“Come now, Charles,” said Mrs. Hurst. “Surely you cannot suppose Mrs. Bennet has not been contriving to secure you for her daughter. She nearly pushed the poor girl into your path at the assembly.”
Caroline added with a faint, knowing smile, “It is not surprising. Half of Meryton was waiting to see the great Mr. Bingley the moment we entered. I heard more talk of your fortune than of the orchestra.”
Bingley frowned. “I think your memories of that evening differ from mine. Sir William introduced us to half the room, yes—but it was Miss Bennet I noticed first, and without anyone’s contrivance. She was, in every sense, the most graceful young lady there.”
“Mr. Darcy,” Mrs. Hurst said, turning to him for support, “pray tell our brother that he is being foolish. You, at least, are not taken in by country airs and matchmaking mamas. You must have seen Miss Bennet’s designs as clearly as I.”
Darcy, who had been reading quietly, looked up. “Schemes?” he said coolly. “I saw no schemes. If Bingley finds Miss Bennet agreeable, I see no reason to doubt his judgment. He is capable of forming his own opinion.”
Caroline’s lips curved in a mock smile. “Ah, but perhaps you are not the best judge, Mr. Darcy. I hear you have been much in the company of Miss Eliza Bennet yourself. The servants are already whispering that you and she make a most charming pair. One even said the Bennet sisters have quite captured Netherfield between them.”
A flicker of irritation crossed Darcy’s face. He had heard no such rumor, though he could imagine how it began. The gossipat the green, the laughter of the townspeople, the old man’s jest about “young love”—it had all been fertile ground for idle talk.
“Who I am seen with is my concern, Miss Bingley,” he said evenly. “Idle tongues will always find occupation. I have little patience for those who mistake speculation for truth.”
Caroline raised a hand in affected apology. “Oh, dear me, I meant no offence. Only, I was surprised—considering your opinion of her at the assembly.”
Darcy’s expression hardened. “My opinion?”
“Yes,” she said airily. “You once called her ‘not handsome enough to tempt.’ I only wondered what had altered your view.”
For a moment, Darcy’s composure faltered. He glanced sharply at Bingley, then back at Caroline. How had she learned of that remark? He had spoken it in confidence, and quietly. Had Bingley repeated it? Or had someone overheard more than he realised? And if Miss Elizabeth Bennet herself had heard—what must she think of him now?
He straightened his posture, his tone measured. “Whatever I thought then, Miss Bingley, or think now, is of no consequence to anyone but myself. And I believe my friend would say the same regarding his own preferences.”
Caroline gave a small, dismissive gesture. “As you please.”
Mrs. Hurst took up the conversation. “For my part, I rather like Miss Bennet—the elder, I mean. She is gentle and well-mannered. As for her sister, I confess her manner is too free for my taste. That sort of vivacity borders upon impropriety.”
Bingley set down his cup. “You wrong her, Louisa. Miss Elizabeth has a lively wit, but she means no harm by it. She is as good-natured a creature as ever lived.”
Mrs. Hurst waved a hand. “Perhaps. I do not dislike her. To prove it, I shall invite both Miss Bennets for tea. It will be instructive, I think, to see what lies beneath such amiable appearances.”
Caroline smiled thinly. “Yes, Louisa, an excellent plan. Nothing like conversation to test one’s refinement.”
Darcy said nothing, though his gaze lingered on Caroline a moment longer than usual. He could not shake the sense that his friend’s sisters were up to something. Yet, in spite of the unease her words had stirred, he felt a curious flicker of anticipation at the thought of seeing Elizabeth Bennet again.
He turned a page of his book but found he could not read a word.
***
THE FIRE BURNED LOW in the grate, casting long flickers of amber light across the polished shelves and the dark green rug. Mr. Darcy sat back in one of the deep armchairs, his expression unreadable but for the tension in his jaw. A book lay open in his hand, though he had not turned a page in some time.
When the door opened, he looked up.
“Bingley,” he said evenly, “I should like a word.”
Bingley entered, cheerful as ever, though his expression softened at the tone. “Of course, Darcy. What is it?”
Darcy closed the book and placed it upon the table beside him. “How did your sister come to hear of a remark I made about Miss Elizabeth Bennet on the evening of the assembly?”
Bingley blinked. “A remark?”
“I said,” Darcy replied, his voice measured, “that she was tolerable, but not handsome enough to tempt me.”
Recognition dawned upon Bingley’s face. “Ah. Yes, I remember now.”
Darcy’s gaze did not waver. “I said that to you privately, yet your sister repeated it this evening as though it were common knowledge.”
