Caroline’s eyes swept lazily across the gallery until they landed on Jane. “Oh. I did not realize your sister was also in town. How very… quaint. Curious, is it not, that we all came away from Meryton at the same time?”
Something sour bloomed in her chest. Her breath caught, sharp and wrong, and her fingers twitched for something to hold. Caroline’s voice had not changed at all—still sweet, still clipped, still wielded like a blade passed politely across a tea tray.
Caroline turned back to Darcy. “It was good of you to extend the invitation to town when you did. We have found it just lively enough. Though I suppose that depends on the company.”
Elizabeth froze and her glare shifted back to Darcy. He hadinvited them?
He had brought her here!
Every careful plan, every ounce of distance she had tried to put between herself and that woman—undone. And Darcy was the cause of it!
Caroline’s gaze glittered, as if she could see the smoke curling out of Elizabeth’s very ears. “Do excuse me. I see Lady Frances, and I must not keep her waiting.” She turned and walked away as though the conversation had been both pleasant and mutually desired.
Elizabeth stood still for one second too long. Then she turned to him, voice low and sharp.
“Youinvitedher?”
He looked at her then, brows slightly pulled. “Excuse me?”
“She said—that horrible woman saidyouinvited her and her party to town!”
Darcy blinked. “Yes. That is—yes. When I left Hertfordshire, Bingley was sorry to see me go, and he had some business that required his attention anyway. It seemed reasonable to return together.”
Elizabeth stared at him.
“Youinvitedthem,” she said flatly. “To London.”
Darcy’s brow furrowed. “It was not meant—I only invited Bingley. He—”
But she just held up a hand in disgust, silencing him. There was no longer any point in listening.
Of course Caroline would come.Of courseshe would. The only stupid part was thinking she would not. She had brought herself to London with some ridiculous idea of escape, as though a change of scenery could change the rules of the game.
And here was the first player on the board, smiling like nothing had ever been lost.
“You could have said something!” she hissed. “You could have warned me thatshewould be here!”
“I did not think it would matter. I did not know you—” He stopped. “What has she done to you?”
She shook her head.
He stepped closer—not enough to draw notice, but just enough that only she could hear. “Elizabeth,” he said, quietly. Not as a reprimand. Not as a challenge. As a friend trying to find her through the noise.
The sound of it startled her more than it should have. He never used her name like that. Never without irony or exasperation.
Not like this.
It was too gentle. Too real.
She did not look at him.
“No,” she said, just as softly. “Do not—please. Just… you have done enough.”
Whatever kindness he had meant to offer, whatever sense he had that she might explain herself, she could not let it take root. Not when she could not afford the truth.
Not when he would see how utterly stupid she had been.
He looked as if he wanted to say something else—several somethings—but his mouth closed again.
