Her smile was thin and entirely insincere. “That will not be necessary, sir. Please excuse me.”
Not… notnecessary? What the devil did she mean bythat? But he had no choice but to step back, allowing her to move past him.
Darcy remained rooted to the spot, aware of the sudden quiet that seemed to gather around him. Out of the corner of his eye, Fitzwilliam exchanged a glance with Bingley, whose conspiratorial nudge in the colonel’s side earned a faint smirk. Darcy ignored them both, his focus drawn entirely to Elizabeth as she busied herself with the teacups, her movements crisp and deliberate. Whatever he had done—or failed to do—it was painfully clear that Elizabeth was in no frame of mind for any flirtations tonight.
Not that… well, not that he usuallyflirted. Just… enjoyed her company. Like that of no other woman he had ever known.
“Well?” Fitzwilliam murmured. “Are you going to stand there like a statue, or will you try again?”
Darcy shot him a warning look but said nothing. Instead, he crossed the room with deliberate steps, joining Mr. Bennet, who was seated comfortably with a book.
“Mr. Bennet,” Darcy began, determined to appear composed, “I was hoping to ask your opinion on an aspect of the party preparations.”
Mr. Bennet peered over his spectacles, his expression faintly amused. “You are braver than I thought, Mr. Darcy. Few men willingly seek advice from a father with five daughters.”
Darcy allowed himself a small smile. “And yet, your household seems well accustomed to managing the unexpected. I thought your insight might be valuable.”
Mr. Bennet chuckled, closing his book. “Very well. My advice, Mr. Darcy, is this: let the guests entertain themselves. People are often more agreeable when they believe they are acting of their own accord.”
Darcy inclined his head. “Sage advice, Mr. Bennet.”
“Though if you are hoping to apply that wisdom to your current predicament,” Mr. Bennet added, his tone sharpening slightly, “you may find my Lizzy less easily impressed than the rest of us.”
Darcy met Mr. Bennet’s gaze. “Your daughter,” he said after a measured pause, “is indeed not one to be impressed lightly. It is a quality I admire.”
Mr. Bennet leaned back, his expression aloof but his eyes keen. “Admiration is all very well, Mr. Darcy. But admiration alone seldom persuades her.”
Darcy allowed a faint smile, though his thoughts churned. “Then I must ask, sir—what does persuade Miss Elizabeth?”
Mr. Bennet’s brow rose, the faintest flicker of approval in his expression. “Ah, now that, Mr. Darcy, is a question I believe you must answer for yourself. But I will say this—she values honesty above all else. Not flattery, mind you. Genuine honesty.”
Darcy inclined his head. “That much, I believe I already knew.”
The older man’s gaze lingered for a moment before he returned to his book. “Well, then. Let us see if you can rise to the challenge, Mr. Darcy.”
Darcy’s response was cut short by Mrs. Bennet bustling toward the tea tray. “Lizzy! My dear, please pour the tea forallof us, would you? Mr. Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam must be served, and you always make such a fine job of it.”
Darcy’s gaze snapped up to see Elizabeth’s shoulders tightening almost imperceptibly, but she swallowed and bobbed her head. “Of course, Mama.”
Darcy couldn’t look away as she lifted the teapot, her hands sure, but her movements almost mechanical rather than graceful, lacking the natural ease he had come to associate with her. The room buzzed softly with conversation, but for Darcy, the air between them was thick with the twisting of unspoken feeling.
Mrs. Bennet turned to Darcy with an expectant smile. “Mr. Darcy, do let Lizzy serve you first. She always knows just how much cream to add.”
He rose from Mr. Bennet’s side and approached slowly. A little caution might be wise this time, giving her space before speaking. “Miss Elizabeth, may I trouble you for a cup?”
Her hands stilled for the briefest moment before she resumed pouring. She placed the cup on its saucer and held it out to him, her gaze fixed on the table.
“Thank you,” he said quietly, but she offered no reply.
Across the room, Fitzwilliam leaned back in his chair, his arms crossed over his chest as he raised a brow at Darcy. Bingley cleared his throat loudly and rose, moving toward Miss Bennet with an exaggerated air of cheer.
“Miss Bennet, your mother assures us that your taste in decorations is second to none. Might I trouble you for your opinion on the garlands for the ballroom?”
Miss Bennet’s gaze flicked briefly toward Elizabeth, her expression tinged with concern. “I would be happy to assist,” she replied to Bingley. “Though I wonder if Mr. Darcy might already have strong preferences. His attention to detail is rather renowned, is it not?”
Bingley laughed, shaking his head. “Darcy? That will be the day. I assure you, Miss Bennet, his tastes are decidedly practical.”
“Practical, perhaps,” Miss Bennet agreed as she glanced at her sister again. “But even practicality can surprise us now and then. Still,” she continued lightly, “I am happy to help. It is not every day one plans a party on such a scale.”
