Instead, his eyes drifted again to Miss Elizabeth. She was observing the room with an air of quiet amusement, clearly listening to her sister’s conversation with Bingley even as she pretended otherwise. A loose tendril of dark hair curled along her temple. She reached up to tuck it behind her ear, and his hand stilled on the page.
Darcy set down the pen.
“I am pleased to see your sister well enough to join us,” he said, turning toward her. “Though I suspect that has more to do with your nursing than with any physic Mr. Jones might have offered.”
She glanced over, brow lifting with a touch of humor. “You are kind to say so, sir, but I am no physician. I could not do otherwise. Jane is very dear to me.”
“I do not doubt it.” He hesitated, then added with quiet conviction, “Lady Anne would have done the same for Georgiana.”
Miss Elizabeth’s expression softened, the corners of her mouth quirking upward. “Every young woman deserves a sister—or someone—who will ride across muddy fields and burst into strangers’ homes on their behalf!”
“I would say so.” His tone was dry, but the sentiment sincere.
She laughed, low and warm. “My father always said he wished for a son to end the entail, but had to make do with his most incorrigible daughter instead.”
“Incorrigible?” he echoed, intrigued. “That is not the word I would have chosen.”
“No?” Her head tilted slightly, mock-inquisitive. “And what would you call a girl who reads what she ought not, questions what she should not, and tramps through the countryside without regard for shoes or company?”
He paused, considering. “Independent. And admirable.”
For a moment, her smile faltered—then deepened into something more genuine.
Before she could reply, a particularly emphatic chord from the pianoforte drew their attention, and Elizabeth shook her head slightly with a grin. “Perhaps we have tired out Mrs. Hurst.”
Darcy returned the smile, but said nothing. He did not trust himself to speak just then. Not when the room felt so unusually peaceful… and Miss Elizabeth Bennet was at its very heart.
He smiled to himself and turned back to his letter, when a sudden hush fell over the room. His attention was drawn to the fireplace, where Bingley had risen from Jane Bennet’s side and now stood awkwardly, clearing his throat.
“Louisa,” Bingley began, “forgive me for interrupting your playing, but—” he hesitated, eyes sweeping the room, “I have come to a decision regarding Caroline.”
Mrs. Hurst’s fingers stilled on the keys. She looked up, startled. “Charles, is it appropriate to speak of such things—” her gaze flitted to the Bennet sisters and then to Darcy, “—so publicly?”
Darcy straightened in his chair, ready to intervene should his friend falter. But Bingley glanced down at Miss Bennet, who gave him an encouraging smile and the smallest of nods.
He drew a breath and squared his shoulders. “Those here were directly affected by Caroline’s actions,” he said. “And I have already spoken with Miss Bennet on the subject. There is little point in keeping it private.”
Darcy’s brows rose in surprise. “You have… discussed it with Miss Bennet?” he asked slowly. “What conclusion have you come to?”
Bingley nodded. “Yes. At Miss Bennet’s suggestion, we are going to give Caroline… another chance.”
Darcy blinked.Another chance?
His eyes flew to Elizabeth, who was already looking at her sister with an expression of profound exasperation. Then she looked at Darcy, and he read the thought as clearly as if she had spoken aloud:This is a bad idea.
He gave the faintest nod in return.I know.
Still seated, Jane turned her gaze kindly to the others. “I believe… if I can forgive Miss Bingley, as the wronged party, then others can do the same. Perhaps these days of isolation have helped her reflect and repent.”
Darcy nearly laughed aloud—repentanceseemed the unlikeliest of states for Miss Bingley—but he caught himself, observing instead the rigid set of Elizabeth’s jaw as her sister made the declaration.
Elizabeth’s tone was even but unmistakably cool when she spoke. “This is not my home. I will defer to its master in all such decisions.”
Then, with a glance at her sister, she rose. “Jane, you look fatigued. Come, I will help you upstairs.”
Miss Bennet stood slowly, still pale but composed, and gave Bingley one final smile. Elizabeth’s expression remained carefully neutral, but as she turned to follow Jane, her eyes once again met Darcy’s—flat and weary now—and he once again felt all the shame of what had happened to Miss Bennet the night she arrived for dinner.
When the Bennet sisters were gone, Bingley clapped his hands together once, with a cheerfulness that rang false. “Well then, I suppose I ought to inform Caroline of the… good news.”
