Darcy cut in smoothly. “Then I am certain silence has never troubled MissElizabeth.”
Elizabeth blinked, then smiled—her genuine, radiant smile—and for a moment, Miss Bingley’s carefully arranged expression faltered.
Dinner passed with lively conversation, mostly between Miss Bennet and Bingley, who were so thoroughly charmed with each other they barely noticed the rest of the table. Louisa contributed little, Mr. Hurst even less, and Miss Bingley picked selectively at her food and continued her quiet campaign of observation.
After the meal, when the gentlemen offered the ladies a walk in the fading light, Mr. Hurst and his wife declined, citing the chill. Miss Bingley hesitated, clearly torn between control and dignity, then shook her head.
“Tea will be ready shortly. I believe I shall remain inside and prepare.”
Darcy stood and extended his arm to Elizabeth, who accepted it gracefully. The two couples stepped into the cooling dusk, the gravel crunching softly beneath their feet.
They made their way around the lawn in an easy rhythm. Miss Bennet and Bingley walked slightly ahead, speaking in low tones.
“I received the note,” Elizabeth said after a time, glancing up at him. “Inviting both Miss Bennet and me, though I suspect the original intent was only Jane.”
He looked at her, amused. “Indeed? Was that Mrs. Bennet’s conclusion?”
Elizabeth laughed. “My mother very much hoped my sister would ride—and thus be forced to stay the night when the weather inevitably turned. But we have only one horse worth the effort, and Nellie cannot carry two.”
“Ah,” Darcy murmured. “So logistics thwarted the infamous Mrs. Bennet.”
“She was forced to send us in the carriage. Though she did call it back for her own use. Likely to ensure she might still be seen driving through Meryton—lest anyone think we have abandoned society altogether.”
He chuckled. “Your mother is certainly…invested in her daughters’ futures.”
Elizabeth sobered a little. “She is. Too much, sometimes. I only hope she does not ruin Jane’s chances through overzealous encouragement. My sister likes Mr. Bingley a great deal.”
“I believe the feeling is mutual,” Darcy said quietly.
Elizabeth met his gaze, something unspoken passing between them again.
They returned inside just as the lamps were being lit. The drawing room was warm, with the scent of tea and biscuits already filling the air.
A knockcame at the door, and a footman entered with a note whose seal Darcy recognized from the Longbourn post.
Elizabeth opened it and scanned it quickly. “The carriage wheel is broken,” she said. “It needs repair before it can return.”
Miss Bingley stood. “How unfortunate. I shall call for our own carriage to return you this evening, of course.”
But before Elizabeth could respond, Bingley stepped forward.
“Nonsense. You must not leave now. This is easily solved—please stay with us for a few days. The guest rooms are ready, and I’m sure my sisters would be delighted.”
Miss Bennet hesitated, but Elizabeth looked to Darcy, and something in his expression—steady, reassuring—seemed to convince her.
“We would be delighted,” Elizabeth echoed.
Miss Bingley, standing behind the tea table, smiled so tightly it was a wonder her face did not crack.
“Of course,” she said. “Delighted.”
Elizabeth
The fire in Elizabeth’s chamber crackled softly, its warmth stretching into the corners of the elegant room. Heavy curtains had been drawn across the tall windows, and the soft golden glow of the hearth cast shadows that danced along the damask-covered walls. A tray of tea, left untouched, rested on a small table near the foot of the bed, beside a delicate vase holding a single, fading rose. The scent of beeswax and lavender hung in the air, mingling with the faint, familiar notes of old books and candle smoke.
She had changed into her nightclothes—an ivory cotton nightgown with lace at the sleeves and a blue woolen dressing robe tied snugly about her waist. Her hair, now brushed free of pins, tumbled in soft waves over her shoulders. She crossed the room barefoot, the rug beneath her feet thick and surprisingly soft, and gently pushed open the door to Jane’s adjoining chamber.
Jane was already sitting on the edge of her bed, her golden hair braided neatly over one shoulder, her cheeks still faintly pink from the firelight and, no doubt, from her evening spent almost entirely in Mr. Bingley’s orbit.
