"You are very persuasive, Miss Darcy," Elizabeth said, a smile tugging at her lips.
"Is that a yes?" Georgiana asked, clasping her hands.
Elizabeth looked at Mr Darcy. "The Opera," she mused. "I suppose... I suppose I have not been to the Opera in a very long time."
"Is that a yes?" he asked, his voice low.
"Yes," Elizabeth said. "I would be honoured, Mr Darcy."
The relief that washed over his face was so profound it almost made her laugh. He looked like a man who had just been pardoned at the gallows.
"Excellent," he breathed. "Monday. The twenty-third. We shall collect you."
"I will have to inform my relatives, naturally, but we have no prior engagements that I know of. So, we will be looking forward to it."
The visit wound down shortly after that. Mrs Gardiner, sensing that enough emotional ground had been covered for one day, gathered her chicks. Robert protested, of course, claiming he had not yet finished describing the second act of the play he wanted Miss Bennet to see, but eventually, they were ushered towards the door.
"Until tomorrow," Robert said, kissing Miss Bennet's hand.
"Until tomorrow," she echoed, smiling.
"Goodbye, Miss Elizabeth!" Georgiana called. "I shall wear my pink ribbon!"
"Goodbye, Miss Darcy," Miss Elizabeth smiled warmly.
Darcy walked them to the carriage. He handed Mrs Gardiner in, then Miss Bennet. Finally, he offered his hand to Miss Elizabeth.
His palm was warm through her glove. His grip was firm.
"The lemon biscuits," he said suddenly, as she placed her foot on the step.
She paused and looked back at him. "Sir?"
"On the tray. I remembered you liked them. At Netherfield. Did you try them?"
She looked at him. He was blushing again, just slightly, on the tips of his ears.
"I did," she said softly. "Thank you, Mr Darcy. It was very thoughtful of you. They were delicious. Please convey my appreciation to your cook."
She climbed in. The door closed.
As the carriage pulled away, Elizabeth watched him from the window. He stood on the pavement of Grosvenor Square, a solitary figure against the grey stone of his house,watching them go.
"Well," Mrs Gardiner said, leaning back against the squabs. "That was successful."
"The Viscount is very charming," Jane admitted, touching her cheek.
"And Mr Darcy," Mrs Gardiner added, looking at Elizabeth, "remembered your biscuits."
"He did," Elizabeth murmured, touching the spot on her hand where he had held it. "He really did."
And as the carriage turned the corner, Elizabeth Bennet realized with a jolt of panic that she was actually, genuinely, looking forward to the Opera.
Chapter Six: The Importance of Being Earnest (and the Unimportance of Being Bingley)
White's Club on a Sunday evening was a sanctuary of masculine silence, smelling of beeswax, old leather, and the distinct aroma of fortunes being quietly wagered in the back rooms. It was a place where a man could brood in peace, provided he paid his subscription fees.
Fitzwilliam Darcy sat in a high-backed leather chair, nursing a glass of port and waiting for his friend. He felt like a man walking to the gallows, or a man about to confess a murder. He had spent the afternoon in a state of nervous agitation following the tea party, his mind replaying every interaction with Elizabeth—her coolness, her thawing, the way she had looked at him when he mentioned the lemon biscuits.
