"And the way he spoke of his sister," Jane added quietly. "You could hear the affection in his voice."
"He clearly loves her very much," Mrs. Gardiner said.
Elizabeth said nothing. She was too busy trying to reconcile the Mr. Darcy of this evening—kind, respectful, even warm—with the Mr. Darcy who had proposed to her with such insulting arrogance in Kent. Had she misjudged him so completely? Or was this simply another facet of a man far more complicated than she had given him credit for?
Mr. Gardiner poured the port and raised his glass. "To Jane and Mr. Bingley. May their courtship be swift and their happiness lasting."
They drank, and the conversation turned to lighter matters—Mr. Bingley's promise to call tomorrow and whether the weather would hold for walks. But Elizabeth's mind remained elsewhere, circling endlessly around the same confounding question: Who was Mr. Darcy, really?
***
Later that night, when the house had quieted and the candles had been snuffed in the lower rooms, Elizabeth sat at the small dressing table in the bedchamber she shared with Jane, brushing her hair with slow, distracted strokes.
Jane was already in bed, propped against the pillows, watching Elizabeth with a soft smile.
"You are very quiet tonight, Lizzy."
Elizabeth met her sister's eyes in the mirror. "I am thinking."
"About Mr. Darcy?"
Elizabeth's hand stilled. "How did you know?"
"Because you have been looking at him all evening as though you could not quite figure him out." Jane's voice was gentle, without judgment. "And because I know you, Lizzy. Something is troubling you."
Elizabeth set down the brush and turned to face her sister. "Did you think him much changed from Hertfordshire?"
"Very much so," Jane said at once. "In Hertfordshire, he barely spoke to anyone. He seemed to regard everyone from a distance. But tonight—tonight he was almost amiable."
"He laughed," Elizabeth said, as though this were evidence of something extraordinary. "When Aunt Gardiner spoke of his resemblance to Georgiana, he laughed. A real laugh, Jane. Not a polite chuckle, but genuine amusement."
"I noticed that as well." Jane tilted her head thoughtfully. "And the way he spoke to Uncle Gardiner—there was no condescension in it. He treated him as an equal."
"Which makes no sense," Elizabeth burst out, rising and beginning to pace. "This is the same man who told me my family's connections were beneath him. And yet tonight he sat at our table and conversed pleasantly with the very uncle he once scorned."
Jane's eyebrows rose. "That happened in Kent?"
Elizabeth realized she had said too much. She stopped mid-pace, heat rising to her cheeks.
Jane raised her hands gently, a small understanding smile on her lips. "You need not say anything further, Lizzy. I will not press you.”
Elizabeth sank back onto the edge of the bed, grateful for her sister's discretion.
Jane was quiet for a moment. Then, she said, "Perhaps he has changed."
"People do not change that much in a matter of a few months, Jane."
"Do they not?" Jane's voice was soft but pointed. "Mr. Bingley thought I did not care for him. I thought he had abandoned me. We were both wrong, Lizzy. We saw only what we expected to see, not what was truly there."
"What are you saying?"
"I am saying that perhaps Mr. Darcy is not the man you believed him to be. Or perhaps you did not see him clearly in Hertfordshire." Jane paused, then added carefully, "You have always been so quick to form opinions, Lizzy. So certain of your judgments. But what if this time you were mistaken?"
The words stung, though Elizabeth knew they were not meant to wound.
"He insulted me," she said quietly. "Twice! How am I meant to forget that?"
"I do not say you should forget it," Jane replied. “But perhaps you might allow that there is more to his character than remarks made in haste.”
