Page 6

Before Elizabeth could reply, Mr. Darcy decided to act.

For a heartbeat, the bustling town seemed to fade into silence.

With a measured step, he approached, inclined his head in a formal greeting and continued toward them, his stride purposeful.

The faintest trace of a smile touched his lips, visible only to those truly acquainted with him.

“Miss Bennet, Miss Elizabeth,” he said with a correct bow when he reached them. “I trust you are well this lovely day?”

“Perfectly well, thank you, sir,” Jane replied with her customary gentle politeness.

Elizabeth merely nodded, suddenly conscious of the curious stares their encounter was attracting. Mr. Darcy’s presence in Meryton was unexpected; she had assumed he would have departed with Mr. Bingley for London, as Lady Lucas mentioned.

“I have just acquired a volume of poetry that has garnered much acclaim,” Mr. Darcy said, addressing his remark primarily to Elizabeth. “Walter Scott’s The Lady of the Lake . Are you familiar with it, Miss Elizabeth?”

The direct question required a response. “I have heard much praise for Mr. Scott’s poetry, but my tastes are not yet settled. Perhaps you can persuade me that the wilds of Scotland are as captivating as the countryside of Hertfordshire.”

A flicker of surprise crossed Mr. Darcy’s features, quickly replaced by a glimmer of genuine amusement. He ran a thoughtful thumb along the gilt edge of the book in his hand. “An interesting observation, Miss Elizabeth. Most young ladies profess an unbounded admiration for pastoral scenes.”

Elizabeth’s lips curved in a smile, emboldened by the hint of challenge in his tone. “I prefer poetry that explores the complexities of human nature rather than contenting itself with mere landscapes,” she replied, her voice light but sincere.

He tilted his head slightly, the intensity in his gaze suggesting genuine interest rather than polite inquiry. “And which poets do you find most satisfying in that regard?”

“Alexander Pope, for his wit and insight. And William Cowper—for his reflections on conscience and the quieter conflicts of the heart. My father says I ought to read more didactic verse, but I prefer poets who understand contradiction.” Her eyes danced with mischief as she added, “And Shakespeare, of course—who has understood human nature better than anyone before or since.”

Mr. Darcy’s expression softened, the formality fading from his manner as he regarded her with some quiet admiration. “A discerning selection. Shakespeare, in particular, saw how motives may run far deeper than any observer could guess.”

The words seemed uncomfortably close to Elizabeth’s own experience. Was he alluding to her conduct at the assembly? For a moment, she felt the warmth of embarrassment bloom in her cheeks, but she met his gaze without flinching, determined not to shrink from the conversation.

Before she could summon a retort—whether playful or earnest—their moment was interrupted by Charlotte Lucas’ cheerful approach. She paused upon seeing Mr. Darcy and Bennet sisters together and immediately inclined her head in polite greeting.

“Mr. Darcy,” Charlotte said, her surprise thinly veiled. “What a pleasant coincidence to find you here! I had thought you were leaving for London this morning, sir.”

Mr. Darcy bowed politely. “Miss Lucas. I realized Mr. Bingley’s absence would be brief, so I resolved to remain in the area until he returned rather than make the journey twice.”

Charlotte glanced over her shoulder. “My father is settling the account with Madame Lefèvre, but he will join us presently.” She smiled at Elizabeth and Jane as if to include her in the small circle of conspirators who found themselves unexpectedly in town on the same morning.

There was a brief, companionable silence—only the soft clatter of other carriages’ wheels and the distant murmur of voices disturbed the street’s quiet. Darcy’s gaze lingered on Elizabeth, his eyes suggesting that, despite the interruption, their exchange was not easily forgotten.

Sir William Lucas soon emerged from the dressmaker’s shop, his countenance as affable as ever, a neatly wrapped dress package tucked carefully under one arm.

He held it with surprising delicacy for a man more accustomed to public ceremony than millinery errands, and there was an unmistakable note of paternal pride in the way he carried it—as though no ambassador’s dispatch could have required greater attention.

Catching sight of the small group gathered by the bakery, he brightened further and stepped forward.

“Ah, Mr. Darcy! What excellent fortune—who would have expected such distinguished company on a plain market day?” he declared, his enthusiasm as genuine as always.

Mr. Darcy acknowledged Sir William with a dignified bow. “The pleasure is mine, sir.”

“So, you have not left for London after all. Is Mr. Bingley with you, by any chance?”

