Miss Bingley turned towards her at once. "Oh, no. Do not mistake me. Charles has been quite unlike himself since he met your sister, as though she were an angel descended from heaven who had chosen Hertfordshire for her first visit. His heart has been touched, I am certain of it, and when my brother loves, he does so with the most generous heart in the world."
The warmth in Miss Bingley's voice eased some of her concern, though she hesitated over the next question, aware that it mightoverstep the fragile friendship beginning to form between them. Miss Bingley had turned towards the fire, and without her usual hauteur she looked suddenly tired beneath the towering turban and bright silk. "You have suffered a great disappointment," Elizabeth said.
Miss Bingley was silent for a moment, her eyes fixed on the glowing coals of the fire. When she answered, there was no sharpness in her voice. "Yes," she said. "A long time ago, though not so long that I have learned how to speak of it without..." Her voice caught. She looked down quickly and pressed her lips together, but the shine in her eyes had already betrayed her. For once, she made no attempt to hide behind a cutting remark. "He was not considered suitable, and I was not permitted to decide the matter for myself. My papa assured me that I would understand in time." She gave a small, unsteady laugh and blinked hard. "I am still waiting."
Elizabeth felt an unexpected ache of sympathy. She knew almost nothing of the matter, but she could hear the years of pain contained within that answer. She touched her hand lightly to Miss Bingley’s. "I am so very sorry."
Across the room, Mrs Hurst’s book lowered by the smallest degree. She did not look towards them, but the page beneath her fingers remained unturned.
Miss Bingley did not appear to notice. She twisted one of the rings upon her finger and continued, still looking down. "But it taught me something. When happiness is standing directly in front of you, it is foolish to look away."
The drawing-room door opened, and Miss Bingley gave a small start. Almost at once, she sat straighter and the old composure returned to her face. The change was so swift that Elizabeth might have doubted what she had seen if they had not been sitting so close.
Mr Bingley entered first, followed by Mr Darcy. His eyes found Elizabeth almost immediately. Something in his expression softened when he saw her, and although the change was slight, it was enough to send a small, unexpected flutter through her chest. He bowed. "Miss Bingley. Miss Elizabeth."
"Mr Darcy," Miss Bingley said, and although her voice was perfectly composed, Elizabeth saw the faintest satisfaction in her face. The words she had just spoken seemed to remain between them:
When happiness is standing directly before you, it is foolish to look away.
Elizabeth lowered her eyes, suddenly far too aware of Mr Darcy standing across the room. Could she truly be beginning to like a man who had insulted her so thoroughly at the assembly? The thought ought to have been ridiculous, but shecould not stop her treacherous heart from beating in her chest. She found herself remembering the way he had looked at her in the passage. She had begun to think him very different from the proud, disagreeable man she first supposed him to be. And Caroline Bingley, of all people, had seen it before she had. Elizabeth glanced towards her. Perhaps the woman had not been meddling quite so blindly after all.
Miss Bingley stood and moved towards the tea table, where she poured herself a cup with a smug smile that Elizabeth found both irritating and amusing. "How fortunate you have joined us, sir. Miss Eliza and I have been having the most interesting conversation."
Mr Darcy looked from one woman to the other with immediate suspicion. "Have you?"
"Indeed." Miss Bingley lifted the cup to her lips. "Though I believe Miss Eliza has learned quite enough about me for one evening."
Elizabeth glanced at her. "I am not at all certain of that."
For the briefest moment, Miss Bingley met her gaze. There was caution there, but also the kernel of something warmer. Then, almost as though the words had escaped before she could think about them, she said, "You should call me Caroline… or Caro as my family does on occasion."
Elizabeth smiled. "Then you must call me Elizabeth. Though I confess Eliza is beginning to grow upon me."
Chapter Twelve
Darcy, October 1811, Netherfield, Hertfordshire
Darcy entered the drawing room behind Bingley, who strode over to the window and stood looking through the still open curtains into the darkness beyond. Darcy knew his friend was there in body but that his heart and mind remained above stairs with Miss Bennet.
He forgot his friend the second he saw Elizabeth sitting near the fire in the soft green gown she had worn at dinner. She was turned slightly towards Miss Bingley as though they had been speaking in confidence. The firelight caught upon her dark hair and drew out warmer shades he had not noticed before, glints of chestnut and copper among the curls at her temples. She looked up when he entered and smiled, the wide fullness of her mouth softening into an expression of such gentle pleasure that he stopped dead just inside the room. This caused Hurst to bump into him and mutter as he moved around Darcy to cross the room and sit beside his wife.
Darcy paid Hurst no mind. God, she was beautiful. He had known she was handsome from the first moment he saw her.Even before he had behaved like the greatest fool in England, he had noticed the brightness of her eyes and the liveliness of her manner. But there was something different in seeing her now, lit by the fire and smiling directly at him. For several seconds, he could think of nothing beyond the fact that he wanted her. She was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen and it caused his heart to clench painfully in his chest.
Miss Bingley rose and moved towards the tea table, where she poured herself a cup with an expression of satisfaction that immediately made him wary. "How fortunate you have joined us, sir. Miss Eliza and I have been having the most interesting conversation."
Darcy looked from one woman to the other. Elizabeth’s cheeks had grown faintly pink, though the amusement in her face remained. "Have you?"
"Indeed." Miss Bingley lifted the cup to her lips. "Though I believe Miss Eliza has learned quite enough about me for one evening."
Elizabeth glanced towards her. "I am not at all certain of that."
Something passed between them which Darcy could not interpret. Miss Bingley met Elizabeth’s gaze with a warmth he had rarely seen. Then, almost as though the words had escaped before she could reconsider them, she said, "You should call me Caroline. Or Caro, as my family does upon occasion."
Elizabeth smiled. "Then you must call me Elizabeth. Though I confess Eliza is beginning to grow upon me."
Darcy stared at them. Miss Bingley was never familiar, especially with people she considered beneath her in social influence. In honesty, she rarely got above lukewarm with her own family. He had known her for years and could count upon one hand the number of people outside her family whom she had invited to use her Christian name. Elizabeth had been at Netherfield scarcely a day, and somehow the two women now appeared to share an understanding. Was this some new scheme of Miss Bingley's? He had learned not to trust that look of quiet satisfaction upon her face. Whatever game she was playing, he would not allow his Elizabeth to be hurt by it.
His Elizabeth. He looked towards her again. She was still smiling at Miss Bingley, unaware that he had claimed her so recklessly in the privacy of his own mind. The words should have been absurd. They ought to have shocked him into good sense. They did not. In fact, they settled somewhere within him with a bone-deep rightness he found alarming.
