“How unfortunate,” the young woman continued, murmuring to one of her companions. “Miss Bennet, I believe we have not been introduced.”
A subtle, practiced laugh rippled through her companions, their eyes gleaming with amusement.
Elizabeth tilted her head slightly, allowing a faint, polite smile to curve her lips. “Have we not? I had thought I met nearly everyone of significance this afternoon.”
The slightest flicker passed through the young woman’s eyes—just enough for Elizabeth to know her remark had struck home.
“I am Miss Penelope Ashworth,” the young woman replied, her smile tightening. “My family owns this estate.”
Elizabeth’s eyebrows rose in mock surprise, her expression the perfect picture of polite interest. “Ah, then I must thank you for such a lovely afternoon. Your gardens are quite… modest compared to what I had heard, but charming nonetheless.”
Miss Ashworth’s cheeks flushed and her eyes glittered dangerously, but before she could retort, Mrs. Selby hastened to smooth over the slight, her voice a little too cheerful.
“Miss Ashworth, Miss Bennet has only recently joined us from Hertfordshire. I imagine such grand estates as yours might be somewhat… unfamiliar to her.”
Elizabeth’s smile did not waver. “On the contrary, Mrs. Selby. I have seen many beautiful homes in the countryside. It is refreshing to see how different the London approach totastecan be.”
The implication hung in the air, subtle but undeniable. Miss Ashworth’s companions exchanged glances, their expressions flickering between amusement and thinly veiled disdain. But Elizabeth remained perfectly composed, as if blissfully unaware of any undercurrent at all.
Miss Ashworth’s brittle laugh followed a beat too late. “Indeed. The countryside often fosters asimplerperspective. But London offers experiences that are not easily replicated in smaller circles.“ She paused, her eyes glittering with a new sharpness. “Of course,somegentlemen are prone to fleeting fascinations. Mr. Darcy, for instance, showed meparticularattentions last season. But“—she glanced at one of her friends with an airy chuckle—”one finds more engaging company as the seasons progress.”
Elizabeth tilted her head slightly, her expression innocent. “How fortunate for you, Miss Ashworth. I heartily wish you better amusements this season—and the next as well—than you found in the last.”
The words, though spoken sweetly, landed with precision. Miss Ashworth’s companions stiffened, their amusement fading into awkward silence.
Penelope Ashworth’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly, but Elizabeth offered no further opening. Instead, she curtsied. “It has been a pleasure, ladies. If you will excuse me, I believe Mr. Darcy is waiting.” And with that, she turned, leaving Miss Ashworth and her companions standing stiffly among the roses, their perfectly rehearsed smiles now brittle as frost.
“Well, I must say, Miss Bennet, you certainly have a way with words. No wonder Mr. Darcy finds your company so… refreshing.”
Elizabeth turned sharply and found Mrs. Selby following close at her elbow. She blinked, momentarily startled by the woman’s sudden appearance at her side. Mrs. Selby’seyes sparkled with something that could only be described as admiration, her smile genuine in a way that felt rare in such company.
“I find honesty often does the work for me, Mrs. Selby,” Elizabeth replied, her lips curving into a wry smile. “Though I am not certain it always earns me friends.”
“Oh, do not be modest, my dear,” Mrs. Selby chuckled, linking her arm with Elizabeth’s as they strolled along the garden path. “London society could use a bit more plain speaking, if you ask me. These girls“—she waved a dismissive hand toward the shrinking figures of Miss Ashworth and her companions— “think themselves the height of sophistication, but half of them would wilt under a true conversation.”
Elizabeth’s laughter bubbled up, light and unrestrained. She glanced sidelong at Mrs. Selby, feeling an unexpected warmth at the older woman’s easy camaraderie.
“I shall try not to wilt, then,” Elizabeth teased, squeezing Mrs. Selby’s arm gently before releasing it. “But I fear if I linger too long, Mr. Darcy may think I have abandoned him entirely.”
Mrs. Selby chuckled again, her gaze darting toward where Darcy stood, deep in conversation with a cluster of Derbyshire landowners. “I daresay he looks a bit adrift without you, Miss Bennet. Best not keep him waiting.”
With a final smile, Elizabeth dipped her head in farewell and began weaving her way back through the crowd, her steps lighter, the sting of earlier barbs fading into the autumn air. As she neared him, she caught sight of Miles Stanton standing a few paces away, his stance casual, his voice carrying just enough for those nearby to hear.
“Yes, Darcy’s announcement is all very well,” Stanton was saying to a cluster of gathered gentlemen. “But one must wonder if he understands the pulse of the people. Aristocratic airs do not translate to effective leadership. Nor do they replace experience. And aligning himself with… certain company?” His gaze drifted, unmistakably, toward Elizabeth. “It makes one question his judgment.”
Elizabeth felt the heat rise in her chest, but she forced herself to keep her expression composed. She stepped forward, closing the distance between them with deliberate grace.
“Mr. Stanton,” she said, her tone light but clear enough to draw attention. “It is always fascinating to hear how quickly some can judge a man’s character based on who stands beside him. I would think a true leader is known not by whom he avoids, but by whom he dares to trust.”
The group fell silent, all eyes shifting between Stanton and Elizabeth.
Stanton’s smile faltered for a brief, satisfying moment. But he recovered quickly, tipping his hat with mock civility. “Miss Bennet,” he murmured. “Your eloquence is as sharp as ever. Far be it from me to have words with a lady.” With that, he turned on his heel and disappeared into the crowd.
Elizabeth exhaled slowly, feeling the tension in her shoulders begin to ease. When she glanced at Darcy, she expected to see disapproval. Instead, his brow was creased, his head tilted in wonder or bemusement, but there was a glint in his eyes—whether of admiration or astonishment, she could not tell.
“You should not have provoked him,” Darcy said quietly as they resumed walking.
Elizabeth arched a brow. “I rather think he provoked himself.”
