For an absurd moment, she considered retreating—but no, that would not do. She had wagered her pride and her wit on this game, and she would not cede the field so easily.
“Good morning, Mr. Darcy,” she said brightly, stepping further into the room. Her tone was warm, her smile practiced but disarming. If he thought he could avoid her with politeindifference, he was sorely mistaken. She wouldmakehim notice.
Darcy’s head lifted, his dark eyes locking onto hers with a brief flicker of what might have been surprise before his expression smoothed into something more obscure. He rose from his chair with impeccable courtesy. “Miss Bennet.”
Elizabeth made her way to the sideboard, filling her plate with leisurely disinterest. She could feel his gaze lingering, though whether it was out of politeness or wariness, she could not yet tell. “You are an early riser,” she remarked, her voice light and conversational. “I find the house is far quieter at this hour.”
“Indeed,” Darcy replied,. “It affords one the chance to collect one’s thoughts without distraction.”
Elizabeth turned, plate in hand, and raised an eyebrow as she took a seat across from him. “And have you much to think about, Mr. Darcy? Or do you merely enjoy solitude for its own sake?”
Darcy hesitated for a fraction of a second, then set his book down with deliberate care. “Both, I suppose. Reflection is a necessary exercise.”
“I imagine it must be difficult to achieve, then, in a house so filled with activity.”
His gaze met hers, steady but guarded. “It requires discipline.”
“Discipline,” she repeated. “What a noble virtue. Though I confess, it seems rather a dry way to spend one’s morning.”
Darcy’s lips tightened—was that almost a smile?—before his expression returned to its usual reserve. “Not everyone shares your appetite for early morning activity, Miss Bennet.”
“True,” Elizabeth said, her fork pausing midway to her mouth. “But I have found that even the gravest of dispositions can benefit from a little animation to stimulate the blood early in the day. Do you not agree?”
“I find animation is best when balanced by purpose.”
Elizabeth’s smile widened, though her confidence wavered just slightly. He was more adept at this game than she had given him credit for. She would have to be sharper. “I daresay you do excel at purpose, Mr. Darcy. Though one must hope it does not prevent you from ever enjoying yourself.”
Darcy studied her for a moment, his gaze thoughtful in a way that made her pulse quicken. Then, with the barest flicker of amusement in his eyes, he said, “I enjoy many things, Miss Bennet. Solitude among them.”
It was not quite the rebuttal she expected, and it left her momentarily at a loss. She took another bite of her breakfast to buy herself time, her mind racing for the next volley. But before she could speak, Darcy stood.
“Please excuse me,” he said. “I have letters to attend to.”
Elizabeth inclined her head, masking her frustration behind a practiced smile. “Of course, Mr. Darcy. I would not dream of keeping you from your reflections.”
Darcy’s gaze lingered on her for the briefest of moments, something unreadable flickering there, and then he bowed and departed the room.
Elizabeth sat back in her chair, her fork resting against her plate as she stared after him. The quiet confidence she had felt when she first stepped into the room had been replaced by something altogether more unsettling. Darcy was polite, certainly. Reserved, absolutely. But there was something in his manner that hinted at layers she had not anticipated.
For the first time since accepting Charlotte’s wager, Elizabeth found herself wondering if she had underestimated her opponent.
Darcy tugged on hisgloves, his expression carefully neutral as he waited for the others to assemble near the front entrance of Netherfield. The morning had cleared to a brisk, sunny day, and it was decided—much to Darcy’s dismay—that a walk through the grounds would be an ideal activity after breakfast.
He had considered claiming a prior engagement, but Bingley’s infectious cheer had worn him down. Now, as the door opened to admit Elizabeth Bennet, bright-eyed and fresh as the dew in her walking dress, he cursed his momentary lapse in judgment.
“You are joining us, Mr. Darcy?” Elizabeth asked lightly as she pulled on her gloves. Her tone was pleasant, but there was a glint in her eye he did not trust. The vixen.
“I am,” he replied evenly. “The morning is... agreeable.”
“It is indeed. I imagine even you cannot find fault with it.”
Caroline Bingley, appearing at his elbow, interjected before he could respond. “Mr. Darcy finds fault with nothing, Miss Eliza,” she said with an air of superiority. “For that would be ungentlemanly. He, of course, is the very model of civility.”
Elizabeth glanced at him, her brows lifting in mock surprise. “How fortunate for us all. I confess, I had begun to wonder if Mr. Darcy ever allowed himself the luxury of a flawed opinion.”
Darcy’s jaw tightened, though he kept his expression neutral. “I find opinions are most useful when grounded in reason.”
“And yet,” Elizabeth countered, “reason alone can make the world rather dull.”
