Page 17 of Strange Happenings at Longbourn (Darcy and Elizabeth Variations #11)

Darcy cut in smoothly. “Then I am certain silence has never troubled Miss Elizabeth.”

Elizabeth blinked, then smiled—her genuine, radiant smile—and for a moment, Miss Bingley’s carefully arranged expression faltered.

Dinner passed with lively conversation, mostly between Miss Bennet and Bingley, who were so thoroughly charmed with each other they barely noticed the rest of the table.

Louisa contributed little, Mr. Hurst even less, and Miss Bingley picked selectively at her food and continued her quiet campaign of observation.

After the meal, when the gentlemen offered the ladies a walk in the fading light, Mr. Hurst and his wife declined, citing the chill. Miss Bingley hesitated, clearly torn between control and dignity, then shook her head.

“Tea will be ready shortly. I believe I shall remain inside and prepare.”

Darcy stood and extended his arm to Elizabeth, who accepted it gracefully. The two couples stepped into the cooling dusk, the gravel crunching softly beneath their feet.

They made their way around the lawn in an easy rhythm. Miss Bennet and Bingley walked slightly ahead, speaking in low tones.

“I received the note,” Elizabeth said after a time, glancing up at him. “Inviting both Miss Bennet and me, though I suspect the original intent was only Jane. ”

He looked at her, amused. “Indeed? Was that Mrs. Bennet’s conclusion?”

Elizabeth laughed. “My mother very much hoped my sister would ride—and thus be forced to stay the night when the weather inevitably turned. But we have only one horse worth the effort, and Nellie cannot carry two.”

“Ah,” Darcy murmured. “So logistics thwarted the infamous Mrs. Bennet.”

“She was forced to send us in the carriage. Though she did call it back for her own use. Likely to ensure she might still be seen driving through Meryton—lest anyone think we have abandoned society altogether.”

He chuckled. “Your mother is certainly…invested in her daughters’ futures.”

Elizabeth sobered a little. “She is. Too much, sometimes. I only hope she does not ruin Jane’s chances through overzealous encouragement. My sister likes Mr. Bingley a great deal.”

“I believe the feeling is mutual,” Darcy said quietly.

Elizabeth met his gaze, something unspoken passing between them again.

They returned inside just as the lamps were being lit. The drawing room was warm, with the scent of tea and biscuits already filling the air.

A knock came at the door, and a footman entered with a note whose seal Darcy recognized from the Longbourn post.

Elizabeth opened it and scanned it quickly. “The carriage wheel is broken,” she said. “It needs repair before it can return.”

Miss Bingley stood. “How unfortunate. I shall call for our own carriage to return you this evening, of course.”

But before Elizabeth could respond, Bingley stepped forward.

“Nonsense. You must not leave now. This is easily solved—please stay with us for a few days. The guest rooms are ready, and I’m sure my sisters would be delighted.”

Miss Bennet hesitated, but Elizabeth looked to Darcy, and something in his expression—steady, reassuring—seemed to convince her.

“We would be delighted,” Elizabeth echoed.

Miss Bingley, standing behind the tea table, smiled so tightly it was a wonder her face did not crack.

“Of course,” she said. “Delighted.”

Elizabeth

The fire in Elizabeth’s chamber crackled softly, its warmth stretching into the corners of the elegant room.

Heavy curtains had been drawn across the tall windows, and the soft golden glow of the hearth cast shadows that danced along the damask-covered walls.

A tray of tea, left untouched, rested on a small table near the foot of the bed, beside a delicate vase holding a single, fading rose.

The scent of beeswax and lavender hung in the air, mingling with the faint, familiar notes of old books and candle smoke.

She had changed into her nightclothes—an ivory cotton nightgown with lace at the sleeves and a blue woolen dressing robe tied snugly about her waist. Her hair, now brushed free of pins, tumbled in soft waves over her shoulders.

She crossed the room barefoot, the rug beneath her feet thick and surprisingly soft, and gently pushed open the door to Jane’s adjoining chamber.

