Darcy frowned again. This was precisely why he had been avoiding her. Elizabeth Bennet was a distraction—a maddening, unpredictable distraction—and if he was not careful, she would upend more than just his carefully laid plans.
With a resolute sigh, he dipped the pen into ink and began to write, determined to focus on Georgiana rather than the woman who, despite his better judgment, had taken up far too much space in his mind.
My Dearest Georgiana,
I hope this letter finds you well. I have given further thought to your concerns…
But even as the ink flowed, his thoughts betrayed him, circling back to Elizabeth Bennet—irrepressible, intriguing, impossible to ignore.
Elizabeth stood at thewindow, her fingers tapping idly on the wooden sill as she stared out over the fields. She was not certain why the conversation with Mr. Darcy continued to occupy her mind, but it did. She turned away, crossing the room once more, her restless energy finding no outlet. His manner had shifted—subtly, yes—but it had been enough to catch her attention. Concern for his sister had softened some of his reserve, though he had hardly invited her sympathy.
She paused mid-step, her brow furrowing. Why did it matter? Whatever turmoil troubled him, it was none of her concern. Yethere she was, pacing the length of the parlor as if searching for a resolution to a puzzle she had not intended to solve. With an exasperated sigh, she seated herself in the nearest chair, the distant murmur of voices from another room offering little distraction.
Elizabeth was not accustomed to feeling unsettled, and Mr. Darcy’s guarded glimpse of vulnerability had done precisely that.
The creak of the door pulled her from her thoughts. Charlotte Lucas stepped inside, a basket in hand. “Elizabeth! I hoped I might find you here. Your mother mentioned you had returned from your walk.”
“Charlotte!” Elizabeth hurried forward to greet her. “I was in desperate need of sensible company. Please, sit.”
Charlotte smiled and set the basket down, taking the offered seat. “I cannot stay long. My mother is expecting me shortly, but I wanted to deliver this before I forgot.” She opened the basket to reveal a small bundle wrapped in linen. “Mama insisted we send along some of her preserves. She claims you were admiring them last week.”
Elizabeth chuckled, grateful for the distraction. “Your mother’s preserves are the envy of the neighborhood. Thank her for me.”
Charlotte studied her friend for a moment, her expression thoughtful. “You seem… preoccupied. I hope the morning’s walk was pleasant?”
Elizabeth hesitated, unsure how much to share. “It was… enlightening, in an unexpected way.”
“Enlightening?” Charlotte’s brow lifted in curiosity. “Dare I hope it involved something—or someone—of interest?”
“Perhaps,” Elizabeth said with a mischievous smile. “I encountered Mr. Darcy on the path.”
Charlotte blinked. “Mr. Darcy? And did he speak, or merely glare at you in his usual fashion?”
“Oh, he spoke,” Elizabeth said lightly, though her tone did not quite match the unease lingering in her mind. “In fact, he surprised me. He spoke of his sister.”
“His sister?” Charlotte leaned forward, intrigued. “That is a rare topic indeed. I do not believe I have ever heard him mention her before.”
“Nor had I,” Elizabeth admitted. “He seemed… conflicted. Apparently, she is unhappy in her current situation, though he did not elaborate much beyond that. I told him he ought to collect her from Lincolnshire, where he has sent her, and take her back to London himself. It was as if it was the first time the notion had ever occurred to him!”
Charlotte considered this, her hands clasping neatly in her lap. “How very strange! I had always thought Mr. Darcy indifferent to the troubles of others, but perhaps I was mistaken.”
Elizabeth frowned slightly. “I would not go so far as to say he is indifferent. Reserved, certainly. Guarded. But there was something genuine in his concern for his sister. It was… disarming.”
“Disarming?” Charlotte echoed, a knowing gleam in her eye. “Elizabeth Bennet, I do believe you are beginning to see Mr. Darcy in a different light.”
Elizabeth scoffed, though it lacked real conviction. “Do not read too much into it, Charlotte. He is still insufferable most of the time.”
“Most of the time,” Charlotte repeated, smiling faintly. “But notallof the time, it seems.”
Elizabeth waved a hand dismissively, though the gesture lacked its usual vigor. “Enough of Mr. Darcy. I shall not waste my breath defending a man who barely speaks enough to defend himself.”
But Charlotte was not so easily deterred. “Enough of Mr. Darcy, indeed.” She paused, then added, “Except you have just given him advice that, should he follow it, will take him far from Hertfordshire—far from you.”
Elizabeth blinked, taken aback by Charlotte’s pointed observation. “I did no such thing,” she protested. “I merely suggested that he do what is best for his sister.”
“And what if what is best for his sister means he leaves immediately?” Charlotte leaned forward slightly, her voice calm but firm. “If Mr. Darcy departs, you may as well concede the wager now. After all, you cannot win over a man who is no longer in the vicinity.”
Elizabeth opened her mouth to respond, then closed it again, realization dawning slowly. Her own words came back to haunt her—encouraging him to go, shrugging off his presence as though it mattered not whether he stayed. Had she truly been so foolish?
