Bingley coloured. "Darcy, I beg your pardon. I must have mentioned it—without thinking—when we spoke of theassembly the following morning. Caroline was teasing me about my admiration for Miss Bennet, and I fear the conversation wandered to... other subjects."
Darcy exhaled, long and slow. “I thought as much.”
“I assure you,” Bingley said earnestly, “no harm was intended.”
“I know,” Darcy replied. “But Miss Bingley has a talent for turning idle words into weapons. And I would prefer she did not use mine.”
Bingley, looking contrite, sat opposite him. After a short silence, he ventured, “You did say that, though—and forgive me if I am as curious as Caroline—what has changed?”
Darcy hesitated, his eyes fixed on the dying fire. “I was not in the best of humour that night,” he said at last. “The crowd was noisy, the room stifling. I had been urged to dance when I had no inclination. It was easier to appear indifferent than to be pressed into civility.”
Bingley smiled faintly. “You mean you were sulking.”
Darcy’s mouth twitched. “Perhaps.” He leaned forward slightly. “But I will not deny that Miss Elizabeth Bennet has spirit—and intelligence—and eyes that see more than they should. If I spoke unkindly, it was out of arrogance, not conviction.”
Bingley studied him curiously. “Then you find her handsome now?”
Darcy’s gaze shifted to the window, where the night beyond was black as ink. “I find her... striking,” he said slowly. “Not for beauty alone, but for expression. There is liveliness in her manner that is—” He stopped, as though the word itself were dangerous. “Unusual.”
Bingley grinned. “You admire her.”
“I do not,” Darcy said too quickly, then sighed. “At least, I should not.”
Bingley laughed softly. “You have my word I shall not tell Caroline.”
“I would prefer you told no one,” Darcy returned, though his tone had softened. After a pause, he added more quietly, “You know, Bingley, I dislike artifice in all its forms. I have seen how vanity and greed can corrupt even the best of families. Scheming women, ambitious men—what they destroy in pursuit of their own comfort. I would sooner appear proud than be deceived again.”
Bingley looked puzzled. “You speak as if from experience.”
Darcy’s eyes darkened briefly. “I do. But it is an old matter, and one I prefer not to revisit.”
They were silent for a moment. The fire popped gently, the only sound in the room.
At last, Bingley said, “And what do you think of Miss Elizabeth now, truly?”
Darcy’s lips curved into the faintest hint of a smile. “I think Apollo likes her dog, and that is quite enough to justify civility. It would be rude to deny him the company of a creature he favours.”
Bingley laughed aloud. “Then Apollo shall continue to be your excuse, and I shall take it as a sign that Netherfield is making you sociable.”
Darcy did not answer. He turned back to the fire, his expression thoughtful.
In truth, he knew he lied. For each time he thought of Miss Elizabeth Bennet—her laughter on the green, the quickness of her wit, the warmth in her eyes, those fine eyes—his composure slipped a little further.
Apollo, he thought ruefully, had placed him in an impossible position, and he could not bring himself to regret it.
***
LATER THAT NIGHT, sleep would not come easily. The house had long grown still; even the faintest echo of servants’ steps had faded into silence. Darcy lay upon his back, the fire reduced to an amber glow that threw restless shadows across the ceiling.
His mind, however, refused to quiet.
He thought first of the conversation in the library, of his careless words at the assembly, and of Caroline’s smug recital of them that very evening. He could still hear her voice—light, taunting, precise.
But it was not Caroline he saw now. It was Elizabeth Bennet.
Her face rose before him as it had done more than once these past days: bright, lively, always a little too knowing. He recalled her look that evening on the green, when her dog had leapt upon Apollo and she had laughed so freely. There had been no resentment then, only warmth. Yet he could not shake the doubt that she might have heard that not-so-long-ago slight.
"Not handsome enough to tempt me."
