Her lips parted, just slightly. The barest flicker of amusement. “Oh, exceedingly,” she murmured.
Before either of them could push the exchange further, another figure stepped beside them. Bingley, of course. Darcy could feel his friend’s presence without looking—could sense the way Bingley’s gaze flickered between them, the way his brow creased just slightly in confusion.
“Ah, Miss Bennet, allow me to introduce my friend and neighbor, Mr. Bingley,” Mr. Bennet said, his tone still carrying the faintest trace of laughter. “Mr. Bingley, Miss Elizabeth Bennet—a cousin come to grace us with her presence for the summer.”
Bingley gave a quick bow. “A pleasure, Miss Bennet.”
Elizabeth curtsied smoothly. “And you, sir.”
Bingley smiled, but Darcy saw the flicker of hesitation. His friend’s gaze darted briefly between them, his brow knitting ever so slightly.
Darcy braced himself.
Bingley was not a man given to suspicion or even quick observation, but he could be attentive in ways that often proved inconvenient. Bingley shifted his weight, clearly expecting someone to offer some kind of explanation. “I must say, it is a surprise to meet a new relation of the Bennet family.”
Darcy cleared his throat. “Miss Bennet is visiting from Shropshire.”
Elizabeth barely suppressed a smile. “Hampshire, actually.”
Bingley looked between them again. “Rather a long way between the two places, I should think.”
Darcy swallowed, but Elizabeth only lifted one shoulder. “And yet a person can call more than one place home, sir.”
“Of course, of course,” Bingley agreed. And then he smiled at her as if she were the prettiest creature he ever beheld.
Darcy would have decked the fool if it would not have caused a scene. Instead, he turned to Mr. Bennet and said, with all the politeness he could muster, “I believe your cousin has already made herself quite at home.”
Mr. Bennet gave a slow nod, clearly enjoying himself far too much. “Oh, I imagine she will fit in quite nicely.”
Darcy did not respond. He did not need to.
Elizabeth was watching him again, that same knowing glint in her eyes. He resisted the urge to exhale sharply and turned his attention elsewhere.
She was someone else’s problem now.
Or at least, that was what he told himself.
Darcyfoldedhishandsbehind his back, forcing himself to focus.
The conversation had already begun by the time he approached the cluster of gentlemen standing near the terrace, their voices low but firm with opinion. Politics were as divisive as ever, and with a Prime Minister assassinated, there was hardly a topic more suited to a gathering of respectable country gentlemen who had read just enough of the broadsheets to consider themselves well-informed.
“…Dreadful business,” Sir William Lucas was saying, shaking his head gravely. “A terrible thing, losing a Prime Minister that way. Never happened until now.”
“And a public spectacle, no less,” added Mr. Goulding, gesturing broadly with his glass of claret. “The House of Commons! Imagine it. Never has such an act of violence occurred in our very halls of government.”
A murmur of agreement passed through the group.
Darcy said nothing. He had read the official statements. He had also read between the lines.
“It is already a settled matter,” Mr. Long grunted. “Bellingham’s guilt was plain, and his sentence will be swift. He shall be hanged before the week is out.”
“Yes, yes,” Sir William agreed, though with less certainty. “And yet, some argue there is more to it.”
Darcy lifted a brow. “Some?”
Sir William sighed. “Audley, for one.”
“Henry Audley?” Mr. Goulding frowned. “The Hertfordshire man?”
