My heart, once free, became forever thine,
Against thy charms, no man could e’er revolt!”
She looked up, expecting to share another laugh at the hyperbole, but found Darcy watching with quiet consideration.
“Absurd, is it not?” she prompted, suddenly uncomfortable.
“The execution, perhaps,” he said. “Though I cannot fault the sentiment entirely.”
The atmosphere in the room shifted subtly. He’d certainly not considered her face divine when he’d declared her nothandsome enough to tempt him. She quickly turned the page, searching for something less fraught with unintended meaning.
“Perhaps we should compose our own dreadful poetry,” she suggested, seeking safer ground. “I imagine between us we could create something truly atrocious.”
Darcy’s expression lightened. “An intriguing challenge. Though I warn you, I have no talent for verse.”
“All the better,” Elizabeth replied. “Genuine talent would spoil the effect entirely.”
“Very well,” he agreed. “Shall we attempt a joint composition? Alternating lines, perhaps? You go first.”
“An excellent suggestion.” Elizabeth straightened in her chair, adopting a pose of mock seriousness.
“The gentleman with countenance so stern…”
Darcy’s eyebrow rose at her teasing, but he continued smoothly.
“Matched only by the lady’s sharp discern…”
“Who frowns at all that fails to meet his taste…”She lobbed back.
“While she pronounces judgment in great haste…”he returned, surprising her with his quickness.
Elizabeth placed a hand to her heart in mock offense.“His pride exceeds the bounds of good sense…”
“Her prejudice forms before evidence…”Darcy replied in his characteristically stiff tone.
“A master who commands with just a glance…”
“A wit who gives poor suitors little chance…”he answered, lips twitching with barely held laughter.
Elizabeth burst into giggles as Darcy’s shoulders shook; the movement jarred his bandaged shoulder, and a sharp hiss escaped through his teeth.
“Oh! I’ve caused you pain,” Elizabeth said, immediately sobering.
“Worth every twinge,” Darcy assured her, his breathing slightly labored, but his eyes still bright with amusement. “I cannot recall the last time I laughed so freely.”
Elizabeth found herself transfixed by the change in him. When he smiled—truly smiled, not the tight, polite expression he wore in company—he was handsome in a way that caught her off guard.
The door opened without warning, and Caroline Bingley swept into the room like an autumn breeze—hot, brisk, and distinctly unwelcome.
“Mr. Darcy!” she exclaimed, her eyes widening at the scene—Elizabeth seated intimately close to his bedside, both flushed with laughter. “I heard sounds of distress. I feared your condition had worsened.”
“As you can see, Miss Bingley, I am quite well,” Darcy replied, his voice cooling several degrees. The transformation was remarkable. The man who had been composing ridiculous poetry was once again the reserved Mr. Darcy of Derbyshire.
Caroline’s gaze flickered between them. “How fortunate. I came to deliver this.” She extended a sealed letter toward Elizabeth. “From Mrs. Collins, I believe.”
Elizabeth accepted the letter, her fingers stiffening as she recognized Charlotte’s handwriting.
“The post rider mentioned it was sent with particular urgency,” Caroline added, making no move to leave. “Something about Mr. Collins making the most extraordinary claims regarding your visit to Hunsford Parsonage.”
