Darcy turned to find Mr. Bennet regarding him with a sharp, disapproving expression. “Your behavior borders on incivility,” Mr. Bennet continued. “Were I a younger man, I should demand satisfaction.”
“Your defense of your daughter does you credit,” Darcy replied stiffly, “though you might teach her proper conduct. She sat there plainly to draw my attention.”
“Had you been resident in the neighborhood long enough,” Mr. Bennet said coolly, “you would know better than to level such accusations. I do hope you are prepared for the consequences of your actions.” He dipped his head and turned away, offering his hand to Miss Elizabeth, who accepted it without the slightest embarrassment. Together they moved onto the floor for the next set.
Miss Elizabeth appeared entirely unfazed—indeed, almost amused—by Darcy’s disdain. The realization unsettled him more than he cared to admit.
Almost against his will, Darcy continued to observe her for the remainder of the evening: the quickness of her smile, the ease with which she spoke, the sparkle in her eyes when engaged. Her arts and allurements will not work, he vowed as he boarded the carriage for Netherfield. No Darcy had ever been captured by a pair of fine eyes and a handsome figure.
No—he was destined for something greater.
Or so he told himself, as the image of Miss Elizabeth Bennet lingered far longer in his mind than he wished.
The ride home from the assembly was far quieter than the drive there, though not for want of feeling. Elizabeth sat back against the cushions of the Bennet carriage, the rhythmic sway of the wheels over familiar roads gradually loosening the tight coil of energy that had settled in her chest over the course of the evening. The night air crept in through a cracked window, cool and restorative, and she drew a steadying breath.
Mr. Bennet, seated opposite her, regarded her over the rims of his spectacles with a look of mild concern disguised as amusement.
“Well, Lizzy,” he said at last, “you appear to have survived your introduction to Hertfordshire’s newest curiosity. Are you quite well?”
Elizabeth smiled faintly and shrugged. “Perfectly, sir. I am not in the least injured.”
“Indeed?” His brows lifted. “That is a relief. I was half afraid you might require smelling salts or a challenge to pistols.”
She laughed, the sound easing something in her. “Hardly. It is not as though he insulted my looks.”
“No,” Mr. Bennet agreed thoughtfully, tapping one finger against his knee. “Only your good sense.”
Elizabeth’s smile widened into something genuinely amused. “When you put it that way, I suppose I should be grateful. I would hate to attract the regard of someone who values neither.”
“Well said,” her uncle replied dryly. “A man who declares a young woman beneath his notice in a public assembly is doing her a kindness, whether he intends it or not. You may rest easy knowing you have no danger of captivating him.”
“Oh, I never suspected I had,” Elizabeth said lightly. “And I assure you, Uncle, I do not wish to captivate someone who thinks civility an unreasonable demand.”
Mr. Bennet chuckled. “Then we are agreed. He is no loss.”
Next to her uncle, Mrs. Bennet shifted forward, curiosity written plainly on her face. “What are you two going on about? I could hear laughing, and yet no one has thought to include me.” Her teasing brought a smile to Elizabeth’s lips.
“Only Mr. Darcy,” Mr. Bennet replied easily. “He made himself disagreeable, and Lizzy bore it with admirable composure.”
Mrs. Bennet sniffed. “I should hope so. A man who refuses to dance and then insults half the room cannot possibly be worth anyone’s notice.”
She paused, considering. “Though,” she added reluctantly, “it is a shame. With ten thousand a year and such a fine figure, he would have made an excellent match for one of you girls. But no fortune can compensate for such an unpleasant disposition.”
Elizabeth hid a smile. That her aunt could dismiss so eligible a man so readily showed good sense.
Jane leaned forward slightly. “Perhaps,” she said gently, “he improves upon acquaintance. Some people are reserved at first.”
Mr. Bennet turned his head toward her. “My dear Jane, I admire your optimism, but in my experience, first impressions of that sort tend to deepen rather than soften.”
Jane smiled, unoffended. “I suppose we shall see.”
“If we must,” Elizabeth murmured, and Jane laughed softly at her tone.
The carriage rolled on through the quiet lanes, lanterns bobbing faintly in the distance as other conveyances made their way home. Elizabeth felt the familiar comfort of return settle over her—the sense of being known, of belonging to this place in a way she never quite managed in London.
When Longbourn finally came into view, warmly lit against the dark, Elizabeth felt her spirits lift further. The door had scarcely been opened before voices reached them.
“Well?” Lydia cried, darting forward as soon as the carriage stopped. “What was it like? Was it dreadful? Were there handsome men?”
