Page 33

Mrs Bennet straightened at once, smoothing her shawl and adjusting the ribbons of her cap. “Oh! Quickly, Kitty- tell Hill to fetch the good tea service. Jane, sit up, my dear. Elizabeth-try to look cheerful.”

Elizabeth glanced toward Jane, who merely smiled and adjusted her posture with practised grace. For her part, Elizabeth remained where she was, her book closed on her lap. Her heart gave an odd little flutter at the thought of Mr Darcy stepping through the door.

Footsteps rang out on the gravel, and moments later, Hill entered with a composed curtsey.

“Mr Bingley, Mr Darcy, Miss Bingley, and Mrs Hurst.”

The drawing room door opened, and the Netherfield party was shown in.

Mr Bingley entered first, his usual cheer undimmed by the morning chill. “Good day, Mrs Bennet, Miss Bennet-ladies.” His bow was warm and eager, his gaze lingering a touch longer on Jane.

Mrs Hurst and Miss Bingley followed, both offering warm expressions-directed almost exclusively at Jane.

“My dear Miss Bennet,” said Miss Bingley with exaggerated fondness, “it is such a relief to see you restored! We were most concerned during your stay with us. ”

“Indeed,” echoed Mrs Hurst. “It felt quite improper to go so long without calling again-though of course, your recovery has been foremost in our thoughts.”

Their words, though courteous, scarcely extended beyond Jane. Elizabeth received only a brief nod; Mary, Kitty, and Lydia were not acknowledged at all.

Darcy entered last, his tall frame casting a brief shadow across the threshold. His eyes found Elizabeth at once. For the briefest moment, his expression softened-then shuttered again behind the familiar mask of reserve. He bowed.

Elizabeth inclined her head in return, her lips curving into a faint smile. She was suddenly aware of the warmth rising to her cheeks and the way her hand rested on the spine of her closed book.

Mr Bingley stepped forward, holding a folded piece of thick cream paper. “We hope you will forgive the intrusion-but I come bearing an invitation.”

Mrs Bennet clasped her hands to her breast with exaggerated delight. “An invitation! Oh, how delightful!”

Mr Bingley smiled. “It is to a ball. At Netherfield. The second Tuesday of December. We would be honoured by your company.”

Mrs Bennet, flushed with the excitement of a ball and the honour of such company, tried valiantly to insert herself into their line of conversation, but Miss Bingley turned smoothly back to Jane, inquiring after her rest and her embroidery with expressions of practised sympathy.

“A ball!” Lydia squealed, clapping her hands. “Oh, I knew it! Kitty, did not I say it must happen?”

Kitty giggled and nodded, her bonnet forgotten in her lap.

Jane accepted the invitation with a gentle smile. “We are most grateful. Thank you, Mr Bingley.”

Miss Bingley leaned slightly toward her brother. “We thought it best to deliver them ourselves. An event such as this requires a personal touch.”

Mr Darcy, still standing slightly apart, looked toward Elizabeth. “I hope by then your ankle will be fully recovered.”

Pudding, the Bennet cat, was curled into a contented loaf beneath the side table, thumping her tail lazily against the rug each time the door opened with fresh excitement.

Elizabeth met his gaze. “It improves daily. I am hopeful I shall be able to dance.”

There was a pause. Darcy opened his mouth, as if to speak-then closed it again. Whatever question or invitation had hovered on the edge of his thoughts was lost to the moment.

Mrs Bennet beamed. “We are all most pleased, I assure you. It will be the event of the season.”

Miss Bingley’s smile was tight. “Yes. I am sure it will be.”

The sisters soon stood, declaring they must call on other neighbours. Mr Bingley looked reluctant to leave, but began to rise out of habit-only to pause as Mr Darcy cleared his throat lightly.

“If you will allow me,” Mr Darcy said with calm civility, glancing toward the sisters, “I believe I shall remain a little longer. The air is fine for walking today, and I find I have no need of the carriage.”

Miss Bingley blinked. “But, Mr Darcy-surely you do not mean to walk back alone?”

“I do,” he replied smoothly. “Unless Bingley wishes to stay as well, in which case I am sure the ladies would not object to taking the carriage.”

There was a brief silence. Mr Bingley looked between Mr Darcy and Jane, and then smiled. “I believe I will stay a little while longer. If my sisters do not mind?”

Mrs Hurst made a polite noise, and Miss Bingley’s smile froze in place. “Of course not. I am sure we can manage. ”

Then, with a last lingering look at Jane, Mr Bingley rose and stepped forward to see his sisters out, leaving Mr Darcy behind with a heartbeat’s pause and Elizabeth’s curious gaze.

A knock on the door frame drew their attention. Hill entered with a tray of tea and a cake. She set it down on the table and withdrew with a curtsey. There was a moment of polite movement as cups were passed and spoons stirred.

Mr Darcy, rather than returning to the window or remaining by the fire, crossed deliberately to the chair nearest Elizabeth and took his seat beside her. He did not speak at first, but accepted a cup from the tray and took a careful sip.

Elizabeth glanced sideways at him. “I hope the walk back to Netherfield will not prove too damp for your boots, Mr Darcy.”

He looked at her then, and a very faint smile touched his mouth. “I find the prospect of a long walk quite refreshing-particularly when the company beforehand has been agreeable.”

Elizabeth arched a brow but said nothing. Her heart, traitorous thing, beat faster all the same.

Across the room, Jane poured a second cup for her mother, who was still aglow with the excitement of a ball. Mary had returned to her book. Lydia and Kitty had begun speculating aloud about gowns and ribbons and partners.

Mr Darcy remained where he was, his posture composed, his expression unreadable-but his presence unmistakably, deliberately near.

Elizabeth’s fingers brushed the edge of her saucer, her gaze dropping briefly to the teacup in her lap. “You were very quiet during your last visit, Mr Darcy.”

