He frowned. Darcy inclined his head, forcing himself to look away before he revealed anything he should not.
The call unfolded as it ought. Mrs. Bennet exclaimed—again—over Netherfield’s fine appointments. Caroline Bingley offered her usual false smiles. Bingley played the perfect host, offering refreshments and easy conversation.
Darcy moved to the far side of the room, hands clasped behind his back, determined to let the visit pass without complication.
Then Elizabeth shifted closer.
A flick of her wrist. A slip of paper.
She let it fall onto the small table beside him as she turned toward Jane Bennet, as though adjusting the folds of her gown.
Darcy squinted at it.
The motion had been fluid, practiced—he would not have noticed had he not been watching her so carefully.
His eyes flicked to the paper. The edges were smudged faintly with charcoal.
Elizabeth was still speaking to the eldest Bennet sister, her expression pleasant, her laughter ready. Not looking at him.
Darcy hesitated, then slowly, carefully, unfolded the paper.
A face stared back at him. Dark brows. Hollow cheeks. A cruel, assessing gaze.
Drawn in clean, deliberate strokes, the sketch was stark—impossible to ignore.
Was this… what he thought it was?
He glanced up at her, and she slid one eye in his direction. So… Elizabethhadseen his face. Not as a shadow in the chaos. Not as a half-formed figure lost in the crowd.
She hadseenhim.
Memorized him.
Darcy swallowed, his grip tightening around the edges of the page.
The visit concluded as all such visits did—polite words, curtsies exchanged, murmurs of farewell. The Bennet women rose, adjusting gloves and gathering their things.
Bingley, ever the courteous host, stepped forward. “Ladies, may I escort you to your carriage?”
A chorus of polite assent followed. The Bingley sisters remained behind, relieved, no doubt, to see the visit draw to a close.
Darcy hesitated only a moment before following.
The hallway was cooler than the drawing room, and the footsteps of their small group echoed against the polished floors. Elizabeth walked just ahead of him, her posture straight, composed. She had orchestrated this meeting—of that, he was certain. Just as surely as yesterday’s call had beenhisidea rather than Bingley’s.
Outside, the Bennet carriage waited. Mrs. Bennet, and then Jane Bennet accepted Bingley’s elbow to escort them down the steps to the drive. Kitty and Lydia were just behind, laughing over something.
Elizabeth lingered more slowly.
Darcy moved closer, lowering his voice. “Is this the man?”
She glanced at the page still clutched in his hand, then up at him. “Yes.”
The single word sent a chill down his spine.
Ahead of them, the groom opened the carriage door. Not much time…
“You saw him clearly,” he murmured. “You drew this last night—a week after the fact. Are you sure this is accurate?”
