There was something in his mien—an intent gravity that made her breath falter. He bowed politely, of course, and exchanged the usual civilities with her mother; but Elizabeth sensed his attention return to her, even as Mrs. Bennet launched into her welcome.
“Oh, Mr. Bingley, how delighted we are to see you! And Mr. Darcy. How very good of you to accompany your friend. You are always welcome at Longbourn.” Mrs. Bennet's warmth could not be mistaken.
At least she treats him kindly now.Mama did not like him at all before.
Darcy bowed again, murmuring his thanks, but Mrs. Bennet, carried away by the occasion, pressed on.
“And I must say, gentlemen, your visit could not come at a better, or worse, time. We are soon to be inundated again. Mr. Collins arrives on Wednesday to stay until his wedding. My poor nerves can scarcely endure it. Why Mr. Bennet insists on receiving the man who will one day cast us into the hedgerows, I cannot fathom!”
Bingley shifted uneasily, not quite certain how to respond to so lamentable a speech. Jane’s cheeks reddened, and Elizabeth saw her sister draw a steadying breath.
Ever their mother’s gentle guide, she interjected quickly, “Mama, shall I ask Hill to bring tea for our guests?”
Mrs. Bennet brightened. “Yes, yes—what a lovely idea. I shall go and speak to her myself.” She bustled from the room, calling over her shoulder for Lydia to come and assist.
Elizabeth exhaled, grateful for the moment’s reprieve.
She turned just as Darcy stepped beside her. “Miss Elizabeth,” he said in that low, melodious voice she never mistook for another's, “might I sit with you?”
“Of course,” she replied, drawing her gown close to allow space for him beside her on the settee. The embroidery lay forgotten in her lap as she regarded him. How handsome he appeared! His cravat was expertly tied, his coat admirably cut, and his waistcoat, dark green rather than his familiar black, became him exceedingly.
As he seated himself, warmth rose in her cheeks. His look was intent—steady, not bold, but she felt it as though it touched her. When his eyes fell to her neckline, she caught her breath, for he had fixed upon on the silver chain, visible just above the edge of her gown.
He sees it. He knows.
Her fingers moved instinctively to the spot, conscious of his notice. But he spoke not of the necklace, and she dared not mention it first.
Instead, he leaned nearer. “Mr. Collins is returning, then?” Curiosity…perhaps even amusement colored his words.
She folded her hands tightly in her lap. “Yes. He arrives on the seventh and marries Charlotte two days later.”Daft! I am repeating what Mama just said.She wanted to sink into the settee, such was her embarrassment.
“Yes, I had heard. Miss Lucas spoke of it in December.”
“Charlotte accepted quickly.”
“She is a prudent woman.Youwould have been wasted on such a man.”
He knows! He knows Mr. Collins proposed to me first.She could not fathom his design—he seemed to wait, intent upon her answer.
The words echoed in her mind.Wasted? He thinks me fit for more.From him, it could not be idle civility; Darcy was not a man to speak without meaning. If not Mr. Collins, then whom did he consider worthy? Could he be suggesting…himself? The idea trembled at the edge of belief, both thrilling and bewildering.
“My mother would disagree. She has spoken her sentiments often enough.” Elizabeth shifted, turning more fully toward him. “I take it you have heard of my refusal?”
A shadow crossed his features. “Indeed. Miss Lucas revealed it. Tell me you are not angry.” His beseeching look was so genuine that she smiled despite herself.
“You must think me rather foolish to refuse so suitable a proposal.”
“Not at all.” His protest warmed her heart. “The match might appearsuitablefrom one perspective, but I believe I know you well enough to be certain you would have been wretched in such a union.”
A thrill coursed through her at his words; he understood her so well. “Mr. Collins has his merits. He is...consistent in his absurdity. Charlotte is a sensible creature; she is content with her practical decision.”
He let out a restrained chuckle, then grew more serious. “Collins is devoted to my aunt, Lady Catherine. That alone would deter most. I ought not to speak ill of my elders, but she is a formidable woman, determined to have her own way.”
“I have only heard his account, and in his telling, she is a veritable goddess—wisdom, virtue, and elegance personified.”
Darcy laughed outright. “Lady Catherine is imperious, commanding, and certain of her own infallibility. She assumesthe air of discernment, but I fear little of it is genuine. Nothing escapes her notice—not the placing of forks upon a table, nor the manner in which a guest stirs their tea. My sister avoids her company whenever possible. Such is her perceived authority that she will even direct the butcher’s orders on her parson’s behalf.”
Elizabeth began to laugh, but the sound faltered, her smile fading as an unwelcome recollection intruded.
