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Mr. Grayson allowed himself to be drawn away, satisfied by the reminder that there were other young women who wished for his attention and already launching into what promised to be an elaborate explanation.

"Poor Arabella," she murmured, once Mr. Grayson was out of earshot. "Her mother shall be disappointed. Though if that is the quality of attention he offers, I believe her well to be rid of him."

"You believe Miss Abernathy had formed an attachment to Mr. Grayson?" Mr. Darcy asked, seeming genuinely concerned.

"Not at all. Her mother hoped she might, but Arabella found him rather . . ." Elizabeth paused, searching for the correct term.

"Insufferable?" Mr. Darcy suggested quietly.

Elizabeth coughed to cover her laugh, unable to help herself. "I was going to say 'tedious,' or ‘a bit of a popinjay,’ but your assessment is perhaps more encompassing."

The side room they entered next was filled with ancient coins.

It narrowed considerably, forcing them to walk single file past a series of glass cases containing various antiquities.

As they reached a particularly tight passage, her arm brushed momentarily against his, and even through layers of clothing, she felt a peculiar warmth where they had made contact.

"Pardon me," Mr. Darcy murmured, his voice oddly strained.

"It is quite cramped," Elizabeth agreed, trying to ignore the sudden acceleration of her pulse. "Mr. Bullock might have considered the comfort of his visitors when designing the layout."

"Perhaps he intended to create a sense of adventure," Mr. Darcy suggested, somewhat to her surprise. "As though one were truly exploring ancient tombs or remote jungles."

"What an intriguing thought," Elizabeth replied, genuinely impressed by his insight. “Though next time I shall insist upon a map of the exhibition. Or a sword.”

“To fend off the crocodiles?”

She affected a serious expression. “No, sir. To carve a path through narrow galleries and overly tall suitors.”

“You did say you were an excellent fencer.”

“When did I . . .?” She recalled their first dance and blushed. Fortunately, Mr. Darcy did not speak further on that subject.

They emerged into a slightly more spacious area dominated by a display of maritime artifacts. There were model ships, navigational instruments, and various items collected from distant shores. The lighting here was dimmer, with small oil lamps placed strategically to highlight specific exhibits.

Elizabeth paused before a display of carved whalebone, marvelling at the intricate patterns etched into the smooth white surface. "How remarkable that sailors at sea for months or even years would create such delicate artwork."

"I imagine it helped preserve their sanity," Mr. Darcy observed. "To focus on creating beauty amid such isolation and danger."

"I think you have the soul of an explorer, Mr. Darcy," Elizabeth said, the words escaping before she could consider their wisdom.

He looked at her with an expression she could not quite interpret—surprise, certainly, but something else as well. Vulnerability, perhaps. "I am generally considered about as lively as a block of wood, Miss Bennet,” he said quietly.

"That has not been my experience," she replied.

It was the truth. She had thought him humourless, but that had not been correct.

And even his poorly worded compliment in the park did not mean he was not lively.

In fact, if she could just get him to respond to her teasing with his own dry wit a little more often . . .

Before she could say anything more, they were interrupted by the return of Arabella and Colonel Fitzwilliam, both looking remarkably pleased with themselves.

"Lizzy, you must see the shells and the coral," Arabella exclaimed. "They have been fashioned into the most extraordinary necklaces."

The colonel smiled. "We did try to imagine the ladies of the ton wearing such jewellery to a ball, but I confess my mother would more likely be horrified at the very thought of such a thing.”

“She might be more adventurous than you think, Colonel,” Elizabeth replied, casting a quick glance at Mr. Darcy.

Something flickered in his gaze, though she could not say what. But there was certainly a moment of connection between them, one she wished to accept but had promised herself to resist.

The spell was broken by the arrival of Mr. Grayson, who had apparently noticed Arabella's return and abandoned Miss Everly in favour of his original quarry.

"Miss Abernathy," he exclaimed. "I have been searching everywhere for you. There is a most intriguing display of South Sea artifacts I am certain you would appreciate. Allow me to escort you."

Elizabeth observed with some amusement how Arabella's expression cooled perceptibly, even as she maintained perfect politeness.

"How thoughtful, Mr. Grayson. However, Colonel Fitzwilliam has just offered to show me the collection of butterflies, and I have already accepted."

Mr. Grayson’s smile faltered. "But surely the colonel would not object to relinquishing his claim, as it were, to accommodate a prior acquaintance?"

"I fear I must decline to surrender Miss Abernathy's company," Colonel Fitzwilliam replied smoothly. "We have discovered a mutual interest in lepidoptera that simply must be investigated further."

Elizabeth bit the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing at the colonel's obvious fabrication. Arabella had never expressed the slightest interest in butterflies beyond admiring their pretty colours.

Mr. Grayson looked between them, clearly recognising defeat. "Another time, perhaps," he said stiffly, before executing a rather hasty bow and departing.

"Lepidoptera?" Mr. Darcy asked his cousin once Mr. Grayson was safely out of earshot, one eyebrow raised in evident disbelief.

"A lifelong passion," the colonel replied with a perfectly straight face. "As Miss Abernathy can undoubtedly attest."

"Oh yes," Arabella agreed solemnly. "We have been discussing migratory patterns for at least twenty minutes. Quite informative."

Elizabeth could not contain her laughter any longer. " Belle ."

The colonel’s countenance brightened. "Shall we continue? I believe there is an exhibit of ancient hair jewellery that promises to be most educational."

“No, first you must view the butterflies,” Elizabeth said firmly. “It would not be right to insult Mr. Grayson in such a way, Belle. His father and yours are friends, remember?”

Arabella squeezed Elizabeth’s hand. “It is almost as though we have Jane with us.”

