“I find I like that plan immensely,” Darcy said.
They clinked cups in place of glasses.
“And in the meantime,” Bingley added, “we might engage in billiards once more.”
Darcy did not answer, but the small, wry smile that tugged at the corners of his mouth was agreement enough.
Darcy had retreated to the library after their breakfast conversation with a volume of Gibbon open on his lap, though his eyes rarely touched the page. The quiet of the room was preferable to the brittle energy radiating from the drawing room, where Miss Bingley had been rustling through linen samples and tea trays like a general preparing for siege.
He could only imagine the performance she had prepared.
Just as he was contemplating moving to the study for the sake of silence, the door creaked open and Bingley stepped inside, grinning with mischief.
“She has sent the invitation,” Bingley said.
Darcy looked up. “And the response?”
“Accepted. The ladies will arrive within the hour.” He strolled to the fire, rubbing his hands together. “I cannot wait to see Caroline’s face when she finds us still at home.”
Darcy smirked faintly. “You will.”
“We will reveal ourselves at precisely the moment of maximum disruption,” Bingley added, clearly enjoying himself. “Until then, let her bustle.”
For most of the afternoon, they kept to the library, then the study, and eventually drifted to the billiards room where they engaged in half-hearted play. Darcy struck his shots with precision, but his mind wandered to the walk he hoped might come later—and to the woman he wished to share it with.
Miss Bingley did her best to lure them out. Once, she poked her head into the study and asked, “Should you not be preparing to dine withthe officers?”
Bingley answered smoothly, cue in hand, “Momentarily, my dear sister. But you know we gentlemen never require as much time to prepare as a lady needs to choose her gloves.”
She had huffed and retreated.
As the appointed hour drew near, the household staff scurried about under Miss Bingley’s direction. Extra tea trays were arranged, lemon slices precisely cut, and her most fashionable shawl selected with an air of studied nonchalance.
Darcy and Bingley waited until the moment just after the Bennet sisters had arrived—hearing their voices in the hall, the rustle of skirts, the chiming greetings of Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst. Then, together, they walked towards the drawing room.
Bingley led the way.
“Ladies!” he called as they entered, eyes alight. “You must forgive us for this little surprise. Darcy and I decided we had no great desire to dine with officers tonight. We hope you will not mind our intrusion.”
Miss Bingley’s smile faltered, as did her grip on the porcelain cup she was handing to Miss Bennet.
“Indeed?” she said tightly. “Then I suppose I shall have to ask Cook for two more place settings.”
Darcy settled beside Elizabeth on the settee, the scent of lavender rising from her gown, which was a delicate shade of violet-gray, trimmed with blue ribbon. Her eyes met his, curious and bright, and he felt the warmth of their shared understanding from before settle quietly between them.
Miss Bingley cleared her throat.
“I must say, Miss Eliza, your attendance is ever so appreciated. I have quite missed our conversations—especially yourlivelyviews on propriety and family.“ Her tone danced just on the edge of civility.
Elizabeth smiled. “Then I am glad to oblige.”
Darcy did not think the ladies had shared more than two conversations.
“And howwasyour walk? Did you take one? You do enjoy such long walks, do you not? I always wonder what you find to occupy your mind for such extended periods.”
Darcy bristled, but Elizabeth only replied, “The landscape, Miss Bingley, is more interesting than one might expect. And the quiet is rather lovely.”
Miss Bingley’s lashes fluttered. “I do believe silence ismostagreeable… when one has nothing clever to say.”