Mr Darcy looked down at his own cup. “I did not intend to be.”

“Not from fatigue, I hope?” she asked lightly, though the glance she gave him was more pointed than playful .

“No,” he said. “Only-uncertainty. I did not wish to presume.”

Their eyes met briefly-an unspoken understanding threading between them.

Elizabeth looked up, startled, and their eyes met for a heartbeat too long.

Lydia’s voice rose across the room. “Oh, we must have proper music at the ball! And I shall need a new ribbon-Mama, do say I may go into Meryton before Tuesday.”

“Of course you shall,” Mrs Bennet cried. “You must all look your very best.”

Darcy turned slightly, the corner of his mouth curving again. “It seems there will be no lack of enthusiasm.”

“None at all,” Elizabeth agreed, her voice low. “Though I confess, I am not sure I can match it.”

“I should hope,” Darcy said, after a brief pause, “that you will at least feel well enough to stand up with a partner or two.”

Elizabeth tilted her head, amusement flickering in her eyes. “Perhaps. I shall have to be very selective.”

“I trust,” he said, more quietly now, “that I may be among those you would consider.”

The room around them had not grown quieter, but it may as well have. Elizabeth’s lips parted, but before she could speak, Mrs Bennet’s voice carried over them both.

“Lizzy, my dear, you must tell Mr Darcy how much your ankle has improved. And we shall get you new slippers, of course!”

Elizabeth tore her gaze away and gave a small smile. “Indeed, Mama. I hope to be quite recovered.”

Mr Darcy said nothing more. But he did not move away.

His posture still composed but his gaze uncertain-drawn again and again to Elizabeth.

She sat with her hands folded over her lap, her book untouched beside her, her ankle neatly elevated. The moment hung, teetering on the edge of something that felt both familiar and new.

Mr Darcy took a breath. “Miss Elizabeth,” he began.

At that precise instant, the door opened again and Mr Bingley entered, brushing the chill from his sleeves and looking sheepish. “Apologies! My sisters insisted I see them all the way to the carriage and then had a list of final instructions besides. I trust I have not missed much?”

Jane smiled politely. “Not at all. You are just in time for tea.”

Mr Bingley accepted a cup of tea from Jane with a grateful smile and settled into the nearest chair. “Thank you. I fear I am scarcely warm again before I must share a small piece of inconvenient news.”

Elizabeth tilted her head, curious. Mr Darcy, still beside her, sipped his tea with quiet interest.

“I must go into Town for a few days,” Bingley said, addressing the room but clearly looking toward Jane. “Some papers require my signature-business matters I cannot delay.”

Mrs Bennet’s brow furrowed. “To Town? So soon? Oh, I hope it will not interfere with the ball!”

“Not in the least,” Bingley said quickly. “I shall be back well before then. I would not miss it for the world.”

Jane offered a composed smile as she passed him a small plate. “I hope it is not too great a trouble.”

“Nothing compared to the welcome I expect when I return,” Bingley said with an easy grin.

Mrs Bennet’s cheer returned in full. “Oh, we shall be in a flurry by then-so much to do! Lace to inspect, gloves to mend, bonnets to decide upon!”

“And I must see if my slippers still fit,” Lydia added dramatically, kicking one foot under her chair. “Or better yet-new ones!”

“Something white,” Kitty murmured, already lost in colour schemes.

Elizabeth glanced at Jane, whose expression remained tranquil, though her teacup had stilled halfway to her lips. She looked thoughtful rather than disappointed. If she had any deeper reaction to Bingley’s departure, she gave no sign of it.

Beside her, Mr Darcy had not stirred. Elizabeth felt the weight of his silence-not inattentive, but thoughtful, as though he too was calculating what might change in a few days’ time.

Jane set her cup aside and looked over at Bingley. “We shall look forward to your return.”

“And I,” he said, his tone quieter, “shall look forward to it more than I can say.”

Darcy’s gaze had drifted toward Elizabeth once more, his fingers resting lightly against the rim of his teacup. There was something unspoken in the air-some word or gesture on the verge of being offered.

And then-

“I beg pardon,” Mr Collins began as he entered the room, “I was not aware we had company.” He entered the room with a self-important air and an overly deep bow to the assembled company. His eyes darted at once to Elizabeth, and then to Mr Darcy, whom he had not yet met.

Mrs Bennet brightened. “Ah! Mr Collins, may I present Mr Bingley, our neighbour at Netherfield Park, and Mr Darcy, his guest.”

Mr Collins bowed deeply. “An honour, sirs. I am Mr Collins of Hunsford, in Kent. I have the great privilege of serving under the patronage of Lady Catherine de Bourgh.”

There was the briefest pause. Mr Darcy’s gaze sharpened, his posture stilling with a flicker of recognition.

He did not speak, but Elizabeth, attuned to his silences, noticed the subtle shift-his fingers tightening slightly on the arm of the chair, his eyes flicking, almost imperceptibly, toward her.

Mr Bingley, ever cheerful, inclined his head. “A pleasure, sir.”

Mr Darcy rose slightly and offered a brief, courteous bow. “Mr Collins.”

Mr Collins beamed. “How fortunate I am to make your acquaintance. Lady Catherine is most particular about good connections-and to meet her neighbours while on my visit to Longbourn is quite gratifying. I hope I do not intrude?”

“Not at all,” said Mr Bingley pleasantly. “We were just taking tea.”

Mr Collins took the offered chair with evident satisfaction. “What an excellent gathering of refined society! My cousin Elizabeth is looking so well today, is she not? Her recovery is most encouraging.”

Elizabeth pressed her lips together and fixed her eyes firmly on her tea.

“Indeed,” said Darcy, seating himself once more beside her.