“No, Bingley has gone to London, but I expect he will return soon—perhaps this evening or tomorrow at the latest. I intend to remain at Netherfield until he returns,” Mr. Darcy replied, wishing to clarify his situation.

“Capital! My wife will be quite delighted to hear this news. I am sure. She had lamented that the neighborhood would be dreadfully dull in your absence.” Sir William chuckled and glanced at Elizabeth and Jane for support.

“Why not join us at Lucas Lodge for luncheon, Mr. Darcy? It would be most unkind to leave you solitary at Netherfield while Mr. Bingley is away. Besides, I know my daughters would enjoy your company and Miss Bennets always bring such grace to any gathering.”

Mr. Darcy hesitated, a polite refusal at the ready, but Sir William pressed his advantage with a warm smile. “We are only a small party, to be sure, but the day is fine and the company excellent. Pray, do allow us to extend a little hospitality. I must insist.”

Jane, always the peacemaker, added gently, “It would be a pleasure, Mr. Darcy. With Mr. Bingley away, it would be a pity for you to spend the day alone at Netherfield. Charlotte and her family would be delighted by your company—and so would we.” Her gentle smile conveyed sincere warmth.

“A cheerful gathering will do us all good, and it would be most agreeable if you would join us.”

Elizabeth nodded her agreement, her voice brightening the invitation.

“Indeed, sir, you must not think yourself a burden. A little lively conversation might make up for the quiet at Netherfield. I am sure the day will pass pleasantly in good company.” Her tone carried sincerity and a trace of playful encouragement as if to assure him he would be among friends.

Seeing he was outnumbered, Darcy gave a small, almost imperceptible sigh. “Then I am honored to accept, Sir William. I would not deprive Lady Lucas of the pleasure of receiving guests—nor of such good company.”

Sir William beamed. “Splendid! We have brought the carriage; there is room enough for five.”

“Thank you, Sir William,” Mr. Darcy replied, offering a thankful nod. “I borrowed a mount from Netherfield, so I shall ride behind. My horse is nearby, at hand.”

With the plan agreed upon, the party set out from the bustling heart of Meryton. The Bennet sisters climbed into the carriage with Charlotte and Sir William, while Darcy mounted his horse and followed at a measured pace, the morning sun glinting on the polished leather of his boots.

As they travelled the country lane towards Lucas Lodge, conversation in the carriage turned naturally to the assembly, then to the latest neighborhood news, and finally, to the pressing question of who might next let the newly vacated Parsonage.

From the saddle, Darcy allowed his thoughts to wander, recalling with a slight inward smile the spirited conversation with Elizabeth. He could not help but wonder how much of her candor was meant for his ears alone.

“That was unexpected,” Charlotte observed once they were out of earshot. “Mrs. Long said that Mr. Darcy rarely speaks three words together in company, yet he initiated a conversation about poetry with you, Lizzy.”

“He was merely being polite,” Elizabeth demurred, though she too had been surprised by his approach.

“It was more than politeness,” Charlotte insisted. “And his decision to remain in Meryton when Mr. Bingley traveled to London is curious. Everyone expected him to return to London after the ball.”

“Perhaps he found our provincial society more entertaining than anticipated,” Elizabeth suggested with irony. “My social blunder must have provided him with ample amusement.”

Charlotte gave her a searching look. “Is that what you believe? That he stays to mock us?”

“Why else would a man of his consequence linger in Meryton? He made his disdain for our society quite clear at the assembly.”

“People’s opinions can change,” Charlotte said mildly. “Particularly when they encounter something or someone that challenges their preconceptions.”

Elizabeth dismissed this notion with a shake of her head. “You are imagining romance where none exists, Charlotte. Mr. Darcy’s interest, if it exists at all, is merely curiosity about a country miss who does not conform to the general expectations.”

“Perhaps,” Charlotte conceded, though her expression remained skeptical. “In any case, his presence with us this afternoon will certainly give the gossips something to discuss besides your refusal to dance with Mr. Whitmore.”

This practical observation cheered Elizabeth considerably. If Mr. Darcy’s unexpected attention could shield her from Meryton’s disapproval, she would welcome it, regardless of his motives.

***

As the carriage turned into Lucas Lodge’s drive, gravel crunching beneath its wheels, the familiar low, yellowish house emerged between the clipped hedges and sheltering chestnut trees.