Jane smiled, hesitated only a moment longer, and obeyed.
Elizabeth remained near the sideboard with the footman, directing the distribution with practised ease. The seed cake had been set out at the centre, its surface neatly scored, surrounded by small dishes of preserved cherries, thin slices of orange peel, and a little dish of fresh butter – indulgences her mother reserved for occasions she meant to be remembered.
Elizabeth cut with care, her hand steady, her expression composed, offering each plate with the same quiet civility, though her attention was keener than her manner suggested.
Mr. Wickham approached first.
“Miss Elizabeth,” he said, with his usual readiness, “I ought to congratulate you. Few young ladies preside with such grace. One might almost suppose you delight in the office.”
Elizabeth placed a plate before him. “Delight is not required. Only accuracy.”
He laughed softly. “Ever exact. Still, I admire how naturally it suits you.”
“I find that useful tasks leave little room for admiration,” she replied, adding a spoon without looking at him.
His smile wavered – almost imperceptibly. “You are severe this evening,” he said lightly. “Have I offended you without knowing it?”
Elizabeth met his eye then, calmly. “I am only occupied, or I choose to be.”
Wickham bowed and withdrew, his ease restored only in appearance.
Darcy, from where he stood, observed the exchange without appearing to do so. He noticed it at once – the reserve, the measured civility – and wondered at its cause. He did not presume to guess it, though the impulse to do so was strong.
Mr. Collins followed at once, as though summoned by the vacancy.
“My dear cousin,” he said solemnly, “Lady Catherine herself has often remarked that a young lady’s conduct at table reflects the greatest credit upon her upbringing. Your manner of serving is most exemplary.”
Elizabeth smiled politely and handed him a slice. “I am glad it meets with approval.”
“I trust,” he continued, “that the exertion is not too great. Such attentions are most becoming.”
“I find it quite manageable,” she replied, and turned away before he could add more.
When she looked up again, Mr. Darcy stood before her.
She did not start, though she had not seen him approach.
“Coffee or tea?” she asked, reaching for the pot.
“Coffee, if you please.”
She poured, then added a slice of cake to his plate – and, after a moment’s consideration, placed beside it a small spoonful of preserved cherries.
“For balance,” she said lightly.
Darcy glanced at the plate, then at her. “I thank you. I had not known the cake required such assistance.”
“It does not,” Elizabeth replied. “But some things are improved by contrast.”
His mouth curved, faintly. “I shall take that under advisement.”
She handed him the cup. “Do. My mother would insist upon it.”
There was a pause – brief, deliberate.
“You have relieved your sister very efficiently,” Darcy said. “Though I suspect she was not eager to be relieved.”
Elizabeth adjusted the edge of the tray. “Jane prefers conversation. I prefer knowing where everyone is.”
