Out of the corner of her eye, Elizabeth saw Miss Bingley’s shoulders droop ever so slightly, and she wondered, not without a touch of satisfaction, whether the lady had at last abandoned her pursuit of him.
The company gathered in the dining room, the long table gleaming beneath the glow of polished candlesticks. Silverware glinted, and the scent of roasted meats and spiced vegetables drifted enticingly from the sideboard. Footmen moved with quiet precision, pulling out chairs and ensuring every detail was attended to.
Elizabeth found herself seated to Mr. Darcy’s right, with Miss Bingley at one end of the table. It was a position that might have been awkward under other circumstances, yet she felt oddly at ease. The warmth of Mr. Darcy’s presence beside her, the occasional glance he sent in her direction, made it difficult to dwell on Miss Bingley’s thin smiles.
Conversation began with Mr. Hurst’s enthusiastic discussion of the morning’s sport, to which Mr. Bingley contributed with good humour. Jane listened attentively, her gentle expression betraying her pleasure in Mr. Bingley’s successes. Elizabeth added the occasional question, prompting Mr. Darcy to explain certain terms unfamiliar to her, which he did with patient clarity.
Miss Bingley, however, seemed determined to reclaim Mr. Darcy’s attention. “Sir,” she said brightly, “you must tell us about the last time you dined with the Earl of Matlock. I am certain the company was the finest imaginable.”
Mr. Darcy inclined his head politely. “It was pleasant enough, though I value good conversation more than the rank of my companions. In that respect, I have been well satisfied of late.”
Elizabeth felt the weight of his words and resisted the urge to meet his gaze too quickly. Instead, she busied herself with her soup, though hercheeks warmed.
Undeterred, Miss Bingley turned the talk towards Town gossip, drawing Mrs. Hurst into another recitation of recent assemblies and musical evenings. Elizabeth listened with polite interest, but the undercurrent of comparison was impossible to miss—every remark designed to elevate their own acquaintance while casting subtle aspersions on hers.
At one point, Miss Bingley leaned forward, her smile fixed. “Do you often attend assemblies in Meryton, Miss Elizabeth? I should think the society there is…quaint.”
Elizabeth returned the smile with perfect composure. “Yes, and it is all the more enjoyable for being among dear friends. A small circle can sometimes be the most diverting, for it encourages more genuine conversation than one might find in a crowded London ballroom.”
Mr. Darcy’s lips curved ever so slightly, as though in approval, before he addressed her directly. “And do you dance often at these assemblies?”
“When the partners are agreeable,” she replied, her tone light.
The meal progressed with further attempts from Miss Bingley to command the conversation, though each one seemed to slip, redirected by either Mr. Darcy’s measured responses or Elizabeth’s unshaken composure. By the timethe final course was served—a delicate trifle—Elizabeth found herself more amused than irritated.
The ladies gathered in the drawing room after supper, the air warm with the faint fragrance of tea and polished wood. A small fire crackled in the grate, casting a gentle glow upon the brocade chairs and the gilt frames of the paintings. Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst settled themselves on the sofa, arranging their gowns with careful precision, while Jane moved to the pianoforte at their request.
Elizabeth chose a chair slightly apart from the others, near enough to listen but with a view towards the door. She could still feel the faint pressure of Mr. Darcy’s arm beneath her hand from when he had escorted her from the dining room, a sensation she found both disconcerting and strangely pleasant.
Jane began a soft air, her touch light and even. The melody filled the room with a sweetness that silenced conversation for a time, though Elizabeth could not help but notice Miss Bingley’s distracted expression—her gaze fixed upon the doorway, awaiting the return of thegentlemen.
When the door finally opened, the shift in the room’s energy was immediate. Bingley entered first, his usual buoyant smile in place, followed by Mr. Darcy, whose tall figure and composed expression drew Elizabeth’s attention at once. Mr. Hurst brought up the rear, already inquiring whether there might be a decanter of port available.
Bingley crossed directly to the pianoforte, leaning over Jane’s shoulder with an expression that made Elizabeth smile to herself. Mr. Darcy, however, moved at a deliberate pace towards the corner where Elizabeth sat.
“Miss Elizabeth,” he said quietly, bowing. “May I join you?”
“Of course,” she replied, her voice steady though her pulse quickened.
They sat in a moment’s comfortable silence, with the music wrapping around them like a veil. Elizabeth, glancing towards the sofa, noted Miss Bingley’s sharp look in their direction before the lady hastily resumed her composure.
“You play well,” Mr. Darcy remarked after Jane completed the piece.
“She does indeed,” Elizabeth said warmly. “I have always envied her skill, though I cannot claim any real talent myself.”
“I find,” he said, his gaze steady upon her, “that your talents are of another kind—equally rare and, to my mind, equally admirable.”
Elizabeth felt heat rise to her cheeks and turned her eyes to the fire, unsure how to answer without revealing too much of what his words stirred in her.
Miss Bingley’s voice broke in, sharp against the quiet. “Mr. Darcy, you promised to inspect Louisa’s new embroidery pattern this evening. We should not keep her waiting.”
Mr. Darcy did not immediately rise. “In a moment,” he said, his tone polite but final.
Elizabeth hid a smile behind her teacup, sensing Miss Bingley’s mounting frustration. Yet when Mr. Darcy finally did stand, it was with a lingering glance in Elizabeth’s direction—one that told her, as plainly as any words, that she had been the true object of his attention that evening.
Chapter Seventeen
November 16, 1811
