“There is something I must discuss with you,” he said. “Somewhere more private. May I call upon you?”
The request was so unexpected that Elizabeth nearly laughed. She caught herself just in time, though her astonishment must have shown.
“You wish to call on me?” she asked.
“Yes,” he said simply.
Elizabeth could not imagine why. She could not imagine Mr Darcy voluntarily stepping into the Gardiners’ plain, unfashionable neighbourhood when he had an elegant townhouse of his own and acquaintance among the best families in London. Yet he spoke as though it were a matter already decided.
Perhaps it was merely a formality. Perhaps he would never appear at all. He would not be the first gentleman to speak lightly of calling as a mere pleasantry, with little intention of keeping the appointment.
Still, there was something about Mr Darcy’s manner that made Elizabeth hesitate to dismiss him so easily. She might think him proud. She might think him unjust. But she had never thought him careless.
“Very well, then,” Elizabeth said at last, belatedly adding, “I am staying with my uncle, Mr Gardiner. His home is on Gracechurch Street, the fourth from the corner of Leadenhall.”
Mr Darcy’s expression did not change, though Elizabeth watched for it. He did not flinch or look away. If he thought the address beneath him, he gave no sign.
To her astonishment, he thanked her gravely.
“I shall call upon you soon,” he said.
They completed the dance with simple politeness, taking refuge in formality. Mr Darcy did not attempt to draw her into more conversation, and Elizabeth found she did not quite know how to begin. The oddity of the moment hung between them, made stranger by the awareness of eyes upon them whenever they moved.
When the set ended, Mr Darcy bowed once more and withdrew.
Elizabeth watched him go, her thoughts in complete disarray. She was accustomed to forming opinions quickly, and Mr Darcy had never inspired much warmth in her. Yet she could not deny the impression he had made upon her this evening. His request was too deliberate, his manner too serious, to be dismissed as a whim.
She returned to Jane’s side, still unsettled.
“How unexpected,” Jane said softly, a faint hint of curiosity in her voice.
Elizabeth managed a smile. “Yes. Unexpected is the word.”
“Did he say anything of consequence?”
“He said that he wishes to call upon me,” Elizabeth replied. She blinked and shook her head, hearing how absurd the words sounded.
Jane blinked. “To call upon you?”
Elizabeth nodded, feeling the absurdity deepen rather than lessen. “He asked for our address and thanked me as though such a request were perfectly natural. Which it is not.”
Mrs Gardiner’s gaze sharpened at once. “He asked to call on you?”
“Yes,” Elizabeth said. “And he spoke as though he meant it.”
Mr Gardiner looked thoughtful rather than alarmed. “I should not have thought Mr Darcy a gentleman to make such a request lightly. His reputation in society is formidable — and, I should have thought, very much above our own circles.”
Elizabeth knew that. That was precisely why she felt so unsettled.
“And yet I cannot imagine what business he can possibly have with me,” Elizabeth said, keeping her tone as calm as she could. “Unless he intends to inform me that my character and manners, which I am sure he found lacking enough in Hertfordshire, are entirely unsuitable for London.”
Mrs Gardiner studied her for a moment, as if weighing whether to speak. “You said earlier that you felt you were being watched.”
“I did,” Elizabeth admitted. “And now I feel it more than ever.”
Jane’s brows drew together in concern. “Perhaps it is nothing.”
Elizabeth wanted to agree. It would have been a great relief to believe it was all mere fancy, a strange mood brought on by too much noise, too much warmth, too much irritation. Yet she could not ignore the feeling that something was unfolding beyond her understanding.
