She turned as they approached, her smile bright and watchful. “Mr. Darcy. What an unexpected delight.”
Darcy inclined his head—there was little else he could do, for Mrs. Philips was fairly holding his feet to the fire. “Miss Elizabeth.”
“I hope you are finding Meryton tolerable,” she said, tilting her head. “Or istolerabletoo strong a word?”
Darcy hesitated. The wager demanded civility, but Elizabeth Bennet made it devilishly difficult to remain polite without being drawn into her traps. “I believe I am finding it... lively.”
Elizabeth laughed softly. “Lively? Now that is unexpected. One might almost think you meant it as a compliment.”
“Merely an observation,” Darcy replied before he could stop himself.
Elizabeth raised her eyebrows, though the humor in her eyes betrayed her. “I see. A half-compliment, then. I suppose it is better than nothing.”
“Do you always persist in finding meaning where none was intended, Miss Bennet?”
“Only when the meaning is amusing,” she said, holding his gaze. “And I must confess, you are a most obliging subject.”
Darcy’s mouth twitched, though he schooled it into stillness. “I am pleased to provide entertainment, though it was not my intention.”
“Intentions are overrated,” Elizabeth replied airily. “Resultsare far more interesting.”
“I cannot think what ‘results’ you refer to. I should think intentions are what matter.”
“Do they? I suppose it depends on what one intends. As for myself, I only intend to keep you speaking. It is such a rare occurrence, Mr. Darcy, that I feel it a duty to encourage it.”
He narrowed his eyes. “And what makes you so certain I wish to be encouraged?”
Elizabeth smiled again, though there was a sharpness to it now. “Perhaps I am wrong, and you would prefer to glare at the bookshelves instead. I will not stop you, though I imagine the books have little to say in return.”
Darcy exhaled slowly, trying to suppress his irritation. It was not irritation, though—not really. It was the unsettlingknowledge that Elizabeth Bennet had managed, yet again, to draw him into conversation without his consent.
He looked at her, trulylookedat her, and knew in that moment that no amount of “civility” would be enough to satisfy Bingley’s terms, and nor could his usual aloofness protect him from her. Her wit was a net, and he was caught.
“I find it difficult,” Darcy said finally, “to keep up with you, Miss Bennet.”
“Then I shall endeavor to slow down,” she replied, though the gleam in her eyes promised no such thing.
Darcy’s lips twitched again. He was betrayed by the smallest movement—the kind Elizabeth Bennet always seemed to notice.
“Did you just smile?” she asked, eyes narrowing with exaggerated suspicion. “How extraordinary.”
“I did no such thing.”
“I could swear you did. Perhaps the books are more amusing than I thought.”
Before Darcy could reply—before he could regain the upper hand—a voice edged into his awareness.
“Elizabeth, I believe our aunt wishes to speak with you,” Miss Bennet said gently, approaching with her usual bland smile.
Elizabeth turned back to Darcy, giving him a polite curtsy. “Do excuse me, Mr. Darcy. I shall leave you to the books.”
As she walked away, Darcy stared at the empty space where she had stood. He had managed to remain polite. He had even managed to carry on a full conversation. And yet, he felt less in control than ever.
“Jane, you are beingsilly. I have done nothing untoward, and you needn’t try to accuse me of any underhanded means. I was perfectly civil yesterday.”
The next day dawned gray and brisk, the clouds low and heavy over Meryton. Elizabeth was grateful for the chill as it gave her excuse to walk briskly, arms tucked close to her sides to ward off the damp.
“All I am saying, Lizzy, is that I cannot believe you spoke so tartly to Mr. Darcy,” Jane continued, adjusting her shawl. “You will frighten him away.”
