“I appreciate that,” Mr Gardiner said. “Though I confess, I was curious to know how you intended to proceed. My wife and my niece have informed me of the previous attempts made. Regrettably, we must agree that these attempts have not met with success.”
Darcy drew a breath. “No, indeed they have not, for which I extend my apologies. I believe my present proposal will prove more reliable. My aunt, the Countess of Matlock, is to host her annual spring gathering in a fortnight’s time. It will be well-attended. I believe that if Miss Elizabeth were present, properly escorted by some eligible gentleman, and if I were seen there with another lady, it would demonstrate clearly that there is no understanding between us.”
Mr Gardiner studied him in silence for a moment.
“And you believe,” he said at last, “that this would put an end to the rumours and protect my niece’s reputation?”
“Yes,” Darcy replied. “And strengthen it. It would show that she is received by my family without reservation, while removing any suggestion of attachment between us.”
Mr Gardiner’s expression remained neutral. “And have you selected the lady who would attend with you?”
The question caught Darcy off guard.
“No,” he admitted. “I have not.”
Mr Gardiner’s brows lifted slightly, though his tone remained polite. “I see.”
Darcy felt an unwelcome tightening in his chest. He had known this point would arise, yet he had not been prepared for how difficult it would be to answer it honestly. The truth was uncomfortably clear. Every attempt to imagine himself at the party with another woman had ended in vague dissatisfaction, followed by a far more vivid image of Elizabeth Bennet standing across the room, composed and distant.
He forced the thought aside.
“If the plan meets with your approval,” Darcy said carefully, “I would write to Miss Elizabeth, explaining the circumstances and seeking her consent. Then I would ask you to give the letter to your niece, allowing us to circumvent the reputational problems of a single gentleman writing to an unmarried lady. You would, of course, be welcome to read the letter before it is delivered.”
Mr Gardiner regarded him with an expression Darcy could not easily interpret. There was thoughtfulness there, and something else that might have been amusement.
“While I would allow such a plan,” Mr Gardiner said, “it will not be necessary.”
Darcy frowned slightly. “Not necessary?”
“My niece is here,” Mr Gardiner replied. “She is looking at lace in the warehouse with her sister and my wife. Should you wish, I will ask her to come in so you may speak to her directly. I will remain nearby.”
Darcy’s pulse quickened despite his efforts at composure. “An excellent idea, and much simpler than passing letters. I thank you, Mr Gardiner. With your permission, I should very much like to speak with Miss Elizabeth.”
Mr Gardiner nodded and moved toward the door, pausing only to add, “I will leave it open.”
Darcy nodded, acutely aware of the significance of that simple assurance.
After only a brief wait, Elizabeth Bennet followed her uncle into the room.
She looked surprised, though not displeased, and Darcy felt that familiar, unsettling lift at the sight of her. She was dressed simply, suited to the businesslike setting, and there was an alertness in her expression that suggested she already suspected the subject of their conversation.
“My uncle said you wished to speak with me,” she said.
“Yes,” Darcy replied, rising at once. “If you will allow it.”
Mr Gardiner withdrew into the adjoining room, the door remaining open just as he had promised.
Darcy found he was suddenly conscious of how little control he had over the situation. He had come prepared to persuade, to explain, to manage the exchange with careful restraint. Instead, he stood before Elizabeth Bennet with theuneasy awareness that whatever occurred next would depend as much upon her judgement as his own.
And that, he realised, troubled him far less than it ought to have done. Absurd though it was, he felt he could rely on her sense of what was right as much as on his own.
Elizabeth did not sit at once.
She remained standing near the desk, her posture attentive rather than defensive, and Darcy was struck anew by how little she resembled the version of her he had once imagined. There was nothing calculating in her expression, nothing tentative. If she was cautious, it was the caution of a woman willing to listen.
“You wished to speak to me,” she said again, with a faint smile that suggested she did not intend to be intimidated by formality.
“Yes,” Darcy replied. “I wished to explain a proposal I have made to your uncle, and to ask your opinion of it directly.”
