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Aunt Gardiner laughed at her. “It is nothing so very onerous, Lizzy. My recommendation is only that you work out what you are truly angry about—and then sleep on it.”

Elizabeth frowned. “That is all?”

“That is generally enough.”

Jane smiled. Elizabeth did not.

Her aunt continued, “You may wake tomorrow every bit as upset as you are now. In that case, you will have lost nothing, not even time, for Mr. Darcy will not be here until later in the day. Which I believe makes this a rather convenient occasion to practise restraint.”

Elizabeth gave her a look.

Aunt Gardiner smiled. “Consider, please, that Jane was the injured party here, not you.” Elizabeth opened her mouth to speak, but her aunt held up a hand. “If Jane has forgiven Mr. Darcy, Elizabeth, I do not see how it is your place to remain angry with him on her behalf. You may, if you wish, refuse to forgive him for any slights he has perpetrated against you, though I am not certain even that would be the best use of your time or energies.”

Before this conversation Elizabeth had decided that Mr. Darcy had changed his mind about them—about her. Now she was unsure. “Jane was not the only person he judged.”

Her aunt regarded her for a moment. “No,” she said. “I do not suppose she was.”

“Then you allow that I have reason to be offended?”

“I will allow it. Even so, I advise you not to make up your mind until tomorrow.”

“Very well,” Elizabeth said. “I shall do as you ask.”

Elizabeth had half feared Aunt Gardiner was correct and that one night of sleep would transform her justified affront into a resigned acceptance. But resignation was not her way, and fortunately, Mr. Darcy’s conduct felt every bit as objectionable to her at breakfast as it had the previous evening.

However, it was no longer all one objection, and it required a good deal of work to sort it all out.

One thing she was certain of was that Mr. Darcy might withhold information, but he would not support an outright falsehood. A fine line, for was not a lie of omission a lie nonetheless?

But on this she must be fair. Miss Bingley had asserted something that was not true, and Mr. Darcy had likely believed it. Even Elizabeth had been shocked to hear that Miss Bingley had told a lie, and she had no reason to think well of the woman. Mr. Darcy’s response had been based upon his trust in Miss Bingley’s conduct, and so he could not be entirely blamed for it.

However, this was not the entirety of his transgression, for he already formed his own judgements of both the Bennets in general and Jane in particular by the end of the Netherfield ball. Earlier, of course, as he had insulted Elizabeth herself before they had even been properly introduced. Miss Bingley’s lie had simply confirmed what he already believed. He had advised Mr. Bingley against Jane because he thought her indifferent to his friend, but she did not think he would have come to that conclusion had he not already considered the Bennet family beneath him.

And she was, for better or worse, a member of the Bennet family.

Yes, Mr. Darcy had been making his amends to Mr. Bingley by offering him the use of his carriage and accompanying him to Gracechurch Street every day. She had seen how he behaved with her young cousins and knew that sort of kindness was difficult to counterfeit. He had agreed to play chess with Edward and had done so with good humour. He had allowed Henry to keep banging his wooden soldiers against the legs of his chair—and, Elizabeth suspected, Mr. Darcy’s own legs—without scolding her little cousin or even protesting his ill treatment. And his story about Christmas had been genuinely personal, a sign, she thought, that he felt very comfortable in the Gardiners’ home, certainly more so than he had felt with her family at Longbourn.

But this was all to make amends to Mr. Bingley. Once Jane and Mr. Bingley were wed, should that come to pass, they would likely see a great deal less of him. He might meet Mr. Bingley at their club, but would he visit their home?

She could not say. Elizabeth could not fault him for being wary of her family. She loved them, but even she had to admit that their manners were often in need of amendment. The question was whether he felt the same way about her.

She buttered a piece of toast so vigorously that it broke in two, with half clutched in her hand and the other half dropping onto her plate.

Across the table, Uncle Gardiner lowered his newspaper. “Has the toast offended you in some way, Lizzy?”

“Not at all.”

Aunt Gardiner hid a smile behind her cup. “Are you envisioning the toast as Mr. Darcy?”

Elizabeth set down the knife. “No. I am annoyed with Mr. Darcy, but I do not wish to break him in half.”

“I am relieved to hear it,” her uncle replied.

Mr. Darcy had objected to Mr. Bingley’s attachment to Jane because of her family. Elizabeth belonged to that family, and so he ought to avoid her. Yet he was not doing that. He had not avoided her in Hertfordshire either, despite insulting her before he had even been introduced to her. It made no sense. Elizabeth pushed away the remains of her toast. Confounding man.

“Well?” Aunt Gardiner asked.

“I remain angry.”