Upstairs, in the quiet of her chamber, her indignation flared brighter. How could her father doubt him? How could he reduce something so earnest to mere diversion?
Yet beneath her anger lay a flicker of unease. Mr. Bennet was rarely earnest; when he was, it was not without cause.
She paced the length of her room, recalling Darcy’s steady gaze at on her that morning as he handed her into the carriage, the firmness in his voice when he asked to call on her, the warmth in his expression when she had accepted.
That had not been caprice. It had not been idle interest.
Still, her father’s final words echoed.
If he arrives at all.
Elizabeth halted by the window and drew a steadying breath.Hewillcome.
And when he did, she would stand her ground with her father—no less firmly than she had at Netherfield with Miss Bingley.
∞∞∞
Darcy had never before found the rising of the sun so intolerably slow.
He had been awake long before dawn, staring up at the canopy above his bedchamber at Netherfield, rehearsing andrevising words that refused to remain steady. It was absurd. He had negotiated leases worth thousands, dismissed men twice his age, faced down a viscount twice his size—and yet the simple act of calling at Longbourn required more composure than all of it combined.
He dressed with unusual care. By the time he descended, Bingley was already pacing the breakfast room, gloves in hand and expression eager.
“You are early,” Darcy observed.
“So are you,” Bingley returned with a grin. “I suppose we are equally impatient.”
Darcy did not deny it.
They set out together in Bingley’s carriage, the wheels scarcely seeming to move swiftly enough along the lane. Darcy watched the hedgerows pass in a blur, his pulse uncharacteristically uneven.
If she has changed her mind…
He cut off the thought before it could fully form.
Longbourn came into view at last, warm and familiar against the late-morning light. A footman admitted them, and within moments they were shown into the drawing room.
Elizabeth was there.
He saw it at once—the flicker in her eyes, the quick intake of breath before she mastered herself. Relief.
Relief.
It struck him more deeply than he had expected.
Mrs. Bennet sprang to her feet with effusive delight.
“Mr. Bingley! How very attentive! And Mr. Darcy as well—how obliging! Jane, my dear, you must sit—no, here—closer to the window—yes, that is much better.”
Within seconds Bingley was installed beside Jane, their conversation already falling into low, earnest tones.
Darcy crossed the room to Elizabeth.
“Miss Elizabeth,” he said quietly. “Are you well?”
“I am,” she replied. Then, after the briefest pause, “Yes.”
He studied her face. “You hesitate. Did you doubt my coming?” he asked softly.
