The path curved toward the tulip beds. From there they could see Jane and Mr. Bingley strolling ahead, their conversation easy and unbroken. Darcy's gaze rested on them for a moment.
"They look very well together," he said at last, nodding toward Jane and Mr. Bingley ahead of them.
"Indeed they do," Elizabeth replied. "Though I confess, I am surprised. I would have thought you disapproved of their attachment."
Darcy's brows lifted slightly. "Why must everyone assume my opinion governs Bingley's choices?"
Elizabeth tilted her head, her eyes alight with gentle mockery. "You have not answered my question, Mr. Darcy. Do you disapprove?"
“Not at all. But I dislike being obliged to explain that Bingley is quite capable of knowing his own mind.”
“Forgive me for asking,” she said, watching him with curiosity, “but you speak as though someone has recently questioned it.”
He gave a short laugh. “His sister may have asked my opinion.”
They walked in silence for a while, the sound of their steps mingling with the rustle of leaves.
Did you give her your honest opinion?" Elizabeth asked at last.
Darcy's jaw tightened slightly. "I gave her the answer I thought prudent."
Elizabeth nodded slowly. "We often do, do we not? Say what is expected rather than what we truly believe."
“I prefer sincerity,” Darcy replied quietly, “though I seldom encounter it.”
“Perhaps you intimidate sincerity out of people,” Elizabeth said, her tone teasing but kind.
He looked down at her, faintly amused. “Do I intimidate you, Miss Bennet?”
“Only when you are silent,” she said with a smile. “It leaves one guessing whether you are judging or merely thinking.”
“I shall try to speak more, then,” he said. “Though that may not improve your opinion of me.”
“Not at all,” she replied. “It only makes you more—human.”
He glanced away, clearly unsettled but not displeased. After a moment, he said, “I was speaking recently with Bingley and his sisters, and it recalled something I said to you at the assembly.”
Elizabeth’s steps faltered. Her heart gave an unsteady beat. “Which comment, sir? The one concerning my dog’s being overly independent?”
“You know I do not refer to that. If I still thought as I did that evening, I should never have allowed Pippin and Apollo to play together.”
Elizabeth raised a brow. “Indeed.”
"I have been wanting to speak to you," he said quietly, "about what I said to Bingley during the third dance at the assembly."
Elizabeth's step faltered slightly. "Oh," she said, her voice carefully even. "It is of no consequence, Mr. Darcy. People speak their minds freely in society. I should hardly take offense if one gentleman among many finds me... unremarkable."
"You mistake me entirely," he said, turning to face her fully. "I did not mean to dismiss the matter. I meant to offer you mysincerest apology, both for the words themselves and for the inexcusable vanity that produced them. They were unworthy of a gentleman, and even more unworthy of their subject."
She looked up at him, arrested by the gravity in his tone. For a moment she could not decide whether to laugh or be genuinely moved. "You are very kind, sir," she said at last, "though I confess I am not certain an apology is required. After all, it is no great tragedy if I am not handsome enough to tempt you."
His expression tightened. "Then you did hear me. The precise words."
"Every syllable," Elizabeth replied. "I am a poor liar, Mr. Darcy. I have always prided myself on honesty, even when it is inconvenient."
"That is a quality I esteem greatly," he said quietly.
Her brow arched, though her lips curved with faint amusement. "Esteem is a weighty word, sir. You had best take care how you use it. If a servant should overhear, I shall find myself engaged to you by suppertime."
