Elizabeth Bennet's eyes came to him unbidden, as they had been doing with increasing frequency these past weeks. Dark and direct and entirely unimpressed by him, which he had long since ceased pretending he did not find remarkable. He thought of the way she had looked at him across the dinner table that evening, steady, composed, entirely herself, and of the fact that he had noticed despite everything else occupying his thoughts.
Darcy exhaled slowly.
This was about Georgiana. That had always been the purpose.
He snuffed the candle and retired for the night, firmly resolved to think no more about Elizabeth Bennet.
An hour later, still awake in the darkness, he was forced to admit that the resolution had met with very little success.
˜ ˜ ˜
Longbourn
Elizabeth
Elizabeth sat at her dressing table long after Jane had come and gone from her bedchamber and the house had settled into its nighttime quiet.
She had been turning the dinner at Netherfield over in her mind since the carriage ride home, which Jane had spent in happy silence and Elizabeth in considerably less peaceful contemplation. Miss Bingley's remark had been a slight. Elizabeth knew a jab when she felt one. The woman had notknown, could not have known, what she was truly saying, and yet the words had landed regardless, with the precision of something thrown without aim that found its mark anyway.
A very selective listener.
Elizabeth had answered it well enough. She always answered such things well enough. That was rather the point.
What she could not account for quite so easily was Darcy.
She thought of how he had defended her. There was something about it she could not shake. It had been too deliberate, too precisely aimed at the right thing, for a man who did not know what he was defending. She was certain of it now. He knew. And from everything she had observed of him, he appeared entirely untroubled by it. For a gentleman of his station, and one whom society insisted upon calling proud, she would have expected some alteration in his manner. Surprise, perhaps. Pity. At the very least, curiosity. Instead he behaved as though the knowledge changed nothing at all.
Elizabeth pressed her fingers lightly against the edge of the dressing table.
She did not know what to make of it.
What she did know was that whatever remnant of ill opinion she had once harboured against Mr. Darcy had vanished entirely that evening. He was a good gentleman. There could be no denying it now. He was considerate, spoke with intelligence, cared deeply for his sister, and possessed a steadiness of character she found herself admiring more with every encounter.
And he is exceedingly handsome.
Elizabeth sat up straighter.
That line of thought was considerably less useful than the others.
She rose from the dressing table at once, as though physical movement might prevent her mind from wandering any further in that direction.
Then there was the other matter. The worry she had seen in him all evening beneath the civility and the conversation. The same quality she remembered from the Meryton assembly, when she had mistaken it for pride and indifference. She did not make that mistake now. Whatever occupied his thoughts, it was not indifference. She wondered briefly whether it would be too forward to ask him about it, then nearly laughed at herself, for she could not imagine the conversation at all.
Mr. Darcy, you appeared distracted this evening. Is something troubling you?
No. She would have to do what she always did. Wait. Observe. Draw her conclusions when the evidence presented itself. In time it would. She was fairly certain of that. She would see him at Oakham Mount soon enough, or perhaps on Friday—
Friday.
Elizabeth's mouth rounded into a silent O. She had agreed to Georgiana calling at Longbourn not three hours ago, entirely forgetting that Mr Collins was due to arrive the very same afternoon.
Then she blew out the candle, climbed into bed, and decided that a gentleman whose letter had announced his own foolishness so thoroughly was unlikely to improve upon acquaintance. At least Georgiana would be there on Friday. That, she thought, would make meeting her cousin considerably more tolerable.
And Mr. Darcy, of course.
For reasons she chose not to examine too closely, that thought was unexpectedly reassuring.
TEN
