Elizabeth sighed, knowing better than to argue further. “You are determined, then?”
“I am.”
Elizabeth sighed. “Very well. But do not think I will let you martyr yourself. If you so much as blink too sluggishly, I will throw you over my shoulder and drag you back to bed myself.”
Jane laughed again, leaning back against her pillows. “I believe you would.”
“Believe it entirely,” Elizabeth said with a mock glare. She hesitated, then asked, more softly, “Are you certain you do not wish to know the wagers? It might be diverting.”
“Lizzy!” Jane swatted at her lightly. “I do not. But do not forget there isanotherwager Charlotte will want to hear of.”
Elizabeth’s smile faltered entirely, and a hot rush flooded her cheeks. She looked down.
Jane leaned in a little more closely. “And how are you faring, Lizzy? Charlotte will indeed ask.”
Elizabeth drew back slightly, her face carefully neutral. “How am I faring? Why, splendidly. I have not offended Mr. Darcy so much that he has fled Netherfield.”
“Yet,“ Jane teased gently. “But truly—how is it to be under the same roof as him? You must have gained some ground.”
Elizabeth looked away, fiddling with the edge of Jane’s blanket. “I hardly know. He is as inscrutable as ever. At times, he seems... less unpleasant than I first thought. But then he says or does something that makes me want to throttle him. It is rather exhausting, if I am honest.”
Jane tilted her head. “Does he still stare at you so?”
Elizabeth huffed a laugh, standing to retrieve Jane’s shawl from the nearby chair. “I imagine he stares at everything that displeases him, which must include half the world. Now, enoughof that—Charlotte will have to wait for her answers. Let us focus on getting you through tonight without causing another flurry of bets.”
Jane smiled, letting the subject drop, but her thoughtful expression lingered as Elizabeth draped the shawl around her shoulders.
The murmurs of conversationreached him before he rounded the corner, voices low but unmistakably familiar. Darcy paused, drawing back into the shadows of the hallway just beyond the drawing room.
“I am relieved, I must confess,” Caroline’s voice carried into the corridor. “Miss Bennet is a… a charming girl—fair company when there is so little else to be had, but her lingering presence has quite disrupted the house.”
“But surely, they shall be going tomorrow,” Mrs. Hurst opined. “It cannot be so very much longer now. I hear her fever broke this morning.”
“Yes, and now, surely we shall have to entertain them both in the drawing room this evening before they go tomorrow. Would that he had simply offered the carriage this afternoon! We both know Mrs. Bennet has no interest in hastening her daughter’s return, but I cannot imagine why Charles feels the need to let the thing drag on.”
Louisa hummed in agreement. “It is all very tiresome. And Miss Eliza? The way she parades herself about as though she belongs here—it is insufferable.”
Darcy’s hand tightened around the edge of the doorframe. Elizabeth Bennet? Parading herself? He almost laughed aloud atthe absurdity. If anything, her stubborn independence stood in sharp contrast to the obsequious airs of the company Caroline preferred.
“She will be leaving soon,” Caroline continued, her tone airy. “And none too soon, I daresay. I can only imagine the relief Mr. Darcy will feel to be free of her sharp tongue.”
Darcy’s throat tightened. Relief? Yes, of course—relief. That was exactly what he should feel. He stepped back, taking another path through the house to avoid further hearing what he could not unhear. The sisters’ petty disdain needled him more than it should.
By the time Darcy reached the quiet of his room, his thoughts had unraveled into a tangled mess. The image of Elizabeth on the balcony the night before lingered in his mind, her wit tempered with surprising softness, her sharp eyes turned curious, even kind.
He pressed a hand to his temple. This wouldnotdo. He had resolved to remain guarded, and yet, in her presence, he found his defenses slipping—worse, crumbling. If this carried on, and with Bingley’s injunction against any sort of incivility hampering his usual defenses, Darcy could well find his honor engaged before he could make his escape to London.
His breath in his throat, Darcy sat at the writing desk and took up a sheet of paper. If civility and distance had failed to curb Elizabeth’s disconcerting effect on him, then perhaps another approach was needed. He had one evening left, after all, in which to make his stance known for good.
He stared at the blank page, Elizabeth’s mocking words echoing in his mind:“Bad poetry is one of my great terrors. I find it the surest way to extinguish any affection.”
A small, sly smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.Bad poetry. If Elizabeth found it repellant, then perhaps it could serve a higher purpose.
Reaching for his pen, he dipped it into the ink and began to write.
Darcy trailed into thedrawing room after dinner, his palms damp despite the coolness of the hall. He clasped his hands behind his back, willing the perspiration to subside. It was absurd.Hewas absurd.Howhad it come to this?
Elizabeth Bennet. That was how.
