“Dignity, of course. But at what cost? You cannot behave as though everyone is out to scheme against you, Darcy.”
Darcy glanced at the letter again, the tight knot in his chest refusing to loosen. “Not everyone, no. But enough to warrant caution.”
“Fair enough,” Bingley conceded. “But here’s a question for you. When was the last time you actually enjoyed a gathering like tonight’s? Or allowed yourself to laugh with someone new? To have a conversation without looking for an ulterior motive?”
“I hardly see how that is relevant.”
“It is relevant because you have convinced yourself you have to keep the world at arm’s length to survive. And maybe, for some people, you do. But not everyone is looking to use you, Darcy. What if there’s another way to be?”
Darcy looked back at Bingley, unsettled. There was no guile in his friend’s expression, just the relentless optimism Darcy had alternately admired and found maddening since their first acquaintance.
“You think it is as simple as that?” Darcy asked finally.
“I do.” Bingley grinned, leaning back. “You think being a gentleman means setting yourself up for heartbreak. I think it means showing people a bit of kindness—without assuming they’re all plotting your downfall.”
“That is naive.”
“Perhaps.” Bingley shrugged. “But you are the one who keeps insisting you are right. So prove it.”
“Prove it?” Darcy’s voice turned wary.
“Yes. You are so certain that engaging with people leads to trouble. I am saying it does not have to. See it through, Darcy. Take the bet.”
“I already agreed, did I not?”
“But not wholeheartedly.”
Darcy shook his head, leaning back in his chair. “I’ve no interest in playing your games.”
“Then do not think of it as a game,” Bingley said, his tone growing more serious. “Think of it as an experiment. Prove to me—and to yourself—that youcanbe a gentleman in every respect—including dancing with ladies you do not know, Darcy—without losing control. That you are not doomed to spend your life dodging every conversation that might lead to... what did you call it? Expectations?”
The fire cracked in the hearth, and Darcy’s gaze lingered on the flames. The suggestion irritated him, yet something about it struck a chord. Could it be possible to act with civility without opening himself—or Georgiana—to further vulnerability? Was there a way to strike a balance between engagement and self-preservation?
Not all ladies were harmless, that was the devil of it. Some were, surely. Miss Lucas, whom he had met this evening. Darcy felt he could pass several evenings in her company trading as many or as few civilities as he liked, and he would be quite safe. But there were others, such as Elizabeth Bennet...
Her face flickered unbidden in his mind, sharp eyes and quick wit cutting through the stifling monotony of the evening. She had unsettled him more than he cared to admit. But perhaps—no, surely—her effect on him had been incidental.
Still, the idea of the wager hung in the air, tantalizing in its own way.
“Very well,” Darcy said finally. “I shall commit wholeheartedly to this little whim of yours. We shall make a study of it. But do not mistake this for anything more than what it is.”
“And what is that?”
“A reminder that there is no winning when you play by society’s rules.”
Bingley grinned as if he’d won a great victory. “Then we shall see just how much of your dignity survives a few polite conversations and a dance or two.”
“It is not my dignity that concerns me the most,” Darcy muttered.
Charlotte waved the letterover her head. “It is official. We have been invited to dine at Netherfield. My father is already rehearsing his questions for Mr. Bingley. He imagines himself quite the sage advisor.”
Elizabeth looked up from her needlework, an amused glint in her eye. “I pity Mr. Bingley. Does your father plan to expound on crop rotations or the precise weight of a prize hog?”
Charlotte folded the letter with a smirk. “Perhaps both.”
“I hope he spares Mr. Bingley his thoughts on pig feed. I cannot imagine a less appetizing topic over dinner.”
Charlotte sat down beside her, placing the letter in her lap. “If it were not pig feed, it would be the merits of crop rotation or the foolishness of importing sheep. You know how he enjoys an audience.”
