Page 41 of Colour My World (The Bennet Sister Variations #3)

Mrs Ecclestone had spoken, and so it must be.

No sooner had the gentlemen made their farewells than she had directed them to escort the eldest Miss Bennets on a walk.

There was no appeal, no negotiation, merely a deft flick of her fan and an imperious nod that sent Mr Bingley offering his arm to Elizabeth and Mr Darcy to Jane.

Elizabeth blinked. Mr Bingley?

She had barely processed the pairing before he was at her side, beaming as if he had won a prize in the village fair.

“This is delightful.” Mr Bingley inhaled the garden air. “I had wondered how best to improve the morning, and here we are!”

Elizabeth glanced back. Mrs Ecclestone had paired Mr Darcy with Jane.

Jane. And Mr Darcy. Mr Darcy, who had spent weeks staring at her as though she were an enigma he could not solve, walked beside her sister conversing. Speaking!

The sight unsettled her in a way she could not name.

“She has rather taken command of the house,” Bingley said, nodding towards Mrs Ecclestone, who stood watching their departure with a small smile of approval.

Elizabeth gave a short laugh. “Mrs Ecclestone is a welcome fixture at Longbourn.”

“And you? You are quite at her mercy as well, I take it?”

“I have learned the wisdom of compliance.”

She turned back to Jane and Mr Darcy. Her sister was speaking. Mr Darcy’s ear nearly touched Jane’s lips.

The air around her thickened like damp wool against her skin.

Jane’s aire remained soft and unchanged. That should have reassured her, but it did not.

“Miss Bennet is quite admirable. She never pushes too far, never speaks without thought. Always knows precisely how to manage a conversation.”

Was that a comparison? “I imagine you find that quite soothing.”

Mr Bingley chuckled. “You mean unlike yourself?”

Elizabeth arched a brow.

“No, no. That is to say, you are the most engaging conversationalist I have ever encountered.”

“Mr Bingley, you ought to know by now that flattery does not work on me.”

“You wound me,” he said.

Elizabeth glanced back at Jane and Mr Darcy. He spoke; Jane nearly stumbled. He righted her.

Is she blushing? There was something discomfiting about seeing them so at ease with each other.

She turned back. “And you, sir? Have you truly no plans to return to London?”

He hesitated. “I am…undecided.”

“That is hardly an answer.”

He winced. “You and your father are quite alike.”

“That is hardly an answer, either.”

“I have been happy here, truly, but I begin to wonder if I have misjudged certain—”

Elizabeth narrowed her eyes. “Certain what?”

He shook his head. “Nothing, nothing at all.”

Elizabeth turned back to Jane and Mr Darcy. Jane’s smile, the curve of her lips, told Elizabeth she was genuinely enjoying herself.

Mr Darcy said something. His expression seemed pleased, relaxed, even.

Elizabeth’s stomach twisted.

“You disapprove?”

Elizabeth startled. “Of what?”

He gestured behind them.

Elizabeth forced a laugh. “Of course not. It is just…unexpected.”

“Hmm.”

Elizabeth frowned. “What?”

“Oh, nothing,” he said. “I never imagined you the jealous sort.”

She nearly tripped. “I beg your pardon?”

“Well, you are watching them as though they are exchanging confidences.”

Elizabeth scowled. “I do no such thing.”

“Do you not? You have done nothing but watch Darcy since we left the house.”

“That is absurd.” Her cheeks burned. Of course, I looked. But not for the reasons he supposes. Elizabeth forced herself to look forward.

Mr Bingley leant slightly towards her. “Now, truly, Miss Elizabeth, am I to believe you feel nothing when you see my friend with your sister?”

“Of course not.”

Mr Bingley smiled.

“I do not!”

He hummed again.

She pressed her lips together. It was ridiculous. She was not jealous. What an absurd notion. She stole a glance at Mr Darcy and Jane.

Jane was laughing. Mr Darcy was smiling.

Her stomach roiled. She faced forward again, and Mr Bingley chuckled.

* * *

Bingley could not let it rest. The moment they returned to Netherfield, he dogged Darcy’s every step. “Well?” Bingley followed him through the entrance hall. “What do you think of her?”

Darcy shrugged off his coat and handed it to the waiting footman. “She is accomplished.”

Bingley rolled his eyes. “Yes, yes, she is accomplished, but—” He waved a hand. “That is hardly the point. What did you speak of?”

Darcy adjusted his cuffs. “The usual.”

Bingley narrowed his eyes. “And that means?”

Darcy glanced towards the drawing room as if contemplating escape. “Conversation.”

Bingley groaned. “You are impossible.”

