Darcy felt a sense of agreement. “And Mrs. Collins?” he prompted.
Georgiana’s expression softened. “I liked her very much,” she said. “She was gentle. And she spoke to me as though she wished me to be at ease.”
Darcy considered this. Such praise was not undue nor out of place. It aligned with his own impression.
Georgiana shifted slightly. “I should like to meet the rest of their family,” she added.
Darcy’s lips curved faintly. “I believe that may be arranged.” He had already considered the good it might do Georgiana to spend time with the Bennet ladies.
Georgiana looked up at him. “Truly?”
“If they are willing to receive us,” he said. And they would, he had little doubt. “Miss Bennet and Mrs. Collins have three younger sisters. You will have as much feminine company as you like.”
Her expression brightened, though she restrained it quickly. “I should like that.”
Darcy inclined his head. “Then we shall consider calling as soon as we can.”
Georgiana seemed satisfied with this. After a moment, she said, “I ought to return to my lessons. Mrs. Annesley will be waiting.”
“Of course.”
She moved toward the door, then paused. “Brother?”
“Yes?”
“I am glad Miss Bennet heard.”
Darcy regarded her. “Are you?”
Georgiana nodded. “It is better to know what people truly think.”
Darcy did not directly reply. Then he said, “Perhaps it is.”
Georgiana inclined her head and left the room.
Darcy remained where he was. The parlor was still, the quiet of it offering space for thought. He moved toward the window, though his gaze did not linger long upon the grounds beyond. His attention had already turned inward.
Miss Elizabeth Bennet.
He considered her as he had first seen her that morning—standing in the doorway of the small parlor, her walking stick in hand, her posture composed despite the journey she had undertaken. There had been no hesitation in her manner, no sign that she questioned her purpose.
She had come for her sister. Nothing more. Nothing less.
He knew the distance between Longbourn and Netherfield. Three miles, if not a little more by the path she must have taken across fields softened by rain.
Alone.
Darcy drew a slow breath. There was something in that which he could not easily dismiss. He had observed courage before, in many forms. Some louder than others. Some displayed with intention. Some born of necessity.
Miss Bennet’s did not seek notice. It existed because it must.
His thoughts shifted to the evening before. Mrs. Collins, standing near the hearth, her composure maintained though her circumstances were far from ideal. He had seen the moment her restraint faltered—when she spoke of her son, when the reality of her situation pressed more strongly upon her.
He had heard her later, speaking with Georgiana. “I have only slippers,” she had said, her tone steady despite the admission. “I should not attempt the fields without proper boots.”
There had been no complaint in it. Only acceptance. Darcy turned slightly from the window.
Miss Elizabeth Bennet had answered that difficulty without hesitation. She had brought the boots. She had made the journey herself. There was a practicality in it, a directness of purpose that he found…admirable.
