The maid stood waiting beside her chair, the soup ladle poised.
Had she spoken?
The question flashed through Elizabeth's mind with uncomfortable speed.
Judging by the expressions directed her way, everyone else seemed to believe she had.
Elizabeth caught sight of Darcy drawing breath to speak.
Miss Bingley was quicker.
"Dear Miss Eliza." Caroline’s voice was laced with false concern. "I do wonder whether you are entirely with us this evening. You seem to be somewhere else altogether." She smiled around the table. "I suppose it is the mark of a very deep thinker. Or perhaps merely a very selective listener. For why else would you keep the maid waiting?"
The words landed precisely where they were intended to land.
Elizabeth turned to her with complete composure.
"I have always thought it a courtesy to give my full attention to the person with whom I am speaking," she said. "One hearsa great deal more that way. I had no intention of neglecting the maid, and I trust she will forgive the oversight."
Darcy lifted his glass but did not drink. Instead, he set it down again. "I cannot think Miss Elizabeth guilty of intentional neglect," he said.
For a moment, the only sound was the clink of cutlery from Mr. Hurst who had resumed eating. No one appeared eager to challenge Darcy.
"I have observed her conduct often enough to know she extends the same courtesy to a servant as she does to any other acquaintance." Darcy continued, his gaze settling briefly upon the maid before returning to Miss Bingley. "I believe she was merely engaged in conversation with my sister."
For the briefest moment, Elizabeth forgot about the maid altogether.
The words had been directed at Miss Bingley.
The meaning behind them had not.
Miss Bingley's smile remained exactly where it was.
Nothing else did.
Bingley cleared his throat and asked Darcy something about his opinion of the weather. Darcy answered. The dinner continued.
Elizabeth did not look at Darcy. Yet she found it impossible to dismiss what had just occurred.
Miss Bingley's remark had been pointed enough, but it was Darcy's response that lingered.
He had not merely contradicted her. He had defended her. Without hesitation. As though he understood there could be no malice in it. He had spoken as though he knew the omission was unintentional.
The thought settled heavily in her chest.
For weeks now she had suspected that Mr. Darcy knew her secret. Every encounter seemed only to strengthen that suspicion.
Yet if he knew, why had he sought the knowledge? And if he knew, why did it appear to make no difference at all?
He had not looked at her with pity. He had not treated her with condescension. He had not withdrawn his attention.
If anything, he seemed more determined in it.
And now, when given the opportunity to remain silent, he had chosen instead to defend her.
Elizabeth could not decide which was more unsettling, that he might know, or that knowing did not appear to trouble him in the slightest.
She turned to the maid with an easy smile.
