“No,” Darcy agreed quietly. “There is not.”
Bingley looked up again with renewed animation. “Indeed, I sometimes think that if Miss Bennet were to come to London during the season, I should consider myself remarkably fortunate to meet her again.”
Darcy inclined his head. “It would no doubt give you pleasure.”
“And perhaps,” Bingley added, the thought evidently occurring to him only then, “some of her sisters might accompany her.”
Darcy’s hand stilled on the glass.
Bingley continued easily, entirely unaware of the effect his remark had produced. “In that case,” he said, “you might see Miss Elizabeth again as well.”
Darcy’s hand remained perfectly steady on the glass, though the sudden stillness of it might have betrayed more than he intended had Bingley been inclined to observe him closely. For an instant, his thoughts moved with uncomfortable speed.
Elizabeth Bennet.
The name, spoken so carelessly, could not help but disturb the composure he had been at pains to maintain since his return to London. It was not merely the recollection of her that startled him. That recollection had been persistent enough already. What alarmed him was the possibility that another might have perceived what he had scarcely admitted to himself.
He looked at Bingley with a composure that cost him more effort than it ought to have done. “What makes you suppose,” he asked evenly, “that I should wish to see Miss Elizabeth again?”
Bingley, who had taken another sip of brandy and settled comfortably into his chair, appeared surprised by the seriousness of the question. “Wish it?” he repeated. “I only imagined it might give you pleasure.”
Darcy said nothing.
Bingley studied him for a moment with open curiosity before laughing lightly. “Darcy, you cannot have forgotten how often you two were in conversation at Netherfield. I never saw you speak so much to anyone in my life.”
Darcy felt a brief but unmistakable sense of relief. “So that is the origin of your conjecture.”
“Of course it is,” Bingley said cheerfully. “You talked whenever Miss Elizabeth came away from caring for her sister — at breakfast, after supper, andwhenever you happened to meet. I concluded you must find her company agreeable.”
Darcy considered this explanation in silence.
It was, he knew, perfectly true that he had spoken more with Elizabeth Bennet than was his custom during their time at Netherfield. The circumstance had seemed natural enough while it occurred. Only afterward had he begun to perceive how remarkable it might appear to anyone who knew his usual habits of reserve.
“I find many people agreeable in conversation,” he said at last.
“No doubt you do,” Bingley replied, smiling. “But you are seldom so inclined to prove it.”
Darcy inclined his head, conceding the point, but could not stop himself from another protest. “If I spoke frequently with Miss Elizabeth, it was because she possesses an uncommon quickness of understanding. Conversation with such a person naturally recommends itself.”
“That is precisely what I mean,” Bingley said with satisfaction. “I cannot think of another lady who would have suited you half so well in argument.”
Darcy lifted his glass and took a measured sip before replying. “You exaggerate the matter.”
“Do I?” Bingley remarked lightly. “Perhaps alittle. Still, if the sisters were to visit London, it would be pleasant to see both ladies again.”
Darcy made no immediate answer.
The momentary alarm that had accompanied Bingley’s first remark had subsided, replaced by a quieter uneasiness. If Bingley had spoken without suspicion, the observation had nevertheless revealed something Darcy had not fully considered before.
Others might notice such things.
He set his glass on the table beside him. “In any case,” he said with deliberate calm, “your speculation depends entirely on an event which may never occur. Miss Bennet has no particular reason to come to London.”
“Perhaps not,” Bingley agreed easily. “But the distance is short enough, and I believe she has an uncle living here. It would be natural enough for a young lady to wish a little time in London society.” He turned his glass idly in his hand and said, with the easy transition of a man whose thoughts moved wherever they pleased, “Caroline has been very eager of late to inquire after your sister. I believe Miss Darcy has become a favourite subject whenever the conversation begins to flag.”
“Has she?” Darcy returned, rather flatly.
“Indeed,” Bingley continued. “Caroline speaksof Miss Darcy with great admiration. Though I confess I have sometimes thought Miss Darcy does not appear entirely at ease with her.”