Darcy stepped inside and poured himself a glass of brandy.

“I take it,” Bingley said, watching him, “That you found her agreeable?”

Darcy took a sip. “She is amiable.”

Bingley stared. “That is all?”

Darcy set his glass down with deliberate care. “It was a pleasant outing.”

Bingley dragged a hand through his hair. “You spent nearly an hour in her company, and all you can say is that it was a pleasant walk?”

Darcy lifted a brow. “Would you prefer I prevaricate?”

Bingley threw up his hands. “I should like something useful.”

Darcy picked up a book from the side table, flipped through it, and closed it again. “The countryside is quite scenic.”

Bingley gaped. “Darcy—”

“The air was bracing.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake.”

Darcy took another sip of brandy. “A fair morning for walking.”

“You are insufferable.”

“So, I have been told.”

Bingley slumped into a chair. “Blast it all, just tell me! Does she care for me?”

Darcy stared at him. “You are asking me to think for you.”

Bingley frowned. “What do you mean?”

“If you do not know by now, no one can tell you.” Darcy took another measured sip of brandy. “And if you wish for another opinion, I suggest asking Miss Bennet herself.”

* * *

Elizabeth was determined. She followed Jane through the sitting room, the corridor, the drawing room—everywhere—resolved to pry something, anything.

Jane stopped in the vestibule to stack their father’s correspondence.

“What did you and Mr Darcy share?”

“Many things.”

“Yes, but what things?”

Jane tucked the letters away. “Pleasant things.”

Elizabeth crossed her arms. “Jane.”

“Elizabeth.”

Elizabeth narrowed her eyes. “You are doing it on purpose.”

Jane’s brows lifted. “Doing what?”

“Being vague.”

“I should think I have answered plainly enough.” She strolled towards the staircase.

“You have said nothing of substance.”

“Oh, very well.” Jane peered upwards as if thinking. “If you insist. We spoke of his sister.”

“He has a sister?”

“Yes.”

“Why would he speak of her? To you?”

“I remind him of her.”

Elizabeth’s stomach dropped like a stone. He had never mentioned his family to her. Not once. “What else?”

“She is younger. Shy, I think. But he says Georgiana—that is her name—lives in Town.”

“He mentioned her by name?”

“He smiled as he spoke of her.”

Elizabeth pressed her fingertips to her forehead. She counted to five. Slowly. “Did you speak of… local matters? The neighbourhood?”

“We did. He is quite elegant when one listens, rather than interrupt.”

Elizabeth stared at her. That had been Mr Darcy’s very phrasing at the Meryton bookshop, delivered in the driest possible tone. Not flirtation but an observation. Elizabeth glared at her sister. “You are enjoying this.”

“Whatever do you mean?” Jane turned and walked away.

Elizabeth groaned. She cares not that she turned my world sideways. The rhythm between them—once easy—had changed, and she could not name the tune. So, she followed.

Where else could she go? She shut the door with more force than necessary. She saw only Jane—seated in the window seat, an odd smile on her face.

“You are stealing him.”

Jane blinked. “Pardon?”

“Mr Darcy,” Elizabeth said, arms crossed. “You are stealing him from me.”

“I was unaware he belonged to you.”

Elizabeth flushed. “That is not what I meant.”

“Then what did you mean?”

Elizabeth opened her mouth. She could think of nothing to say that did not betray her.

Jane folded her hands. “Mr Darcy has done nothing more than walk with me and converse politely. As you walked with Mr Bingley.”

“Yes, but why did Mr Darcy walk with you?”

Jane arched a brow. “Would you rather he walked with you?”

Elizabeth sputtered. “That is—that is irrelevant.”

“Of course.”

Elizabeth threw up her hands. “You are impossible.”

“Ehem.”

Elizabeth jumped. Jane straightened and smoothed her skirt. Their father plucked something from his pocket and hand it to Mrs Ecclestone. “To the victor go the spoils.”

“What—what is that?” Elizabeth could feel her face stretch in embarrassment.

Mrs Bennet waved a hand. “Oh, nothing, my dear.”

Elizabeth narrowed her eyes. “Papa.”

Her father smirked. “Only a minor wager. Nothing you need concern yourself with.”

“About?”

He turned to Mrs Ecclestone. “Shall I tell her, or shall you?”

Mrs Ecclestone stirred her tea. “Oh, I think she already knows.”

Elizabeth turned to Jane. Her aire was white. Judas.

Mr Bingley’s words rang in her head. “I never imagined you the jealous sort.”

Elizabeth scowled. Jane smiled. Mr Bennet chuckled. Mrs Bennet clutched Mrs Ecclestone’s arm and giggled. Giggled !