He leaned back slightly, his expression altering – less grave now. For though the moment had been broken, it had not been lost.
She had not withdrawn. She had not refused him. She had answered him.
Darcy allowed himself the smallest smile.
He had not doubted it, though he could not say whether he ought to have done so, nor whether she had fully understood him.
He rose at last, the book forgotten entirely. Whatever had begun that morning could not easily be set aside. Nor, he thought, did he wish it to be.
Chapter 22
Introductions and Distinctions
The next morning at Longbourn was a lazy one.
A door creaked softly along the passage, and Elizabeth, still in night clothes, paused before another, then entered with quiet care.
Jane was awake. “You are early,” she said, smiling faintly from her pillow.
“I could not sleep,” Elizabeth replied, coming nearer. “Or rather – I slept very ill.”
Jane’s expression altered at once. “You are not unwell?”
“No, only restless.”
She sat at the edge of the bed.
There was a moment’s silence – comfortable, yet not entirely without expectation.
“I believe,” Jane said gently, “that I know the cause of it.”
Elizabeth’s face reddened. Before she could answer, however, the door opened without ceremony.
Lydia entered.
“I knew you would be here!” she declared, though her voice was still thick with sleep.“You always go to Jane first when there is something to tell.”
“There is nothing to tell,” Elizabeth returned.
“That is never true,” Lydia said, climbing at once onto the bed. “And I shall not be left out of it.”
Kitty appeared in the doorway a moment later, hesitating.
“Come in, Kitty,” said Jane, laughing softly. “You may as well join us.”
Kitty needed no further encouragement.
The four of them were soon gathered together, with a degree of disorder that would not have recommended itself to their mother’s notions of propriety, but which seemed perfectly natural to themselves.
Lydia settled herself comfortably. “Well,” she said, looking from one to the other, “I suppose we are to speak of it.”
“Of what?” Elizabeth asked, though not very convincingly.
“Of Mr. Bingley, of course. He must return today or tomorrow at the latest. Are you going to court, too?”
Jane coloured slightly. “We do not know that he will come.”
“He will,” Lydia insisted. “Men always do, if they have any spirit.”
