Silence followed.
Elizabeth could not immediately speak. She had not expected this – not the seriousness, nor the quiet certainty with which he had spoken. For once, she found no ready reply.
She looked down, though she was conscious of his gaze upon her. “You must not,” she said at last, though without her usual firmness, “place me in such a position, Mr. Darcy.”
His expression did not change, but he listened with the same steady attention.
“I do not know,” she continued, “how to receive such… distinctions.” A faint colour rose to her cheeks.
“You are deserving of them.”
She glanced up at him, briefly. “This… situation,” she said, with a trace of returning playfulness, “is rather perplexing. I feel I ought to make you some proper return.”
Darcy allowed himself a small smile. “Pray do not attempt it for form’s sake.”
“I would not be so insincere,” she returned. “But I must give you what is your due.”
She hesitated only a moment. “I thought you very handsome when we first met – before your insult,” she added, with a glance. “Then you became a gentleman I was very willing to hear ill of. But I am not unreasonable; you have since regained your former advantage.” She met his eyes. “Does that serve as a sufficient confession?”
“I am much obliged,” said Darcy, a quiet warmth in his expression, “that my unchanged appearance continues to meet with your approval.”
They both laughed – Elizabeth with sparkling ease, and Darcy with more restraint, though no less genuine.
After a moment, Elizabeth glanced ahead. “I believe we ought to rejoin the others. My mother will wonder at our absence.”
Darcy inclined his head and reluctantly released her hand.
She hesitated, then stepped closer and placed her hand lightly upon his arm.
Darcy smiled down at her, and then, as though nothing extraordinary had passed between them, said, “And there are others who may wonder still more.”
“Miss Bingley,” he said.
Elizabeth gave a small nod. “I hope you know…”
He exhaled lightly. “Yes. I know. Though I did not always choose to see it.”
***
The Bennet family had at last taken their leave, their carriage rolling away from Netherfield with a degree of animation that spoke more of Mrs. Bennet’s spirits than of the weather, which had again turned uncertain.
For some moments after their departure, the drawing-room remained in a curious stillness.
Miss Bingley stood near the window, watching until the carriage was no longer visible. Mrs. Hurst adjusted her shawl with composed deliberation. Mr. Hurst, who had only just rejoined the company after a most restorative nap, sank into a chair and looked about him with mild curiosity, as though uncertain how the day had progressed in his absence.
Darcy returned from seeing the guests off. He was about to announce that he was withdrawing into his room when Miss Bingley called out to him.
“I cannot say I entirely comprehend you, Mr. Darcy.”
Darcy looked at her then.
Caroline’s smile was composed, but not quite easy. “Is it true?”
Mr. Hurst shifted slightly in his chair. “What is?”
“We were told Mr. Darcy is now courting Miss Eliza.”
Darcy’s expression remained perfectly calm.
