Elizabeth turned slightly, running her finger along the edge of a worn spine. “There was one highlight, however.”
“And what was that?”
“They served Lady Lucas’s punch recipe. Guaranteed to make the evening pass in a blur of bad breath and dizzy dancing.”
Darcy looked away before he laughed, but the sound was unmistakable—a short breath, forced through his nose.
Elizabeth turned, satisfied.
“Do you read Pope often?” she asked.
“Not often.”
“Then may I suggest a different volume?”
“You may suggest anything,” he said mildly. “I do not guarantee acceptance.”
Elizabeth plucked a book from the corner and held it out.Satirical Verse, Volume II.
He took it.
Their fingers did not quite touch. But close.
“Careful,” she said. “That one bites.”
Darcy only stared at her with one brow quirked.
But he did not put the book back.
Charlotte’s mother kept anoverheated drawing room and an endless supply of indifferent biscuits, which was why Elizabeth arrived with low expectations and a spare handkerchief. She did not mind these little gatherings—provided no one expected her to embroider or sing—but this one had an extra guest.
Several, in fact.
Mr. Bingley had come with his sisters and, more to the point, Mr. Darcy.
He stood near the window, posture immaculate, looking very much like he had not sat down since the reign of Queen Anne. At present, he was speaking in low, polite tones with Sir William Lucas about the comparative strengths of rock walls and hedgerows, with all the seriousness of a treaty negotiation.
Elizabeth sat beside Charlotte, resisting the temptation to fan herself with a bit of sheet music—Maria was unlikely to use itfor anything else. The fire roared. The biscuits were soft. A fly circled the ceiling with suicidal determination.
“You are watching him,” Charlotte murmured without looking up from her needlepoint.
Elizabeth smiled sweetly. “I am watching a man discuss boundary markers as though they were matters of national defense.”
Charlotte’s lips twitched. “Masonry is a serious subject.”
“Oh, it is. Especially if one wishes to avoid the scandal of insufficient walling.”
Across the room, Darcy gestured to the window. Sir William nodded sagely.
“They have moved to Seneca,” Elizabeth said in wonder. “He has brought in the Stoics. That must be a new personal best.”
Charlotte did not reply. She merely reached for another biscuit.
Elizabeth leaned in, eyes narrowing in amusement. “Did you know he once translated all ofDe Officiis?”
Charlotte blinked. “He did not.”
“He did. Over the course of one winter, apparently. Said it calmed his nerves.”
