For Lydia? For what Wickham might?—
But that was absurd. Mr. Darcy barely tolerated the Bennet family. Why should he concern himself with Lydia's discernment?
And yet his reaction gave her pause. The tension in his shoulders did not look like wounded pride.
It looked like pain.
She filed the observation away for later examination and changed the subject with determined brightness.
The tea wound toward its conclusion with the measured inevitability of a clock running down. Jane glowed. Mr. Bingley radiated devotion. Miss Bingley’s smiles did not reach her eyes.
And Mr. Darcy stood apart, watching Elizabeth with an attention he no longer bothered to conceal.
She caught him at it three times. The first time, she pretended not to notice. The second time, she raised an eyebrow in silent challenge. The third time, she simply looked back, and something passed between them, some energy she found impossible to ignore.
The Bennets gathered their things. Mr. Bingley extracted promises of attendance at the upcoming entertainment. Miss Bingley bade them farewell with relief poorly disguised as regret.
At the door, Elizabeth turned for one last glance at the drawing room.
Darcy stood where she had left him, his expression unreadable, his eyes fixed on her face.
She told herself it meant nothing.
The warmth that bloomed in her chest disagreed.
“I suspect,” Elizabeth murmured to Jane as they climbed into the carriage, “that Netherfield has no idea what it has invited upon itself.”
Jane laughed softly. “You speak of Miss Bingley’s plans?”
“I speak of everything.” Elizabeth settled against the cushions and watched the great house recede through the window. “Everything is about to become very complicated indeed.”
And somewhere behind those elegant walls, she knew—without knowing how she knew—that Mr. Darcy was thinking exactly the same thing.
CAROLINE’S INNOVATIONS
The morning after the tea,Darcy descended to breakfast already uneasy.