Jane was already sitting on the edge of her bed, her golden hair braided neatly over one shoulder, her cheeks still faintly pink from the firelight and, no doubt, from her evening spent almost entirely in Mr. Bingley’s orbit.

“Are you settled in?” Elizabeth asked, stepping inside.

Jane looked up and smiled. “Quite. This room is beautiful. Mrs. Hurst insisted I take it—it has the best light, she said.”

Elizabeth arched an eyebrow. “How very generous of her.”

Jane tilted her head, blinking. “You do not sound convinced.”

Elizabeth hesitated, then took a few steps closer. “What do you make of Miss Bingley’s behavior this evening?”

Jane blinked again, confusion clouding her lovely features. “Miss Bingley? Why, she was… as she always is, I suppose.”

“You did not notice anything?”

Jane frowned slightly, her tone still gentle. “No. Should I have?”

Elizabeth gave a small laugh and waved a hand as if to dismiss the thought. “Never mind. Perhaps I imagined it. Perhaps I was distracted.”

She perched beside her sister, nudging her gently. “You, after all, have quite the distraction of your own. I believe the only thing you noticed tonight was Mr. Bingley.”

Jane flushed but did not protest.

Elizabeth leaned in, lowering her voice and affecting an exaggerated tone. “‘If Mr. Bingley does not propose before Christmas, I shall eat my best hat! The blue one, trimmed in ribbons! And it will be your fault , Lizzy, for not throwing them together at every opportunity!’”

Jane laughed, the sound soft and musical. “That is a dreadful impression of Mama.”

Elizabeth grinned. “Yes, but not an inaccurate one.”

They both laughed again, and for a moment the tension that had clung to Elizabeth since morning loosened its grip.

She stood and gave her sister’s hand a squeeze. “Sleep well, dearest.”

“You as well.”

Elizabeth returned to her own chamber, closing the door behind her with a soft click. The fire had burned lower, casting longer shadows now. She moved to the bed and slipped beneath the covers, pulling them up around her shoulders, letting her body relax into the warmth.

But her mind did not rest.

She stared at the canopy above her, thinking again of the drawing room—of Miss Bingley’s thinly veiled remarks, her watchful gaze, the brittle smile that never reached her eyes.

Jane did not see it, of course. Jane saw only kindness and good intentions wherever she looked.

Elizabeth envied that capacity, even as she found it maddening.

Miss Bingley did not like Jane. Of that Elizabeth was certain. She tolerated her for her brother's sake, but her affection was feigned and fleeting. And her dislike for Elizabeth herself was becoming more difficult to disguise with every passing day.

Still, what did it matter?

Elizabeth let her thoughts drift to the walk she had taken that evening—the way the wind had tugged at the ribbons of her bonnet, the quiet hush of the earth beneath her boots, and the man who had walked beside her with such surprising ease.

Mr. Darcy.

She had not expected him to laugh. But he had. Not loudly, not mockingly—but sincerely. His eyes had crinkled at the corners, his voice had softened, and for a few stolen moments, he had not been the proud, aloof figure she had first judged so harshly.

He had listened to her. He had taken her concerns seriously. And when he had spoken, it had been not with condescension, but with thoughtfulness.

She had admired him before—grudgingly, stubbornly—but now the feeling was something gentler, something warmer. There was no denying that she looked forward to his company, that his presence steadied her.

And if she must endure Miss Bingley’s brittle smiles and sharp words for a few days longer, it would not be such a great hardship .

Not if he remained near.

Elizabeth turned onto her side and pulled the covers closer. The fire crackled gently, and the night stretched quiet around her.

Her thoughts before sleep took her was of Mr. Darcy’s voice, low and thoughtful, as they had walked beneath the trees.

She held onto it like a secret, folded carefully in the quiet of her heart.

As she drifted off to sleep, she noted her pleasure at thoughts more agreeably engaged, rather than focused on strange sounds and occurrences.