“A small tactic learnt over the years,” Mr Darcy murmured, referring to the fact that they had been the first to enter the dining room and thus chose their seats freely. The words were spoken again with a joyful familiarity that had nothing to do with the man she knew.
Elizabeth managed a smile, still uncertain how to behave. She only began to feel at ease when she noticed Charlotte’s anxious expression—clearly imagining aroughexchange of words soon to take place between her and Mr Darcy that could shatter the peace of her marriage. It was a small act of vengeance directed atMrs Collins, who had turned sweet Charlotte into an unthinking admirer of Lady Catherine, much like her husband.
“I did not recognise Miss Lucas in Mrs Collins,” Mr Darcy remarked as he settled into his seat next to her.
Elizabeth thought that neither could she when her friend was in Lady Catherine’s presence. Then, with a flicker of resolve, she turned to him and, smiling, murmured, “Nor did I.”
The man beside her laughed, suddenly and without restraint, eliciting surprise from some and a touch of alarm from others.
“What is so amusing?” asked Lady Catherine.
“Miss Bennet and I are old friends, sharing reminiscences about a few amusing moments at Netherfield, my friend Bingley’s house,” Mr Darcy replied smoothly, conveying a hint of unexpected amity and unusual warmth. This reference to their meeting at Netherfield, where they had found some pleasant moments despite their initial misunderstandings, added a touch of intrigue to the evening that she was beginning to consider as genuinely interesting.
“You must share them with us,” Lady Catherine declared. Still, she immediately abandoned the subject, finding it of no particular interest.
Instead, her gaze fell upon her daughter, who at lastlookedlike an heiress but had done nothing to change her usual timid demeanour. Rather than sitting beside Darcy, as her mother had repeatedly instructed, she had positioned herself in the middle of the table between her companion, Mrs Jenkinson, and Mrs Collins.
“I do not see why you are sitting so far away,” she said to Darcy with some irritation. When he did not reply, she pressed on in the same tone, “Engaged couples ought to sit together.”
A murmur rippled around the table, for no one had heard of any engagement. Miss de Bourgh blushed deeply and whispered in reproach, “Mother!” stirring a wave of confusion.
Even Elizabeth glanced at Mr Darcy in astonishment, fervently hoping that her bewilderment was not visible, for although she had come prepared as Artemis, she found herself—if only for this one evening—longing to be Aphrodite instead.
Then Colonel Fitzwilliam intervened, alleviating the situation with a touch of playfulness, “At present, neither Darcy nor I are engaged. But if any betrothed couples are separated at this table, we could always change seats.”
“Richard!” Lady Catherine exclaimed, though she did not seem truly angry, which was a surprise—that someone could defy her without incurring her divine wrath. But she was quick to reassert her authority. “Even if it has not been announced, Darcy and Anne have been destined for one another since birth.”
“To be cousins,” Colonel Fitzwilliam jested again, at which poor Mr Collins nearly choked even before placing a single morsel in his mouth.
“Arrangements between mothers are sacred,” Lady Catherine replied, her tone more agitated now as she looked imperiously at Darcy.
“Lady Catherine, this discussion is not suitable for the present moment. Shall we begin dinner?” he said, glancing towards the butler, who gave a signal, and the maids began serving the first course.
“One step away from disaster,” Elizabeth whispered, amused.
Mr Darcy turned to her, and for the first time that evening, their eyes did not leave each other for a long moment; then, he smiled and murmured only for her ears, “It is always like this here.”
A surge of mixed emotions overwhelmed her, a strange combination of amusement, frustration, and a hint of longing. Her heart raced, admitting that she could not decipher the exactnature of her state of mind—or heart—yet she had to declare to herself that her feelings towards Mr Darcy continued to alter.
“Does that mean you are not engaged to Miss de Bourgh?” she asked yet regretted it the next moment because that manner she knew well—a little amused, a little sarcastic, and infinitely arrogant—took possession of him when he answered.
“Are you genuinely interested, or is this just a subject for conversation?”
“Why could it not be both?” she asked.
“Because there is a substantial difference between the two,” he replied. Elizabeth felt a ripple of pleasure course through her, for this was precisely what she desired—an intelligent and amusing conversation.
After all, she could accept that Mr Darcy had changed, that it was not merely the atmosphere or his aunt’s house that made him appear friendly and amiable. She wished her father were there to witness the transformation—Mr Darcy beyond pride when smiling—and she passed prejudice when saying, “Genuinely interested.”
“Then, Miss Bennet, my answer is no. I am not engaged to Miss de Bourgh…” e hesitated, then continued, “Or any other young lady.”
“Oh!” Elizabeth exclaimed, wanting to sound amused. “You are giving me such details.”
“It seemed to me you asked for them.”
It was Elizabeth’s turn to hesitate, but then she decided the truth was the best weapon to startle someone. “Perhaps I did.”
She had been right. Darcy paused his eating and looked at her intently, so she turned to him, finding a gaze that showed surprise and something else she could not determine.
