Mr. Darcy took his hand, looking slightly confused. "Thank me, sir?"
"For saving my daughter's life during that fire in Bath. Mrs. Gardiner wrote to us about your courage. If you had not acted when you did—" Mr. Bennet's voice roughened. "I am in your debt, sir. Profoundly."
"Any man would have done the same," Mr. Darcy said quietly.
"Perhaps. But it was you who did it." Mr. Bennet's grip tightened briefly before he released Mr. Darcy's hand. "Thank you."
"Indeed!" Mrs. Bennet added. "We are forever grateful, Mr. Darcy! You are a hero! The very best sort of gentleman!"
Mr. Darcy looked somewhat discomposed by Mrs. Bennet’s effusions. His gaze, however, soon found Elizabeth’s, and in it she discerned a silent enquiry—Are you well?She gave a small, steady nod, and at once a measure of the tension left his frame.
“How was your time in Bristol, Mr. Darcy?” Jane asked with gentle civility. “Mr. Bingley mentioned that you remained there to care for a friend.”
The light in Mr. Darcy’s eyes dimmed. “My friend passed away,” he replied quietly. “It has been nearly a fortnight now.”
“Oh, I am most sorry to hear it,” Jane said, her voice full of sincere concern.
“As am I,” Elizabeth added softly. “For you to have stayed so long, he must have been very dear to you.”
Mr. Darcy's gaze held hers for a moment. "He did. He was—he gave me counsel when I needed it most. I will miss him."
There was something in the way he said it, something in the way he looked at her, that made Elizabeth's breath catch.
The visit proceeded with all the usual civilities. Mr. Bennet spoke to the gentlemen about their time in bath and what he had heard from the Gardiners and some of the things Elizabeth mentioned in Bath.
Later in the visit, Mr. Bingley and Jane conversed softly in the corner, their happiness evident in every glance they exchanged. Mrs. Bennet was in high spirits, speaking animatedly of wedding preparations and, in the same breath, lamenting that her three younger daughters were taking an age to return from their visit with her sister, Mrs. Philips. Meanwhile, Mr. Bennet engaged Mr. Darcy in conversation concerning Bath and other matters of business.
Mr. Darcy remained perfectly cordial, though somewhat reserved. He replied with propriety when addressed, contributed politely to the general discourse, and, from time to time, allowed his gaze to rest upon Elizabeth—only to turn it away again, as though fearful that lingering too long might betray more than he intended.
When the gentlemen finally rose to leave after an hour, Mr. Bingley announced that they’d be calling again the following day.
As they departed, Mr. Darcy paused at the door and turned back to Elizabeth.
"Miss Elizabeth," he said quietly. "I hope you are well."
"I am, thank you. And I hope—" She hesitated. "I hope you are recovering from your loss."
"I am endeavoring to," he said. "Day by day."
Their eyes met, and in that brief moment Elizabeth saw all that words could not convey—the weight of grief, the tenderness unspoken, and the multitude of things that might have been said between them.
And then he was gone.
Elizabeth was left standing in the hallway with her heart pounding and her hands trembling.
***
When the gentlemen had long departed and Mrs. Bennet had at last exhausted her exclamations on how Jane’s wedding was certain to be the talk of Hertfordshire—for even Mr. Darcy would be attending!—the house grew still.
Jane found Elizabeth in the small drawing room at the back of the house, where they often retreated when they wished for privacy.
Elizabeth stood at the window, gazing out at nothing in particular, her mind still in turmoil from the afternoon’s events.
“Lizzy,” Jane said softly, closing the door behind her.
Elizabeth turned. Her sister’s expression was knowing and gentle—the look Jane always wore when she saw far more than Elizabeth wished to reveal.
“You said nothing to him,” Jane observed quietly.
