“I never do.”
“Pity. Your auction record promised so much.”
He laughed, a sharp exhale. “You have not changed.”
“Neither have you.”
He bowed stiffly. “Enjoy your evening, Miss Bennet.”
She curtsied, just as stiffly. “I plan to.”
Darcy walked away.
Elizabeth turned toward the punch bowl and stared at her reflection in the ladle.
Her hands were trembling.
She would write about this later.
Or she would try.
Chapter Eight
“You cannot possibly meanto deny it,” said Bingley, one boot already kicked off as he collapsed into the nearest chair. “She is the handsomest creature I ever beheld.”
Darcy stood at the hearth, coat still on, staring into the flames as though they might burn the evening from his memory. “I cannot think whom you could mean.”
Bingley turned in his chair. “Miss Bennet. Jane Bennet. You must recall the lady?”
Miss Bingley did not look up from her needlework. “I do,” she said coolly. “And yes, she is quite symmetrical.”
“That is not what I said.”
“She smiles very prettily,” she continued, with a glance at Darcy that had far too much steel in it. “And rather constantly, I might add.”
Darcy shifted his stance but said nothing.
“She smiled at me when I dropped my fan,” she went on, tone too casual. “Twice.”
“Then you must have dropped it twice,” Bingley said cheerfully.
Miss Bingley’s lips thinned.
Darcy sent them a sidelong glance. “She did smile altogether too much. One wonders if she had thought for anythingbutsmiling.”
“Egad, Darcy, will nothing please you? She smiled just enough. You are very critical tonight, my friend.”
“And you are not critical enough,” Darcy said.
Bingley sighed and shook his head. And Darcy was fairly certain that Caroline Bingley was smothering a prodigious smirk.
The fire popped, nearly showering Darcy’s boots with a spray of hot ash. He was too mesmerized by its blaze to flinch.
Mrs. Hurst, who had been lounging on the settee with a wineglass in hand, now spoke up with a faint laugh. “I thought Miss Bennet perfectly sweet. Though her gown was perhaps not quite the most fashionable cut.”
Miss Bingley sniffed. “Nor was the fabric.”
Darcy turned slightly. “Her appearance was appropriate.”
