Bingley caught his eye and smirked as he claimed his seat. At least one of them was clearly pleased with how the evening had developed. Darcy returned his friend’s look with a quick glare, silently warning him to keep any notions to himself.
As they settled at the table, Mr. Gardiner cleared his throat. “Gentlemen, I must thank you again for joining us tonight. I know matters of business can be time-consuming, but I trust your insight on the recent issues will be invaluable.”
Darcy inclined his head. “The pleasure is ours, Mr. Gardiner. We are always happy to be of service.”
Mrs. Gardiner smiled warmly, a glance exchanged with her husband, though Darcy could not help noticing the slight hesitation before she turned her attention back to Bingley and Miss Bennet. There was something amusingly purposeful about the Gardiners’ insistence on Lisbon—he knew they were likely hoping for a discussion of some substance, though he suspected it was a thinly veiled excuse.
Elizabeth Bennet sat beside him, unruffled and observant. Darcy noticed a quick glance between her and her aunt, the faintest hint of a smile she kept to herself. Interesting. He would have expected her to be preening and putting on a display of beauty and wit just for his benefit, since he was well and truly caught for the evening. But she seemed instead to be summoning her patience and trying to make the best of it. The usual artifice he had come to expect was missing here; instead, her presence was… refreshing.
Mr. Gardiner picked up that thread of business talk with renewed determination. “Of course, Lisbon is not our only concern, but given the importance of trade in these times, well…” He trailed off, looking between Darcy and Bingley. “With all the delays, I’ve needed a reliable perspective… though I have tried several avenues myself.”
Darcy had to tear his eyes off Elizabeth Bennet—a chink in his armor that he was mortified to discover so quickly. The evening had scarcely begun, and he had known the lady for under a quarter of an hour, but he could hardly look away. “Of course, Mr. Gardiner. Where, specifically, are you seeing delays? We have seen nothing of the kind, and we had two large shipments arrive this very week.”
Gardiner’s composure fractured somewhat. “Ah… well, the port wine, naturally. They tell me that there was some trouble with the grape harvest this year.”
Darcy frowned and glanced at Bingley. “Odd. We have heard quite the opposite. In fact, our prices were lower than last year, as producers were trying to compete to sell the overage.”
Gardiner blinked. “Indeed!” He cleared his throat. “Well, I… I shall have to write to my man in Lisbon. Perhaps he can shed some light on the matter. Ah… what of cork, Darcy? I do not suppose you have had any… delays?”
Darcy shook his head, again glancing at Bingley, but his friend was already distracted by his dinner companion. Darcy hid a grimace. “None whatever.”
“Indeed.” Gardiner sipped his wine, his forehead creasing. “Devilish unlucky for me, I daresay. And… ah… well, what of your olive oil imports? Any misfortunes there?”
Darcy set his own glass down, hesitating a moment to see if Bingley would actually join the conversation. When he did not, Darcy cleared his throat and nodded. “Yes, in fact, we have.”
Gardiner’s face washed in relief. “Oh, jolly good. I feared I was the only one!”
“Well, I doubt you would have been affected by the same troubles as we have had. It was one of our own vessels, and as it turned out, the captain was not the loyal fellow he was made out to be. He left Lisbon with his cargo and sailed promptly for Marseille.”
“Oh!” Gardiner stared at his plate, his jaw working. “That… that is unfortunate, Mr. Darcy.”
“It would have been even more unfortunate if he had not been apprehended by a British frigate just south of Cádiz. Otherwise, we would have lost the whole lot—ship, cargo, all of it. As it was, we were merely delayed, and there was a rather heavy ‘tax’ to pay at the port. But all in all, we have little to complain of, and I am curious that you do. You are a man of experience, and you have no shortage of competent advice to guide you.”
The man coughed, and was it Darcy’s imagination, or did he spear his wife with a slightly accusing look? But he quickly composed himself and pasted a smile back on his face. “Well, now, Darcy, I should not say that our troubles have been outsized, not by any means. I was simply looking for…” His brow furrowed, and Darcy was sure of it this time—the man was looking to his wife for some sort of inspiration. “…I suppose I was hoping for some little push or some extra measure of expertise to see us through the next season.”
Darcy grunted and leaned back as a footman placed a bowl before him. “I understand. It might help if you told me what measures you have already undertaken. Perhaps there is a way to help your company weather the coming storms.”
Mr. Gardiner hesitated, glancing at his wife before replying. “Well… truthfully, I have explored nearly every option I could think of—secured new contracts, invested in my shipping enterprise, hired new help. There have been improvements already, but I felt… well, another set of eyes might see something I had missed.”
Darcy tilted his head. “And you say the situation is improving?”
“Yes, indeed. Slowly, but steadily,” Gardiner admitted, his gaze shifting to the tablecloth as if the damask could reveal more than crumbs from the bread. “It may well be that my concerns are resolving themselves, but one cannot be too careful, you understand.”
Just as Darcy opened his mouth to ask why Gardiner still felt in need of assistance, Bingley cleared his throat, cutting in with an easy smile. “Forgive me, Darcy, but I would hate to see you monopolized on business all evening. Perhaps, as Mr. Gardiner’s situation seems to be under control, you might spare a moment for more pleasant conversation.”
Darcy arched a brow, glancing between Bingley and Gardiner. “What conversation did you have in mind, Bingley?”
“Hmm? Oh, nothing particular. I daresay we’ve any number of things to speak of. Ah, Miss Bennet, where did you say you were from again?”
Darcy arched a brow and turned his attention to his soup as Bingley lost himself speaking to Miss Bennet. Shewasa pretty creature. Fair, with flaxen curls tumbling about her temples and the same starry eyes as her sister. But, if a man had a right to judge on expression and posture alone, there was something rather less fetching about her. He could not say precisely what it was, for he was similarly at a loss to describe exactly why Elizabeth Bennet had caught up the scattered threads of his imagination the moment he walked in the door.
“It seems you have solved my uncle’s ‘serious dilemma’ for now,” came her low voice at his elbow.
Darcy tried not to start, but his hand quaked somewhat on the spoon as he tried to bring it to his mouth. He darted her a quick glance, but then his eyes lingered of their own accord. “It does not appear there was much ‘dilemma’ to solve.”
She brought her napkin to her lips to hide a chuckle. “I see you have judged the matter rightly, sir. I hope you were not kept from more pressing matters this evening.”
“Not unless you consider an evening of dancing and drinking and more dancing and drinking with the elite of London’shaute tonto be ‘pressing.’”
