“I shall say you were brave,” she promised. “And exceedingly patient.”
“That is generosity beyond measure.”
Miss Bingley was nearly upon them now, her gaze already fixed on Darcy, her mouth set as though she had been rehearsing a speech for some time.
Elizabeth curtsied, her eyes still warm with laughter. Darcy bowed. Then she turned and went inside.
As she climbed the stairs toward Jane’s room, her thoughts were entirely elsewhere—on a quiet voice in a garden, on steadyarms and earnest words, on the unexpected warmth of shared laughter.
It startled her, how thoroughly he occupied her mind.
And she did not try, in the least, to dislodge him.
∞∞∞
Darcy spent the greater part of the day sequestered first in Bingley’s study and then in his own chamber, pleading urgent correspondence and matters of business that did not, in truth, exist.
It was astonishing how adept Caroline Bingley was at defeating clarity.
He had spoken plainly. He had offered neither encouragement nor ambiguity. He had agreed openly—publicly—with Elizabeth Bennet’s censure of Caroline’s conduct, and yet the woman persisted as though his words had been a foreign language imperfectly translated. She hovered in doorways, lingered in corridors, found reasons to send messages and inquiries that required no answer at all. She clung with the tenacity of burrs from an untended hedgerow, catching upon his sleeve no matter how carefully he tried to pass.
By mid-afternoon, Darcy was forced to concede that retreat was the wiser course. In order to not be entirely dishonest in his seclusion, he wrote a few letters to Lady Anne, Georgiana, and his steward. There were, after all,alwaysmatters of business for a gentleman who was responsible in his duties.
When the dinner bell finally rang, he set aside his quill with relief and rose, straightening his coat and schooling his expression. He told himself that it was mere politeness that urged him downward. Mere duty. And yet, beneaththat sensible reasoning lay a far less restrained hope—that Elizabeth Bennet would be there, and that her presence might impose, by sheer force of character, a degree of civility upon the table.
The drawing room was already occupied when he entered.
Elizabeth stood near the window, one hand resting lightly upon the back of a chair, her posture relaxed but alert. Jane was beside her, wrapped in a shawl and pale but composed, her smile gentle as ever. Darcy felt an unreasoned tightening in his chest ease at once.
Bingley, catching sight of them as he entered behind Darcy, lit up as though the room had been brightened by additional candles. “You are both very welcome,” he said warmly. “We are delighted to see you down.”
The moment was, predictably, interrupted.
Caroline Bingley swept into the room with an expression already sharpened for offense, only to halt when she observed Jane and Elizabeth already present. She was closely followed by the Hursts and the butler announcing dinner, so there was no time for her to speak.
Bingley moved promptly to Jane’s side and offered his arm, his manner solicitous but confident. Darcy, without hesitation, turned to Elizabeth.
“If you will permit me, Miss Elizabeth.”
Her smile was small but genuine as she accepted, and he felt, absurdly, steadied by the simple contact.
Behind them, Mr. Hurst escorted his wife with more attention than usual, speaking to her in a low voice as though reminding her of something important. Only after they had taken several steps did he glance back, blink as if surprised to remember Caroline, and belatedly extend his arm.
She took it with visible reluctance.
They processed into the dining room, where Bingley seated Jane at his right hand, casting a final, protective glance her way before moving to his own place. Darcy drew out Elizabeth’s chair, and she inclined her head in thanks before settling herself with composed ease.
At the foot of the table, Mr. Hurst guided his wife into the hostess’s chair.
The moment Mrs. Hurst sat, Miss Bingley stiffened. She opened her mouth, and Darcy braced himself for her protests.
“Caroline,” Bingley said, not loudly, but with unmistakable warning.
The single word landed with unmistakable warning.
She drew herself up, emitted a small, aggrieved huff, and took her seat without further protest, though the glare she cast toward Mrs. Hurst suggested the matter was far from settled in her mind.
Dinner began with all the careful civility of a household attempting to pretend it had not recently survived a small domestic war.
