“Are they racing?” Bingley asked.
Darcy met her gaze. “Not yet.”
The words were quiet. Too quiet, perhaps, but Elizabeth heard them. Her smile changed—not disappearing, only softening in a way that made Darcy wish that the meal contained far fewer observers.
Miss Bingley, perhaps tiring of topics in which Hertfordshire could not be wholly disparaged, turned the subject to London.
“I own,” she said, arranging her fork beside her plate, “I begin to miss town already. The country has its charms, of course, but one soon feels the want of variety. In London there is always something to do, somewhere to go, someone worth seeing.”
“Country society must feel very small by comparison,” Mrs. Hurst said.
“Precisely. Assemblies, calls, walks, a few dinners—one exhausts the possibilities rather quickly. Do you not find it so, Miss Elizabeth?”
Elizabeth looked up from her glass. “I have rarely had leisure to exhaust possibilities, so perhaps they have lasted me longer.”
Darcy’s mouth twitched, though he said nothing.
Miss Bingley smiled. “Have you ever spent much time in London?”
“I used to visit my aunt and uncle there.”
“Ah yes,” Miss Bingley said, with a tone of delicate discovery. “In Cheapside, was it not?”
Elizabeth felt the little barb and chose not to flinch. “Gracechurch Street.”
“How pleasant,” Miss Bingley replied, not sounding as though she meant it. “I suppose that must have offered some access to the advantages of town.”
“It did,” Elizabeth said quietly. “My aunt and uncle were very good to me.”
“Were?” Mrs. Hurst asked before Miss Bingley could continue.
Elizabeth’s fingers tightened briefly upon her napkin. “They both died in the floods two years ago. My uncle was caught near his warehouses, and my aunt died soon after. Their three children now live at Longbourn.”
A stillness fell over the table.
Miss Bingley’s expression changed at once. The fashionable brightness faded, and for the first time that evening, Elizabethsaw in her not a rival, nor a critic, but a young woman who had spoken without knowing where pain lay.
“I am very sorry,” Miss Bingley said.
The words were simple and, to Elizabeth’s surprise, sincere.
Elizabeth inclined her head. “Thank you. I have many fond memories of them, which helps on the difficult days. My aunt loved the theater, and my uncle would take us to museums whenever business allowed. I thought it a grand adventure.”
Miss Bingley seemed glad of a safer path. “I adore the theater. And museums as well—particularly those devoted to history.”
She glanced toward Darcy as she said this, the movement quick but not subtle. Elizabeth saw it and had to lower her eyes to hide her amusement.
“History museums?” Elizabeth asked. “Have you a favorite period to study?”
“The Romans,” Miss Bingley said promptly, with another glance toward Darcy. “There is something so noble in their civilization—the order, the power, the grandeur. Last year I saw a most extraordinary exhibit in London of Roman treasure found buried beneath the city. Mr. Darcy’s uncle helped arrange its display, I believe.”
Elizabeth nearly choked upon her wine.
Only long practice in self-command saved her. She set the glass down carefully and looked, not at Darcy, but at Miss Bingley. “Indeed?”
“Oh yes. It was remarkable. Gold coins, jewels, silver, all hidden away for centuries. No one knows precisely who found it or where, of course. There was a great deal of discretion involved.”
“I imagine there must have been.”
