Caroline’s smile faltered as Elizabeth’s words hung in the air, but Darcy merely inclined his head. “Reason is often misunderstood, Miss Bennet. It is not an enemy to joy and enthusiasm, but a companion to it.”
Elizabeth blinked, momentarily caught off guard by his response. Before she could reply, Bingley strode into the room, his voice booming with enthusiasm.
“Everyone ready?” he called, clapping his hands together. “Oh, dash it all, I see Hurst will not be joining us. But I say we shan’t let that spoil our morning. I thought we might take the path by the pond—Caroline, Louisa, you must see the swans.”
As the group began their walk, Darcy deliberately slowed his pace, keeping a calculated distance from Elizabeth. But fate—or perhaps Bingley’s endless enthusiasm—had other plans.
“Darcy, you must walk with Miss Elizabeth,” Bingley said, gesturing with a grin. “She will at least provide interesting conversation. I fear Caroline and Louisa might bore you with talk of London fashions.”
Miss Bingley rounded on her brother with a sharp protest, but Bingley, the bounder, cut her off by taking her arm and marching her down the path. “I say, Caroline, I was thinking of hosting a ball,” he said, loudly enough for everyone to hear them. “I will, of course, depend on your wisdom and talents there. Did not Lady Aston write a fortnight ago about a new musician she had brought on for her last ball? I was hoping you might…”
Bingley’s voice trailed off as they gained distance, and Darcy found himself reluctantly strolling beside Miss Elizabeth. Her brows arched as she looked his way. “Do not worry, Mr. Darcy. I shall do my best to prevent your morning from becoming dull.”
The words were polite, but Darcy felt the faintest tug of challenge in her tone, as though Elizabeth Bennet were daring him to falter. She was testing him again, probing for some crack in his demeanor. Darcy inclined his head. “Your company is rarely dull, Miss Elizabeth.”
They walked on in relative silence for a few moments. Darcy welcomed the quiet, using the time to steady his thoughts. Yet, he could sense Elizabeth’s restlessness beside him, as if her very presence demanded conversation.
“You seem unusually subdued this morning, Mr. Darcy,” she said at last. “Surely the beauty of the autumn countrysideinspires some thought or reflection. One must be an ogre, indeed, to fail to appreciate those colors.”
Darcy followed the direction of her gaze. “It is, indeed, beautiful. But I find it more conducive to quiet observation than conversation.”
“Ah,” she replied, her voice light, though he detected the faintest hint of mischief. “So, it is silence you seek. I marvel, then, at your enjoyment of Mr. Bingley’s company.”
Darcy stopped, turning to face her fully, weighing his response. “Mr. Bingley is an exceptional friend. His good nature is an asset I do not take lightly.”
“A loyal defense, Mr. Darcy. Though I must wonder if you were not tempted to strangle him when he paired us together for this walk.”
Darcy hesitated, his calm facade wavering just enough for a flicker of irritation to pass through him. She was too perceptive for his liking—and far too comfortable pressing him. “I assure you, Miss Bennet, I am quite capable of exercising patience.”
She laughed—a clear, melodic sound that startled him with its warmth. He looked away quickly, his thoughts spiraling toward the vexing realization that he had noticed, too keenly, how her presence unsettled him.
“Patience, Mr. Darcy? I am impressed,” she teased. “I had thought you too unflappable altogether to require the exercise of such a virtue.”
Darcy’s jaw tightened. It would not do to let her provoke him further. “Speaking of patience, Miss Bennet, I trust your sister continues to improve under your care. No doubt your attentiveness brings her comfort.”
Her expression shifted slightly, though her smile remained. “Jane is much better this morning, thank you. Though I confess, it was not my attentiveness that helped her rest—I believe it was my restlessness that kept her from it. Thus, my temporaryremoval from the room has probably purchased her more comfort this morning than my presence could have done.”
Darcy blinked, caught off guard by the ease of her retort. “I see,” he said, unable to suppress the faint lift of his brow. “In that case, I hope this walk proves sufficient to ease your restlessness, for her sake.”
“Indeed, Mr. Darcy,” she replied with a slight curtsey, her smile deepening. “For her sake.”
Before he could find a suitable reply, Caroline’s voice carried over the path. “Mr. Darcy, you must come and see the swans! They are magnificent this year.”
Seizing the opportunity for reprieve, Darcy inclined his head. “Excuse me, Miss Bennet,” he said, his tone polite but firm, before striding ahead toward the Bingleys.
As he approached the others, he resisted the urge to glance back. He could still feel the lingering effect of her laughter and the sharpness of her wit, like the faintest tug at the edges of his resolve. Her presence was entirely too vivid, too insistent, and he despised how easily she unraveled his carefully guarded composure.
Elizabeth sat rigidly inthe library, her embroidery hoop lying forgotten in her lap. She had taken it up in a half-hearted attempt to appear industrious, and this room had some of the best lighting in the house for the task, but her needle had hovered motionless for several minutes. Across the room, Mr. Darcy occupied a solitary chair near the window, seemingly engrossed in a book. If he noticed the tension threading through the air, he gave no indication.
The man was impossible.
She had spent the better part of the morning attempting to draw some measure of civility—no, warmth—from him, only to be met with politeness so cold and measured it could have rivaled a frosty January morning. It was galling. For all his elegance and wealth, Mr. Darcy had the social charm of a well-carved statue, and Elizabeth could feel her patience fraying.
She had to struggle to remind herself why she cared at all. Jane’s sly smile and Charlotte’s brash confidence as they dared her into this wretched bet resurfaced in her mind. To win hisapproval—not his actual love, heaven forbid, but the faintest mark of regard—was to prove that her wit could breach even the stoniest of barriers. Yet, the longer she studied his detached demeanor, the more she questioned the wisdom of her endeavor.
Still, Elizabeth Bennet did not shy away from challenges.
She glanced at him, noting the precise manner in which he turned the pages of his book, each movement deliberate and unhurried. Her frustration mounted. Surely, no one could be so absorbed in a single volume. She cleared her throat lightly, enough to catch his attention. He looked up, his dark eyes meeting hers with a questioning tilt of his brow.
