“I did not think of that,” Elizabeth admitted at last, her tone quieter, more thoughtful.
“I can see that.” Charlotte tilted her head, studying her friend with a mixture of amusement and concern. “It seems to me that you are playing a rather dangerous game without even realizing it. First, you spend days, weeks, even, sparring with him, and now you all but invite him to leave. Are you trying to win this wager, or have you grown tired of the contest?”
Elizabeth frowned. “I have not grown tired of anything. I simply…” She trailed off, uncertain how to finish the sentence. The truth was, she had not considered the implications of her advice to Darcy—only that it had felt right in the moment.
Charlotte raised an eyebrow. “Well, I suppose if you wish to see him go, that is your choice. Though I must say, it would be a rather dull outcome. You were just beginning to enjoy the challenge, were you not?”
Elizabeth shot her a sharp look. “Enjoy is not the word I would use.”
“No? Then what word would you use?”
Elizabeth hesitated, torn between brushing off the question with humor or admitting to something more. “Very well,” she said at last. “It has been… engaging.”
“Engaging,” Charlotte echoed, her smile deepening. “I see. And would it be so terrible to admit that perhaps you do not wish for him to leave after all?”
Elizabeth straightened in her seat, her chin lifting slightly. “Whether he stays or goes is entirely his decision. I only suggested what might be best for his sister.”
“But not necessarily what might be best for you,” Charlotte pointed out gently.
Elizabeth fell silent, considering her friend’s words. It was a strange thought—that she had, perhaps unwittingly, influenced Mr. Darcy in a way that could affect her own standing in the wager. Worse still was the realization that she wasn’t entirely sure she wanted him to leave.
“I did not expect him to take me seriously,” Elizabeth said finally, as though voicing the thought aloud might make it less absurd.
Charlotte chuckled softly. “Elizabeth, if there is one thing I have learned about Mr. Darcy in the past few weeks, it is that he takeseverythingseriously—including, it seems, you.”
Elizabeth’s lips tightened, but she could not deny the truth in Charlotte’s observation. Darcy had, for all his flaws, listened to her—really listened. And in doing so, he might cost her something she held rather dear.
“Well,” Elizabeth said briskly, rising from her seat with an air of determination, “if he does leave, I shall simply find another way to win the wager.”
Charlotte smiled knowingly. “Of course. Though perhaps next time, you might think twice before offering advice that could send your object running.”
Seventeen
Darcy swung down fromhis horse outside Meryton’s post office, handing the reins to a waiting boy with a brief nod. The bustle of the small village carried on around him—hawkers calling out their wares, carts rumbling over uneven stones—but Darcy paid them little mind. He reached into his coat for the letter he had penned that morning, intent on posting it himself. A trivial errand, perhaps, but it provided an excuse to clear his head.
He had barely stepped onto the path when an all-too-familiar voice greeted him with effusive cheer.
“Ah, Mr. Darcy! What an honor it is to cross paths with you on such a fortuitous morning!”
Darcy paused, turning just in time to see Mr. Collins bustling toward him, a grin plastered across his face and his hat clutched in both hands as if in reverence.
“Mr. Collins,” Darcy acknowledged. “A surprise.”
“A most delightful one, sir!” Collins beamed. “And might I say, your presence graces our humble village. I see you have a letter.May I presume, sir, that you are engaged in correspondence with some fair maiden?”
Darcy’s expression remained impassive, though he immediately understood Collins’s insinuation. Collins, ever eager to curry favor, would assume the maiden in question was none other than Miss de Bourgh, in line with Lady Catherine’s long-standing hopes. But he was not entirely wrong, and… perhaps it would serve Darcy’s interests to let the man have his assumptions.
“I was writing to a lady, yes,” Darcy said. “It is a matter of some importance.”
Collins practically quivered with approval. “Ah! A lady of great distinction, no doubt! Lady Catherine, of course, will be most gratified by this news. I dare say, sir, that your thoughtfulness toward the fairer sex is an example to us all.”
Darcy resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “I am sure the lady will be pleased to hear from me.”
Collins leaned in conspiratorially, his voice dropping to a stage whisper. “And may I ask, Mr. Darcy, whether you included some of your celebrated poetry? A lady of such refined sensibilities would surely be moved by a well-crafted verse.”
Darcy’s jaw tightened imperceptibly. So Elizabeth had told her cousin about the incident at Netherfield. He could imagine her recounting it with that mischievous glint in her eye, turning his humiliation into an amusing anecdote. The thought irritated him more than it should have.
“I did not,” he said curtly. “The letter’s purpose was of a more practical nature.”
