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He paused and studied her, clearly wondering whether to answer. “I do not enjoy poor performance of any kind.”

“For you there is no room for error?”

He paused. “No.”

She was more amused than fearful. “You are a stern judge, Mr Darcy.”

“Having had to endure lengthy tunes of questionable quality, un-masterful art displays, and butchered attempts at French, I believe I have earned my judgment.”

“So it would be better not to play if one knows one’s playing is poor?”

“Yes.”

“This was my argument today to my mother.”

“I thought it wise of you, and pleasingly modest.”

“So, it might be said that I could find a husband in spite of my poor playing—because I am modest about it.”

He smiled, revealing a surprising dimple in his left cheek. “In theory, yes.”

“What would be more attractive than proficiency at the pianoforte to you, Mr Darcy?”

He backed away from the pianoforte, and she realised her error.

“I am not investigating your personal preferences for myself,” she said, her words tumbling out as fast as she could say them, “but rather, I am curious about the opinions of men. As you can see, there are precious few at Longbourn. Thus, allow me rephrase my enquiry: Men whom you know, likeminded men of your acquaintance, what would be most attractive to them?”

“The men I consider friends desire companions with knowledge of the world and the arts, as well as possessing good qualities, such as kindness and honesty.”

“Not painting, or playing, or sewing?”

He shook his head. “I dare say that more women could benefit from this knowledge, for they might, then, spend time developing their minds so as to become intriguing companions.”

“Indeed. Though women are not encouraged to develop these talents. And a woman too headstrong or knowledgeable might put off some men.”

“She might, that is true.” The smile crept back to his lips. “But not all men. A man secure in his own cleverness ought not to fear cleverness in a wife.”

“Just so. And I should add that a woman with a strong mind would not desire to be matched to a man with a weak mind.”

He nodded. “I have met so many dull people at balls and assemblies that I fear never finding new friends, let alone a wife.”

“Perhaps you are better off practising pianoforte and escaping conversation all together.”

“As a man, that is not where I am encouraged to spend my time or my energy.”

“Shame. Musical prowess in a man is tremendously attractive. To some ladies, anyhow.”

He leant closer to her again. “Will you play another tune for me?”

She laughed. “Never again shall I play for you, Mr Darcy. You are too stern.”

“I am stern because the world is weak and frivolous.”

“And you are quite judgemental.”

“I have been told as much; I cannot deny that.”

A silence hung between them, though it felt like a teasing silence.

He added, “My judgment sometimes fails me. Even now I cannot help but desire to hear more of your wretched playing.”

She laughed aloud. “Are you a man who enjoys being tortured?”

He smiled fully for the first time in their brief acquaintance. “I am a great many things.”

“There are secrets in your past, Mr Darcy. I would bet my life upon it.”

All mirth drained from his face.

“Were you crossed in love,” she asked, “or did you betray some lady?” Despite his severe expression, she pressed, “Do tell me everything.”

He rose straight. “I am not a gossip.” His voice was low, almost a growl, and Elizabeth recoiled from it. He seemed to notice it, and continued in more moderate tones. “Gossip leads to ruination, and there are too many keen on ruining the innocent as it is.”

Just then, Kitty scampered to the glass doors of the parlour which led directly out into the garden. “Lizzy! Mama is displeased that you have remained indoors and insists that you join us at once.”

Elizabeth said, “Tell her—” But Mr Darcy bowed and strode towards Kitty, and Elizabeth saw how clearly he wanted to leave her and this conversation.

As soon as he reached the door, he turned back to her. “You and your family are too keen to speak of others and to disregard decorum. It will be your downfall if you are not careful.”

Her mouth fell open and a hot flush rose on her cheeks, but he did not seem to notice, bowing again and leaving the room.

She had been foolish to speak as she had, but had he not appeared to enjoy it?

He had! At least until the end. His insult about her family was not untrue, but it was not kind.

She had thought he was kind. No. No, she had not.

He was sharp. He was amusing. But he was not kind.

Yet neither was she, at times. She had liked his honesty, but she could not let herself like a person who would willingly hurt her.

She would not join him in the garden or anywhere else if she could help it.

She had not seen to Mary, and so decided she would go to her sister instead.

Darcy exited into the garden, breathing deeply to regain his composure. That girl! What was it about her that had tempted him so? She had wormed her way into his deepest thoughts, it seemed.

He had not wished to leave their conversation, or the privacy they had enjoyed, but it would have been improper to tarry.

All sense told him he must go. No, the voices of his mother and father, God rest their souls, told him he must. Over and over, they had reprimanded him in an attempt to tame the wild spirit of his youth.

Speaking with Miss Elizabeth, he had felt joy bubbling to the surface, something that had been too long absent in his life.

Yet, the voices said, “Be good. Do what is expected. It is not your whims that matter, Fitzwilliam! You are a Darcy.”

Their memory had turned his mood sour, and he hoped he had not sounded too severe when he said what he had about her family.

He meant it as a friendly warning; with George Wickham lingering about, acting the gallant in his red coat, any family with so many young ladies had to be on their guard.

In retrospect, however, he thought—no, knew—it sounded cruel. It was cruel.

He saw that Miss Catherine was leading him towards the rest of the group which had gathered round the denuded rose bushes.

At once, he realised he could not face the others or own what he had done, so he darted out a side gate and quickly returned to Netherfield, knowing his good-natured friend would forgive him for it later.