Elizabeth shook her head affectionately.

“I know. You are quite right.” She turned to the colonel. “Lepidoptera first, Colonel. Then the hair jewellery. Is it different than the pieces we make here?”

As they moved towards the next room, Elizabeth found herself walking beside Mr. Darcy once more.

"Your friend and my cousin seem well matched," Mr. Darcy observed quietly.

"They do appear to enjoy one another's company," Elizabeth agreed. "Though I cannot say the same for poor Mr. Grayson."

"He will undoubtedly find another object for his attentions."

"He likely has already," Elizabeth noted. "Though I suspect Miss Everly will be disappointed when he inevitably turns elsewhere. People like Mr. Grayson rarely see beyond their immediate desires."

They paused before a small display of ancient amulets, each labelled with its supposed protective properties.

"I find it odd," Mr. Darcy said, his voice low enough that only she could hear, "how humans throughout history have sought protection from the unknown through such talismans."

Elizabeth studied a small carved scarab. "Do you not believe in such protections, Mr. Darcy?"

"I believe in preparation and prudence rather than superstition," he replied, then added with unexpected softness, "though I understand the desire to shield oneself from life's uncertainties."

Something in his tone made Elizabeth look up. Their eyes met, and for a moment, she glimpsed something in his gaze that matched her own unspoken fears.

"And yet," she found herself saying, "there are some risks that no amount of preparation can mitigate. The heart, for instance, often operates without regard for prudence."

Mr. Darcy's expression shifted subtly. "Indeed. Perhaps the wisest course is to know one's own heart thoroughly before entrusting it to another's care."

"A difficult proposition," Elizabeth replied. "I sometimes wonder if we ever truly know our own hearts until they are tested."

"Tested?"

"By circumstance. By time." She hesitated. "By unexpected encounters that challenge our most firmly held convictions."

A small muscle worked in Mr. Darcy's jaw. "I have found that first impressions, while powerful, are not always complete."

Elizabeth felt her cheeks warm. Was he referring to their own first meeting? The memory of her dismissal of him as proud and officious rose uncomfortably in her mind. How different he seemed now, in this quiet corner of the exhibition.

"My father often says that true understanding requires patience," she said. He told her so quite often, for she was not, by nature, a patient woman. "That we must give time for a fuller picture to emerge."

"Your father sounds like a wise man."

"He is," Elizabeth agreed, then added more quietly, "though even wisdom does not guarantee contentment."

Mr. Darcy looked at her questioningly, but before he could speak, they were interrupted by the return of Arabella and Colonel Fitzwilliam.

“Are you finished already?” Elizabeth asked.

"Lizzy, Mr. Darcy," Arabella called, her cheeks flushed with excitement.

"We have just learned that there is to be a demonstration of exotic birdsong in the main hall.

Apparently, a friend of Mr. Bullock has acquired several living specimens and has agreed to show them now because the crowds are lighter. "

"We thought you might wish to join us," the colonel added, glancing between Elizabeth and his cousin with undisguised curiosity.

Elizabeth felt oddly reluctant to end her conversation with Mr. Darcy. Something important had been hovering just beyond articulation, some understanding she had been approaching. Yet perhaps it was better this way.

"How interesting," she replied, gathering herself. "I should very much like to hear that."

As they made their way towards the main hall, Elizabeth found herself walking slightly ahead with Arabella, who immediately whispered, "You and Mr. Darcy seemed deep in conversation. Has he improved upon further acquaintance?"

"He is not entirely as I first judged him," Elizabeth admitted reluctantly.

"High praise from you," Arabella teased. "Colonel Fitzwilliam speaks very well of his cousin. He says there is no better man in a crisis, nor a more loyal friend."

Elizabeth glanced back at Mr. Darcy, who was engaged in conversation with the colonel. There was an ease to his bearing when speaking with his cousin that she rarely saw elsewhere. He caught her looking and offered a small, almost hesitant smile that sent an unexpected warmth through her chest.

"Perhaps," she said slowly, "I have been too hasty in my judgments."

"The great Elizabeth Bennet, admitting she might be wrong? The world must surely be ending." Arabella laughed, then grew more serious. "I know your wishes, Lizzy, and I will help as I have promised. However, I have noticed a change in him when he is near you. A softening. It is rather charming."

Elizabeth said nothing, but as they entered the main hall, she found herself wondering what it might be like to give this engagement the time her father had suggested. To allow herself to discover the man behind the reserve, without the weight of her fears pressing upon her.

The demonstration was about to begin, with chairs arranged before a collection of elaborate cages covered in velvet cloths. Mr. Darcy took the seat beside her, their shoulders nearly touching in the crowded space.

"Miss Bennet," he said quietly, "I hope we might continue our conversation another time."

"I would like that," she replied, surprising herself with the sincerity of her response.

As the sheets were removed from the cages, revealing birds of brilliant plumage, Elizabeth felt an unexpected parallel to her own situation.

She had been viewing Mr. Darcy through a veil of preconception, seeing only what she expected to see.

What might be revealed if she allowed that veil to be lifted?

Yet even as the thought formed, an image rose to meet it, that of her father's weary expression whenever her mother's nerves overwhelmed his patience, the pained resignation that had settled into his features over years of a mismatched union.

He was in a cage too. They both were. To risk such a fate for herself, to become an object of regret, to have her husband's regret rather than his respect . . .

The birds erupted in song, their exotic calls filling the hall.

Elizabeth stole a glance at Mr. Darcy beside her.

His expression as he observed the birds was one of genuine wonder, a spark of the same boyish delight she had glimpsed when they had spoken of the animals on display, and she felt an aching inside that was neither wholly pleasant nor entirely unwelcome.