Page 16 of Mr. Darcy and the Mysterious "Miss B"
Mr Darcy’s lips twitched with what might have been amusement. “A fair point, Miss Elizabeth. I’ve found some of the most interesting minds in the most unexpected places.”
Caroline looked between them with obvious displeasure. “How quaint.”
As if sensing the discomfort that hung in the air, Jane cleared her throat.
“We really must be going,” Jane said though her own reluctance was evident.
“Of course,” Mr Bingley said, rising. “But I hope… that is, I would very much like to call upon you tomorrow, Miss Bennet. If that would be agreeable?”
Jane’s face lit up with quiet joy. “I should like that very much.” However, her eyes darkened a fraction then and Elizabeth bit her lips together. Jane had forgotten about James Morton only to be reminded now that Bingley attempted to make plans.
Hang James Morton.
As they prepared to depart, Elizabeth caught Mr Darcy’s eye. “Thank you for a most pleasant afternoon. And again, my apologies for yesterday.”
“No apologies necessary. I hope… that is, I hope we might have occasion to speak again soon.”
“I should like that,” Elizabeth replied, surprised to realise she meant it. How odd it was that just days ago, Mr Darcy had offended her most severely and yet now, here she was. Thinking highly of him. There was a depth to him she had not previously seen. His arrogance had prevented her. Yet, now it was clear, there was far more to Mr Darcy than met the eye.
Chapter 6
Darcy
Darcy stood near the fireplace, reflecting on the afternoon’s conversation. Elizabeth Bennet continued to confound him at every encounter.
When he had first brought young Lydia back to her aunt—or at least attempted to do so—Elizabeth had rounded on him like a lioness protecting her cub. Her accusations had stung—not because they were true, but because she had thought him capable of such behaviour. Yet tonight, she had been entirely different. Witty, engaging, challenging him with every response whilst maintaining perfect courtesy. She had even apologised.
He could not reconcile the two versions of her. The suspicious woman who had accused him of taking advantage, and the sparkling conversationalist who had matched him word for word across the drawing room.
In his circles, women did not often contradict men, nor square up to them. He assumed this was unusual in these settings also. Yet, Miss Bennet had not shied away from making her opinion known. He should have found that appalling, ought to have taken offense but he had not. He’d found it—thrilling in a way he could not quite understand.
“Most peculiar,” he murmured to himself.
“What was that, Darcy?” Bingley asked from behind him.
Darcy turned. His friend stood near the fireplace, a bemused expression on his face. “Nothing of import. I was merely reflecting.”
“Miss Elizabeth is quite spirited, is she not?” Bingley’s eyes held a knowing gleam.
“She has opinions on everything,” Darcy replied, though without the criticism such words might once have carried. “Literature, society, the proper maintenance of libraries. Most ladies of my acquaintance content themselves with commenting on the weather.”
“And you find that tedious.”
Darcy considered this. “I do, rather. Though I confess I am not certain what to make of Miss Elizabeth. She judges swiftly—perhaps too swiftly—yet seems willing to revise her opinions when presented with evidence.”
“A fair-minded person, then.”
“Perhaps.” Darcy moved away from the window. “Though her temper runs hot when her family is concerned.”
Bingley smiled. “As it should. I admire that in a woman—fierce loyalty to those she loves. Miss Bennet has the same quality, though she expresses it more.”
“You are quite taken with the eldest Miss Bennet.”
“I am.” Bingley’s smile widened. “She is everything gentle and good in this world, Darcy. When she speaks, I feel as though I am the only person in the room. And her smile…” he sighed. “I could watch her smile for hours and never grow tired of it.”
Darcy studied his friend. His upturned lips, his sparkling eyes—there was no denying it. Charles was in love. Of course, fellin love as easily as he breathed, but this seemed different. More considered. “You have spent a lot of time with her this evening.”
“Indeed. We spoke of books, of course—she has read everything—but also of music, of her family, of her hopes for the future. She is remarkably sensible, Darcy. Not given to dramatics or affectation.”
