Mr. Darcy had spoken of Wickham with such evident pain, and when he mentioned Hertfordshire, his eyes had sought hers—as though... as though what? As though he reproached her for having once called Wickham a friend? Or as though there was something more he longed to say, yet could not bring himself to utter?
When the meal concluded, the party removed to the parlor. Mr. Gardiner and Mr. Darcy fell into discussion about trade in London—a subject on which Mr. Gardiner had strong opinions and considerable expertise. Elizabeth was surprised to see howattentively Mr. Darcy listened, how he asked questions that suggested genuine interest rather than mere politeness.
"I should very much like to continue this conversation, Mr. Darcy," her uncle said at length. "If you would be willing to receive me, I would call on you to discuss these matters further."
"It would be my pleasure to receive you, sir," Darcy replied. "However, it would be easier if we called on you instead. We are not far from Camden Place."
"Yes," Mr. Bingley said with sudden eagerness, his eyes darting to Jane. "We shall be happy to call."
It was half past seven when the gentlemen rose to take their leave. Mr. Bingley hesitated, then turned to Mr. Gardiner.
"Sir, if I might impose upon your kindness—I wonder if I might have a brief word with Miss Bennet before I go? I would not ask if the matter were not of some importance to me."
Mr. Gardiner glanced at his wife, who gave a small nod.
"The adjoining room is at your disposal, Mr. Bingley. But the door must remain open."
"Of course, sir. Thank you."
Jane rose, her hands trembling slightly. Mr. Bingley offered her his arm, and they walked slowly toward the adjoining parlor. Every eye in the room followed them. Once they had passed through the doorway—which indeed remained open—Mrs. Gardiner quietly moved to a sofa nearer to the door, positioning herself where she could serve as chaperone while still maintaining a polite distance.
Mr. Gardiner, apparently untroubled by the situation, resumed his conversation with Mr. Darcy. They spoke of Bath's attractions, of the best walks and prospects, of how a gentleman might best enjoy his stay in the city.
Elizabeth sat in silence, watching Mr. Darcy with growing confusion.
This was not the man she had met in Hertfordshire. That man had been proud, disdainful, barely able to bring himself to speak to anyone outside his immediate circle. This man conversed easily with her uncle—a tradesman from Cheapside—as though they were equals. He showed no hint of the contempt he had once expressed for her family's connections.
Wasn't this the same man who had said she had inferior relations? Who had made it clear that marrying her would be a degradation?
And yet here he sat, treating Mr. Gardiner with respect, even warmth.
What had changed?
Or had she simply been wrong about him?
The door to the adjoining room opened. Jane and Mr. Bingley emerged, walking slowly back into the parlor. Jane's countenance had transformed. The careful blankness was gone, replaced by a soft glow that made her lovelier than Elizabeth had seen her in months. Her eyes shone with suppressed happiness.
Mr. Bingley was beaming outright, his joy too great to conceal.
Whatever had passed between them, it had been good.
The gentlemen took their leave shortly after, promising to call on the morrow. Mr. Darcy made his farewells to the Gardiners with perfect courtesy, then turned to Elizabeth.
"Good night, Miss Elizabeth."
His eyes met hers for just a moment—too brief to read what lay behind them, yet long enough to make her breath catch.
"Good night, Mr. Darcy," she managed.
And then they were gone.
Elizabeth stood transfixed, staring at the door long after it had closed behind them.
SIX
Bath, August 1812
Elizabeth
