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“Well, indeed,” said Mrs. Bennet with unexpected firmness. “These days, there are far too many airs and men who are impossible to please.” She caught herself at once and offered Mrs. Gardiner an apologetic look, as if to say she had quite forgotten she was meant to remain silent.

A subtle change passed over the room—not discomfort, but an alertness. Elizabeth, maintaining composure, exchanged a look with Jane, who offered the faintest smile of encouragement.

Darcy, who had been seated a little apart, now sat straighter. His cup, untouched, remained on the sideboard.

“Of course,” Mrs. Gardiner added in a tone of tempered modesty, “nothing has been proposed yet. But Mrs. Farrington did wonder whether, if circumstances allow, we might make a proper introduction during his visit. She has raised her son with admirable sensibility and hopes he will follow his grandfather into military service.”

“Moreover—setting aside the matter of title—the general already possesses a considerable fortune, which will one day pass to his heirs,” Mr. Phillips offered, with an air of polite conciliation.

Elizabeth’s tone remained composed, though her fingers tightened slightly in her lap. “It is very flattering that he remembered me. But I dare say he must have mistaken me for someone more remarkable.”

Mr. Darcy had followed the exchange closely.

He was clearly preoccupied. What struck him most, however, was not the announcement itself, nor the prospect of a baronet’s heir in Hertfordshire—but Elizabeth’s manner.

She had listened to all talk of title and inheritance with perfect detachment, unruffled by either. It left an impression.

“On the contrary,” Mr. Darcy said quietly. “I would think it difficult to forget you.”

His words, though softly spoken, carried farther than he perhaps intended. A hush followed. Then Mrs. Phillips, ever eager to restore a cheerful air, declared with a chuckle, “Well! If Miss Lizzy is to be courted by the future Sir Charles Farrington, she must begin practicing her curtsy.”

“I hope not tonight,” Elizabeth said wryly. “My knees are not so easily persuaded.”

The company laughed, the tension breaking like ice under warmth.

Mrs. Gardiner sipped her cordial slowly, satisfied that her intended spark had caught more than one attentive eye.

She sat back, satisfied. Mr. Darcy preoccupied…

Very well. The spark had landed, and its effect was spreading—some more visibly than others.

Mrs. Gardiner was now entirely in her element, satisfied that her little stratagem had achieved its intended effect: Mr. Darcy was intrigued—sufficiently so, she believed, that he would be compelled to respond to the subtle challenge. A man who truly cared for a young lady could not remain unmoved.

Despite the calm reflected in his features, his upright composure and proud bearing, the observant aunt was not deceived.

She noted, with quiet satisfaction, the faint drumming of his fingers upon the edge of the table—a detail too slight for general notice, yet eloquent to one who understood such things.

It spoke of deliberation, perhaps even of frustration and inward conflict. Very well, then.

Thus fortified, she continued to steer the conversation with an invisible hand, diverting it gently from politics—which invariably cast Mr. Bennet into a melancholy humor—to more amiable diversions: books, travel, and the upcoming season in London.

When she spoke, her voice was a cool stream, soothing and refreshing but never without direction.

But the atmosphere had shifted. A new element had been introduced, and though none could say precisely what had changed, all present felt it.

Elizabeth, glancing toward her aunt Gardiner, found in her gaze that quiet look of triumph which required no words.

The next move, they both knew, belonged to someone else.

***

The hour had grown late. A gentle rustle of shawls and whispered reminders began to fill the drawing room as the evening wound down.

Mrs. Phillips, ever mindful of schedules and her lemon cakes for the morrow, declared that they must not overstay their welcome.

Mr. Phillips, reluctantly breaking off an animated discussion with Mr. Bennet about local inheritance disputes, echoed her resolve.

Cloaks were fetched, and the Phillips party made their exit amid cheerful thanks and exclamations about the excellence of the dinner. As final pleasantries were exchanged in the front hall, Mr. Bingley stepped forward with characteristic warmth.

“It has been a most delightful evening, Mr. Phillips,” he said with genuine cheer. ““I dare say I shall require the benefit of sound local counsel before long—Netherfield is already revealing its complexities.”

Mr. Phillips bowed slightly, pleased. “You do me honor, sir. I should be most gratified to assist in any matter you deem fit. I shall send my card in the morning, with your leave.”

“With thanks,” said Bingley, inclining his head. “I shall look for it.”

Mrs. Phillips, flushed with satisfaction, took Mrs. Bennet’s hand. “My dear sister, your table grows finer with every season. I must have that recipe for the syllabub.”

