Elizabeth laughed. “If that is the case, Papa, I must endeavour not to lose it.”
Lydia leaned forward eagerly. “Perhaps he will dance with you again at the next ball!”
Elizabeth shook her head. “Pray do not arrange my future engagements quite so hastily.”
But though she spoke lightly, the recollection of the evening returned to her mind: Darcy’s unexpected civility, the steadiness with which he had answered her mother, and the curious expression in his eyes when they had last looked at one another. Elizabeth dismissed the thought almost immediately. There were far safer subjects for reflection than Mr. Darcy.
After the meal had ended and the company began to disperse, Mr. Bennet rose with the unhurried composure which usually accompanied his movements. “Lizzy,” said he, pausing by the door, “when you are at liberty, you may come to me in my book room. I have something to tell you.”
Elizabeth looked up in mild surprise. Her father’s invitations to private conversation were not common, and when they did occur, they generally promised some degree of entertainment. She rose shortly after and followed him down the passage.
Mr. Bennet had already established himself comfortably in his chair when she entered. A book lay open in his hand, though he appeared to have forgotten it the moment she arrived.
Elizabeth seated herself opposite him. “You alarm my curiosity, Papa.”
“I thought you should know this. Last Saturday evening, after the ladies had withdrawn, I had some conversation with Mr. Darcy.”
Elizabeth raised her brows slightly. “Indeed?”
“Yes. I discovered, to my surprise, that the gentleman is capable of speaking when properly encouraged.” He regarded her with mild curiosity. “If you took his rude comment at the assembly to heart…”
“I did not.”
“Oh, then it was all for nothing,” said Mr. Bennet calmly. “In that case, I have nothing to tell you.”
He made a show of returning to his book.
Elizabeth leaned forward. “What was said?”
Mr. Bennet set the book aside again, removed his spectacles, and began polishing them with deliberate care.
“Well?”
Mr. Bennet regarded her with a faintly amused expression. “He was very contrite,” said he at last. “He admitted that he had been very much in the wrong.”
Elizabeth blinked. “He said that?”
“Yes, my dear, he did. I was quite impressed. Gentlemen of his sort do not often enjoy being reminded of their mistakes.”
Elizabeth sat back, considering this. “And what precisely did he say?”
Mr. Bennet replaced his spectacles. “That his judgement, in that instance, had been neither just nor accurate – and that he hoped to correct it.”
Elizabeth said nothing for a moment.
“That is… unexpectedly reasonable.”
“Yes,” said Mr. Bennet. “I thought so too. Particularly as the error concerned my daughter.”
Elizabeth smiled despite herself. “You seem to have defended me with great spirit, Papa.”
“My dear Lizzy,” he replied mildly, “a father must occasionally vindicate his family’s beauty.”
Elizabeth rose at last, still smiling. Yet as she left the room, she found herself reflecting upon what she had heard. Mr. Darcy had admitted he was wrong. Such a confession did not suit the opinion she had formed of him.
And yet – she remembered the steadiness with which he had risen to her challenge at dinner, and the way he looked at her the night before when she caught his glance.
Elizabeth shook her head at herself. Mr. Darcy was not a gentleman whose character ought to occupy her thoughts. But she could not entirely prevent them from doing so.
