She glanced at him, half apologetic, half smiling. “I hope you are not displeased.”
“I am not,” he said quietly. And he was not.
A brief silence followed – less uneasy now.
Then, as if recalling something, Darcy reached for the small parcel he had brought with him. “I have taken the liberty,” he said, “of bringing you something.”
Elizabeth looked at it in surprise. “For me?”
“If you will allow it.” He placed it in her hands.
Elizabeth hesitated only a moment before opening it.
Within lay a small arrangement of flowers – clearly not of the season. Pale roses, newly brought into bloom, were set among white camellias; and beneath them, a faint fragrance rose – something delicate, unfamiliar, yet pleasing.
Elizabeth started slightly. “Flowers?” She looked up at him, her expression brightening despite herself. For a moment, she did not trust herself to speak. “But, you told me there were none to be had.”
Darcy’s gaze remained steady. “At the time, that was true.”
“And now?”
“They are from the hothouses of London,” he said.
Elizabeth looked again at the bouquet. The thought of it – of the trouble, the intention – was not lost on her. “They are very beautiful,” she said, more softly.
“I am glad you think so.”
She held them a moment longer, then said, with a return of her usual playfulness,
“I must conclude, then, that you are not always to be trusted in such matters.”
Darcy allowed himself a faint smile. “Only when I have reason to amend my first answer.”
Elizabeth met his look – and forgot to speak.
There was something in it – something quieter, more certain – that affected her more than she would have expected.
At length, she said, still half smiling, “I shall accept them, then – on the condition that you do not again deprive me of such a surprise.”
“I shall endeavour,” he said, “to avoid doing so.”
Across the room, Lydia was watching with undisguised interest.
“Well!” she whispered to Kitty. “If that is not courting, I do not know what is. How Mama could miss it, I’ll never know.”
Kitty nodded eagerly. Mary, though more reserved, did not entirely disagree.
Mrs. Bennet, though much occupied in receiving the gentlemen with proper attention, did not fail to observe that Mr. Darcy’s manner, whenever disengaged, returned with particular constancy to Elizabeth. She said nothing but was not without her own conclusions, now that she did not think it impossible for a rich gentleman from London to be interested in her daughter.
And Elizabeth, though she continued to speak with composure, was very sensible that the morning had brought a distinction which could neither be misunderstood – nor easily forgotten. She had thought herself equal to every situation; yet she was not certain she had ever been so little at ease with her own composure.
***
Friday morning had passed with even less composure than Elizabeth might have wished.
She had not long been in the breakfast parlour when a servant entered with a note. “For Miss Elizabeth, ma’am.”
Elizabeth suspected the sender. She opened it without delay.
