Page 62 of Colour My World
She had stood before him, flesh and breath, her gaze locked onto his, defiant against what must have been his unguarded astonishment. And he had fled like a coward.
Bingley strode in, his usual good humour dampened but not extinguished.
“I hope you’ve had time to reflect on your behaviour, Darcy.”
Darcy turned back to the window. “I have.”
“And?”
“And I see no reason to discuss it.”
“You insulted Miss Elizabeth. Whether intentional or not, you have made her the subject of the worst sort of gossip. The entire town saw you, heard you, react as though she were a creature out of a nightmare.”
Darcy’s jaw tightened. “I did not insult her.”
Bingley threw up his hands. “You gasped at her and stormedoff without a word! You might as well have declared her a witch and demanded she burn at the stake.”
“Your predilection to hyperbole does you no justice. Nor the accusation.”
Bingley raked a hand through his hair. “You must apologise.”
Darcy’s silence was answer enough.
“You refuse?”
“What would you have me say? That I was unwell?”
Bingley crossed his arms. “Were you?”
A weak argument. Even Bingley must know it.
Bingley sighed. “Darcy, you are my dearest friend, but I will not have my good name attached to a man who publicly shames a lady without cause.”
Darcy said, “I will consider it.”
“See that you do.” He pivoted and strode out, his usual cheer absent.
Darcy barely had a moment’s reprieve before Bingley’s younger sister entered.
“Dearest Mr Darcy.” She settled into a chair. “I must commend you for your restraint last evening.”
Miss Bingley tapped her fan to her shoulder. “I know you must be concerned about what the locals are saying. But frankly speaking, Miss Eliza Bennet is an odd young woman.”
Darcy gritted his teeth.Leave me.
“Miss Harrington said something most peculiar: Miss Eliza sees spirits. She speaks of colours that no one else can see.” She shuddered. “How utterly unsettling. I cannot blame you for your reaction.”
He said nothing
Where Hurst might once have offered a deflection, there was now no buffer. He had departed for London that morning, claiming matters in Town required discretion. Darcy suspected that was only partly true—Hurst had no patience for affectation,least of all his sister-in-law’s. He preferred the comforts of his club to the theatre of family obligation.
At least Mrs Hurst remained. She did not preen or provoke. She watched. She listened. And when she spoke, it was with economy and wit—company worth having. Her sister might have done well to notice the difference.
Miss Bingley prattled on. Her words were the distant drone of bees. Minutes later, the door latch clicked.
Blessed silence.
* * *