“Oh, I shall write it down before Sunday!” Mrs. Bennet promised.

Mr. Phillips turned next to Mr. Darcy. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance, sir. I hope we may meet again under equally agreeable circumstances.”

Darcy offered a courteous bow. “Indeed, sir. Your reputation precedes you—and now I may say it is deserved.”

“Flattery from so precise a gentleman—I am flattered indeed,” said Mr. Phillips with a wry smile.

Mr. Bennet, who had watched the exchange with amusement, added dryly, “Should you ever find yourself in need of legal support, Mr. Darcy, I daresay my brother-in-law would charge only half his usual rate—for family’s sake, of course.”

Darcy’s lips curved faintly. “A generous offer, sir. I shall endeavor to stay out of trouble.”

With that, the front door opened to the crisp night air. Farewells were exchanged, the Phillipses’ carriage rolled away, and the company returned indoors—lighter by two, but with new prospects quietly set in motion.

Of, course, Mrs. Gardiner remained behind with her nieces, content to enjoy a final few moments by the fire.

As the room emptied to a quieter cluster, Mr. Bingley stepped closer to Mr. Bennet, his face unusually serious. “If it is not too late, sir, might I speak with you on a small matter—regarding an enclosure near Netherfield which I have been advised to survey?”

Mr. Bennet, whose expression had been one of mild drowsiness, raised an eyebrow at the not-so-subtle pretext. “Of course, Mr. Bingley. I should be happy to lend you whatever counsel I may.”

“With your leave, I shall see to the carriage,” said Mr. Darcy quietly to Mr. Bennet, offering a slight bow to the ladies before stepping out into the vestibule.

With a glance toward Jane—who blushed as though caught in sunlight—Bingley offered a small, grateful smile and followed Mr. Bennet into his study.

Elizabeth watched Mr. Darcy disappear into the vestibule, the echo of his measured steps fading toward the door. She turned slightly toward her aunt, her voice low and composed, but tinged with something brittle beneath.

“I believe you were mistaken, Aunt. That gentleman harbors no particular design toward me.”

Mrs. Gardiner’s eyes remained on the hallway, her tone serene but pointed.

“Do not be so swift in your conclusions, my dear. The evening is not quite over.”

The ladies resumed their seats, conversation turning to trifles. Mrs. Gardiner spoke quietly to Mary about a newly published book of songs; Lydia and Kitty practiced restraint under the increasingly lax scrutiny of their chaperones.

Not ten minutes later, Mr. Bingley reemerged. His eyes were bright, his smile content. He bowed to the company, paused before Jane with a brief, meaningful look, and then turned to Mr. Bennet, who had reappeared with a satisfied air.

“My thanks, sir,” said Bingley, his voice steady but touched with feeling. “Your advice was—most generously given. I shall reflect on it with the seriousness it deserves.”

Mr. Bennet gave a small nod, more solemn than teasing for once. “I believe, Mr. Bingley, that you know your own mind. I only hope you will be guided by it, and not by the doubts of others.”

“I shall try, sir,” Mr. Bingley replied, glancing once more toward Jane. “And now I must not trespass longer. I wish you all a very good night.”

He bowed again to the room, received Mrs. Bennet’s effusive thanks with smiling courtesy, and offered a respectful farewell to Mrs. Gardiner. Then, with visible reluctance, he turned and departed.

The front door closed quietly behind him.

Elizabeth’s thoughts had scarcely begun to settle when the latch stirred once more—and Mr. Darcy stepped back inside.

There was a subtle stir among the company. Mrs. Bennet straightened in her seat, surprised but gratified; Jane looked mildly startled. Elizabeth’s gaze, however, sharpened—though she kept her expression carefully composed. Her fingers tightened on the armrest.

Mr. Darcy approached with his usual composure, though something in his bearing had changed—more resolved, less distant.

“I hope you will pardon the interruption,” he said, addressing the room at large with a slight bow. “I could not leave without first expressing my heartfelt thanks for the gracious-ness and warmth I have received this evening.”

Mrs. Bennet fluttered. “Oh, Mr. Darcy! It has been entirely our pleasure, I assure you. We are always delighted to see our guests so comfortably received.”

Mrs. Gardiner offered him a more measured smile. “You are very welcome, sir. We are pleased you joined us this evening.”

Darcy’s eyes, though they swept the room, lingered on no one. That alone was enough to leave Elizabeth unsure of his true purpose.

He paused as though to add something more—then merely inclined his head again. “Good night, ladies. Mr. Bennet.”