Elizabeth brightened. “I thought as much! There is a line… what was it? Something about the soft and silent pace of their feet?”
Darcy's voice was soft but steady as he quoted, “'A solitary hare hath led me far.'”
Their eyes met again. The candles flickered, and Elizabeth felt a surprising warmth stir in her chest.
Miss Bingley set down her fork with more noise than necessary.
“I cannot see the point in rabbits,” she said. “They dig up the flower beds and leave droppings everywhere.”
Bingley gave a rueful chuckle. “Caroline was once chased by a rabbit when she was ten. It ran straight at her.”
Miss Bingley flushed. “It startled me. There is a difference.”
Elizabeth bit her lip to keep from laughing.
“I daresay even rabbits may have their moods,” she said with mock seriousness.
Darcy’s shoulders eased. His fork moved more steadily, and though he did not speak much more, he did not retreat. When Elizabeth stole a glance at him toward the end of the meal, she caught the faintest curve at the corner of his mouth—and knew she had earned it.
It was not much. But it was something.
When the ladies retired after dinner, Elizabeth lingered by the hearth, pretending an interest in the fire until the gentlemen joined them. Darcy entered shortly behind Bingley, his gaze sweeping the room once before settling on her. He was stillpale, and the shadows beneath his eyes had deepened—but he inclined his head to her in acknowledgment, and she met his glance with an encouraging smile.
She rose and crossed to the chess table. “Mr. Darcy,” she said, her tone bright, “I was hoping you might indulge me in a game.”
Miss Bingley, who had just picked up a deck of cards, gave a sharp laugh. “Chess, Miss Bennet? Surely you are jesting. It is a gentleman’s game.”
Elizabeth tilted her head. “And what is a lady to do when there are no gentlemen clever enough to provide challenge?”
“Miss Elizabeth has clearly not played with my cousin,” Darcy said dryly as he stepped forward. “Though she is bold to ask.”
Miss Bingley sniffed. “I cannot imagine dear Miss Darcy playing such a game. It is far too serious for a truly gently-bred young woman.”
Darcy looked down at the board, already beginning to set the pieces. “Georgiana is eager to learn. I see no harm in it. My aunt, Lady Matlock, plays well enough to beat my uncle half the time—though she does insist the knight should move in a straight line, and refuses to be corrected.”
Elizabeth laughed, delighted. “Perhaps that is the secret to her victories.”
He gestured to the chair opposite him. “Shall we?”
They played. And to Elizabeth’s delight, it was no mere performance of politeness—Darcy played earnestly, though not unkindly, and she gave as good as she got. Their conversation was sparse during the game, but their expressions told more: hersly grin when she claimed one of his bishops; his raised brow when she countered a feint; the quiet hum of approval when she forced him into a longer match than expected.
In the end, he won—but not without effort. Elizabeth leaned back with a sigh of defeat and a gleam of triumph in her eye.
“That,” she said, “was the hardest loss I have had in some time. I shall have to inform my father and tell him I have finally been bested.”
“You play with him often?”
“Only since Mark left for school. Since he went, I have been my father’s only opponent, though he rarely lets me win.”
Darcy smiled faintly. “It is a rare thing, Miss Bennet, to meet a lady who plays so well.”
“It is a rarer thing to meet a gentleman who will admit it,” she replied, and their eyes met.
The warmth lingered.
At the end of the evening, Elizabeth paused before leaving the room. “Mr. Bingley,” she said, “might I ask that your carriage return us to Longbourn tomorrow?”
The request caught them all off guard. Bingley’s face fell.
