“Good,” Bingley said, laughing softly. “Because I cannot fathom why you would be. She is a lady, Darcy, not some wild beast. And you are no churl. You will do very well.”
Darcy’s hand tightened on the cue stick as he stared down at the green felt. “It is not a matter of being a churl,” he said stiffly. “It is a matter of propriety.”
“Propriety!” Bingley repeated with a laugh, taking his next shot. The ball rolled neatly into the corner pocket. “You worry too much. Miss Elizabeth is not so very terrifying as that. Besides, you are nothing if not proper.”
Darcy opened his mouth to protest, but no words came. He could hardly explain the truth to Bingley—that the mere presence of Elizabeth Bennet was enough to throw him entirely off balance. That he felt as though his carefully ordered self-control was slipping with every sharp glance and witticism she directed his way.
“She may well be a fortune hunter,” Darcy protested. “I daresay her mother would have her so, and who is to say her sister has not already enacted the first stage of their strategy?”
“Strategy!” Bingley barked. “How very like you, Darcy, to assume a fever and a cough were intentional elements of some battle plan waged against single gentlemen.”
“Not against us, but against our bank accounts,” Darcy huffed. “It would not be the first such attempt I have seen.”
“Well, I have every confidence in your discretion, Darcy,” Bingley added, moving to line up another shot. “You’ll manage this just as you manage everything else—with hauteur and that practiced curl of your lip. And I fancy I shall write Simmons and authorize those improvements at the mill...”
Blast the man!Bingleywouldjest about that foolish wager now, of all times! Darcy’s cravat suddenly felt far too tight around his neck. He resisted the urge to tug at it, instead placing the cue stick on the table with deliberate care.
“I am not certain you understand the situation,” Darcy said, his voice strained. “Prolonged proximity to Miss Elizabeth... it is not without its complications.”
“Complications?” Bingley’s grin widened. “Darcy, you do insist on making it sound like a battle worthy of Wellington himself.”
Darcy said nothing, his pulse hammering in his chest. Itwasa battle—against himself, against the feelings he could neither name nor allow to take root.
Bingley glanced at him as he lined up his next shot. “You’ll see, Darcy. All will be well. Quite well, indeed.”
Darcy stood motionless as Bingley resumed his cheerful game, the soft clatter of billiard balls echoing in the room. His cravat still felt like it might strangle him, but this time, he welcomed the discomfort—it sharpened his focus.
So, Elizabeth Bennet would be staying. For days, perhaps even a week. The thought was both exhilarating and horrifying,a tangle of contradictions that had no place in his carefully ordered world.
If shemustremain at Netherfield, then he would act. He could not afford to let her charm, her wit, her eyes—egad, hereyes…
He shoved the thought aside with brutal efficiency. He would not countenance permitting her to unsettle him any further. Nor could he allow her to misread his attentions, to think he was a man who could be trifled with.
If civility demanded he speak to her, then so be it. He would engage. He would listen. He would smile. He would be the most polite gentleman to be found from London to Northampton.
But Elizabeth Bennet would come to understand, in no uncertain terms, that he was a man of boundaries.
She was clever—cleverer than most. Surely she would perceive the deeper meaning beneath his words, the warning that lay behind every polite remark. She would know he was no fool to be toyed with, no gentleman to be drawn into games of flirtation and folly. He would show her what it meant to face Fitzwilliam Darcy: unflappable, resolute, and utterly unyielding.
“Darcy? You’ve gone quiet again. Thinking up strategies for the billiards table?”
Darcy turned to his friend, his expression unreadable. “No,” he said. “Strategies for far more important matters.”
Bingley chuckled. “Well, do not tax yourself too much. I know you usually best me, but I mean to give you an honest challenge this afternoon.”
An honest challenge...Darcy’s lips pressed into a thin line. Bingley could have no possible idea... “I think I can manage two things at once.”
Bingley laughed and walked around the table to consider his next shot, leaving Darcy standing alone in the corner. His gaze drifted to the doorway, and for a fleeting moment, he couldalmost imagine her standing there, her sharp eyes challenging him with that faint smile playing on her lips.
He inhaled deeply, steadying himself. Very well. If the wager demanded proximity, he would use it to his advantage. He would remain the picture of propriety, and yet he would draw a line so clear that even the most determined woman in the world could not miss it.
Eight
Elizabeth stepped into thebreakfast room with her usual brisk confidence, though the moment her eyes landed on Mr. Darcy seated by the window, her stride faltered for the briefest of heartbeats. He was there alone, the sunlight streaming through the tall panes behind him, casting a faint glow around his silhouette. He appeared uncommonly relaxed, a book in one hand, his other resting idly on the table beside a half-empty teacup.
And he looked rather…ahem.
Well, she could not very well saywhathe looked like, but there was a faint sheen of sweat on her upper lip when she ran her hand over it. How very silly!
