There was a pause.
Then he added, very quietly, “Some men are quick to make friends.”
Elizabeth waited.
“And,” he continued, his voice unchanged, “not equally careful to keep them.”
The words were not spoken toward Wickham. They were not spoken loudly. Yet Elizabeth felt them with more force than she liked.
She hesitated before answering.
She told herself that Mr. Darcy spoke from prejudice, that he had never forgiven Wickham his ease, that resentment sharpened his judgement. And yet – the memory of Wickham’s hesitation, his turned shoulder, his careful avoidance, intruded despite her efforts.
“You mistake ease for insincerity,” she said, after a moment.
Darcy looked at her steadily. “I mistake nothing.”
Elizabeth had no reply prepared for that.
She turned away soon after, outwardly composed, inwardly disturbed – less by what Mr. Darcy had said than by the unwilling sense that she could not entirely dismiss it.
At last, the long-expected summons was given, and the company began to move toward the dining room. The gentlemen took the ladies’ hands and led them to the table.
The names written in Kitty’s hand in beautiful calligraphy were waiting for their owners.
Mrs. Bennet, on Mr. Bingley’s arm, led the way with brisk satisfaction, casting a glance behind her to ensure that everyone followed in proper order. She did not want to be found wanting compared to the London dinner parties.
Elizabeth lingered only a moment, long enough to exchange a look with Charlotte, then took her place among the others, her countenance composed into perfect innocence.
The guests arranged themselves about the table with the small, unavoidable confusions attendant upon such numbers – chairs drawn back, places adjusted, a few polite murmurs of apology – until most found their places.
Darcy expected to find his seat near Mr. Bennet, the host, but the place cards showed differently. He found his name on Mrs. Bennet’s right hand, and not where she expected either.
“Mr. Darcy, your place is…” She paused; a look of surprise crossed her face as she saw Mr. Johnson already sitting on her husband’s right. The parson was to sit on the other side, next to Mrs. Hurst, but she saw Mr. Collins there, who should be sitting with her, in Mr. Darcy’s place. She was really confused by this, since she had placed the cards herself. Oh, what should she do? Admitting a mishap and making a fuss about wherepeople should sit would surely make her guests uncomfortable. She just hoped Mr. Darcy would not begrudge her for not seating him next to the host, the most consequential guest. She fanned herself rapidly. What was she to talk about with a man like Mr. Darcy?
“Madam?”
“Dear me,” she exclaimed, half rising again in her chair. “Mr. Darcy! I had not imagined… Pray, are you going to be quite comfortable here? I could ask our parson to exchange places with you. I am sure you would have more in common with Mr. Bennet.” She could not help herself.
Darcy, who had been in the act of settling himself, paused. “Is this not the seat you intended for me?”
He glanced down the table at once, instinctively searching for the explanation – and found it without difficulty.
Miss Elizabeth sat opposite, between Mr. Denny and Bingley, her head bent slightly as though in conversation, yet her eyes lifted for just an instant to meet his. There was no triumph in her look, only a quick, irrepressible gleam of satisfaction – the look of someone who knew precisely what she had done and saw no reason to repent it.
Darcy felt a flicker of surprise, swiftly followed by something nearer amusement than annoyance.
So, this was her doing.
Mrs. Bennet, meanwhile, was still fluttering. “Oh, no! That is… I did mean to place you near me and… Mrs. Lucas. I thought to learn from you about town and… as you know, we do not travel much, so I thought you could tell us about where you live and where you have travelled,” Mrs. Bennet continued, faltering only for want of breath, not inclination. “Though I am sure you find Hertfordshire very quiet in comparison. We are not London, to be sure.”
Darcy seated himself fully now, his manner composed, his movements unhurried. “I find it very agreeable,” he said. “Quiet has its advantages. One hears oneself think.”
He glanced at Elizabeth. Why had she done it? A punishment – or a challenge? He should have been annoyed by the childish contrivance, yet he could not summon the feeling. He was, instead, intrigued. That she, who seemed so indifferent to him, should take the trouble at all was not easily accounted for.
Mrs. Bennet laughed a little too readily. “Oh, indeed! Though I sometimes think young people require noise and company to keep them from melancholy. My daughters, for instance…”
She stopped, uncertain which direction to pursue.
