He turned the next page with a barely-there smile. “You mean to say your uncle didnotsend me an urgent summons regarding olive oil imports?”
Elizabeth’s shoulders shook with laughter. “No, indeed, hesentit. But I would imagine the hand thatwroteit had a peculiar way of forming its ‘s’s, as well as a rather feminine loop to the ‘l’s.”
“I would not be surprised.”
She thinned her lips into a forced smile. “I suspect your Lisbon expertise was merely a convenient excuse to lure you here for a private evening of… conversation.”
“A captive audience, as it were.”
She winced. “I see you understand.”
He gave a faint nod, his expression one of mock solemnity. “Indeed. It might shock you to hear, Miss Elizabeth, that this is far from the first time that Bingley and I have been the unwitting victims of a most elaborate ruse.”
Elizabeth’s fingers stilled for a moment before she resumed the melody, heat rising in her cheeks. “I assure you, Mr. Darcy, my aunt and sister are not in the habit of concocting schemes. Jane, in particular, would typically be mortified to think she had caused you any trouble.”
“Mortified?” he echoed, a skeptical arch of his brow hinting at amusement. “She appears to be so far from ‘mortified’ that if I had to stake a guess on matters, I would make the assumption that she was in league with Mrs. Gardiner. Would that be an accurate guess, Miss Elizabeth?”
She blinked. The heat was crawling down her neck now, and she knew from experience that her cheeks were probably such a flaming pink that they almost looked painted. “It… would not beinaccurate. But if you think my sister and I are the sort to manipulate people for our own gain—”
“You needn’t become defensive, Miss Elizabeth. The letter was sent, and here we are, false pretenses or not.”
One of her eyes narrowed skeptically as she tilted her head at him. “And missing out on better amusements at Almack’s, apparently.”
Mr. Darcy had…oh, he had a terribly nice smile. She fancied that he used it but rarely, but when he did, it was enough to turn her stomach to jelly. “Yes, I hardly know how I shall bear the loss. In fact, I daresay I have been greatly inconvenienced by this… ruse. How fortunate that you happen to be seated by the piano and in a position to repay the debt.”
“Is that so?” she replied, striking a light, playful chord. “Then I must continue playing to make amends.”
“Indeed, Miss Elizabeth. And I do not intend to let you stop until I am fully compensated for my suffering.”
“Well, then,” she replied, arching her brow, “What would you like best to hear? You ought to know that I have been practicing diligently this week, and I am capable of mangling at least four pieces by Clementi, two by Mozart, and I can make a perfect hash of the first half of a piece by Haydn. I am glad I came prepared with several pieces, Mr. Darcy, as it appears your requirements are quite exacting.”
“Only fair, for a gentleman so gravely deceived,” he replied, turning the page just as she neared the end of another measure.
By the time Aunt Gardiner was serving a second round of coffee, Elizabeth finally declared her fingers to be done in. Mr. Darcy was gallant enough to pronounce the “debt” satisfied, and he extended his hand, escorting Elizabeth back to where the others were already settled. Elizabeth took her seat beside her aunt, who looked positively delighted by the entire evening.
“I hate to turn us all back to the dull prospect of business,” Mr. Bingley said after setting down his cup. “But Mr. Gardiner, something you said earlier just struck my fancy.”
“Indeed?” Uncle Gardiner inhaled the steam from his cup and set it aside, fixing his attention on Mr. Bingley. “And what is that?”
“Cork. A marvel, is it not?”
Uncle Gardiner blinked and frowned. “Cork, sir?”
“Darcy, you know,” he said, gesturing to his friend. “We were just saying something like this earlier.”
Mr. Darcy was seated in the chair nearest Elizabeth’s corner of the sofa, and he straightened in his seat. “We were?”
“Oh, indeed. How short your memory is! It really is a rather unique thing, cork. Remarkably durable under all kinds of pressure.”
Elizabeth glanced at Mr. Darcy, then back at Mr. Bingley. What a peculiar subject!
“You see, Miss Bennet,” Mr. Bingley continued, as if this were an entirely usual topic of conversation, “Darcy and I were speaking of how certain things—sometimes the most unassuming things from the most unexpected places—can prove to be so valuable. Cork, for instance, is not only prized for wine but for… well, a multitude of things. Its resilience is truly unmatched. Holds up to pressure, keeps everything secure—it is dependable. Essential, really, for I challenge you to find another substance that is half as good.”
Mr. Darcy’s expression shifted, and Elizabeth caught an unmistakable flicker of something—discomfort? Bemusement? Whatever it was, Mr. Darcy clearly wasn’t enjoying the topic as much as Mr. Bingley.
“Reliable materials, like cork, are often underestimated,” Mr. Bingley pressed on, now directing his attention to Darcy with a glint in his eye. “Would you not say, Miss Elizabeth, that dependability is one of the most valuable qualities a material—or person—can possess?”
Elizabeth’s curiosity deepened as she looked between the two men, fully aware that this conversation was not simply about cork. “You make it sound as if cork is a model of virtue, Mr. Bingley,” she said lightly. “What admirable qualities it seems to have.”
