Elizabeth curtseyed with composed good humour. “Quite well, thank you, sir.” Jane, cheeks blooming pink, managed a softly spoken greeting of her own.
Mary offered the gentlemen a small, stiff nod of greeting, clearly torn between politeness and disapproval of such social enthusiasm.
After the initial courtesies, they all settled with a kind of gentle formality. Darcy’s gaze was wandering through the room and found Elizabeth more than once.
“I trust you found the roads tolerable?” Mr. Bennet asked with mild irony, tapping his fingers on his cane.
Mr. Bingley laughed lightly. “Better than last week, sir. The mud is drying at last, though I daresay it will never quite improve to London standards.”
So as not to be left out of the conversation, Darcy gave a small, courteous nod. “It was clear enough this morning, and the sun has a respectable warmth for the season. Almost springlike.”
Elizabeth, seated near Jane on the sofa, lifted her brows in gentle amusement. “Almost, Mr. Darcy? How very cautious.”
He turned slightly toward her, his mouth hinting at a smile. “I should hate to be accused of over-promising, Miss Elizabeth. The English weather will betray any optimist.”
Mary cleared her throat, as if to signal she found this levity ill-advised, and repositioned her book with faint disapproval.
Jane’s soft laugh broke the brief tension. “Indeed, we must be grateful for any kindness the sun bestows.”
Bingley cleared his throat a little self-consciously. “We do not wish to impose too long on your kindness. In fact, I came to let you know that my sister and I are leaving for London tomorrow, first thing in the morning. She sends her regrets for not calling herself today—she is finalising her packing.”
Jane’s eyes dimmed slightly, but she smiled with steady grace. “I hope she has a pleasant journey.”
Mr. Bingley gave her a tender, reassured smile. “I expect to return soon myself. Very soon, in fact.”
Elizabeth hid her own small smile, watching Jane’s lashes lower in relief. Mary gave a small sniff of approval at this declaration of honourable intentions.
Mr. Darcy then spoke with quiet purpose, directing himself first to Mr. Bennet. “Sir, I also wished to take this opportunity to express my gratitude for your hospitality and the kindness you have extended to us during our visit. I intend to return to Pemberley this afternoon, and did not wish to leave without expressing my gratitude.”
Mr. Bennet inclined his head. “You are always welcome at Longbourn, Mr. Darcy. Though I suspect you come for reasons beyond my conversation.”
Avoiding the main point with idle talk did not appear to suit Mr. Bennet. Darcy did not flinch. “I will not pretend otherwise.” His eyes moved briefly to Elizabeth, then back to Mr. Bennet. “I am grateful for your welcome here—and hope you will not object if I return in future. I have found your family’s company most agreeable.”
Elizabeth felt her throat tighten, warmth creeping up her neck. She lowered her gaze quickly to her lap. Mary shifted on her chair, folding her hands more tightly, and did not quite manage to look pleased.
Mr. Bennet’s mouth twitched in amusement. “We shall certainly not turn you away, sir.”
A moment’s polite quiet settled, then Bingley leaned forward slightly. “It is such a fine day, I wondered if Miss Bennet—and of course Miss Elizabeth—might do us the honour of a short walk in the garden, sir? It would be… most welcome air before we say farewell for a while.”
Mr. Bennet considered, tapping his fingers on the arm of his chair, then inclined his head in regal concession. “Very proper. Very proper indeed. It is a fine day for a stroll in the garden. I always say our little shrubbery shows its best colours before the frost sets in.” Then Mr. Bennet lifted one brow at Darcy. “I am sure our visitors would be glad of a breath of fresh air after their journey, my dears.”
Darcy inclined his head with formal politeness. “If it would not inconvenience you, sir.”
Elizabeth bit back a laugh. Jane’s shy eyes found Bingley’s with unmistakable gratitude.
Mr. Bennet nodded approvingly.
Mr. Darcy rose with graceful deliberation and turned to Elizabeth with the faintest bow. “Miss Elizabeth?”
She inclined her head, voice soft but clear. “Yes. I think the air would be most refreshing.”
Together they filed out toward the garden path—Bingley offering Jane his arm with boyish eagerness, Darcy waiting just long enough to match Elizabeth’s step as they passed through the door.
Mr. Bennet watched them go with wry fondness. “Well. One cannot accuse them of being subtle.” He poured himself a cup of tea, glancing at Mary with arch humour, and added just loudly enough for her to hear, “God grant them better weather than your mother will when she returns to hear about it.”
Mary sniffed with restrained disapproval, resettling herself with small, pointed dignity.
Her father tapped his fingers thoughtfully. “Mary, is Sophocles secured in his box so he cannot trouble our guests?”
