Jane leaned close as the door opened, her voice barely more than breath. “When,” she whispered urgently, “will you tell him?”
Elizabeth did not answer at once. She rose as the gentlemen entered, schooling her features into composure even as her heart quickened.
Soon,she thought.Very soon.
Darcy’s gaze found Elizabeth almost at once, as though drawn by instinct rather than sight. Fitzwilliam bowed to the room with easy charm. He was promptly claimed by Mrs. Bennet as she entered the room and ushered him toward Jane with barely contained enthusiasm. Darcy lingered only long enough to exchange polite greetings with the others before moving closer to Elizabeth, lowering his voice.
“You seem troubled,” he said quietly. “Have I arrived at an inopportune moment?”
Elizabeth managed a small smile. “Not at all. We are glad to see you.” It was true; however, the weight of what had justpassed made the words feel thin. “Jane has only just returned from a ride.”
Darcy’s brow furrowed. “With Bingley?”
“Yes.” She hesitated, then added, “It did not go well.”
His expression darkened at once, concern sharpening into something closer to anger. “In what way?”
Elizabeth kept her tone measured. “He pressed her with questions—about the recent discoveries, about the neighborhood, about matters that were not his to pursue. Jane does not respond well to…forcefulness.”
Darcy’s jaw tightened. “I feared as much.” He glanced briefly toward Jane, who was speaking with Fitzwilliam, her posture still a little stiff but easing as her future cousin-in-law listened with genuine attention. “I am very sorry. I should have intervened sooner.”
“You could not have known,” Elizabeth said gently. “But I thought you ought to know how matters stand. Jane was made uncomfortable, and that is no small thing.”
“No,” Darcy agreed. “It is not.” He was silent for a moment, clearly weighing something. Then he looked back at her, his eyes intent. “Is there anything else you wish to tell me?”
The question was softly spoken, but it landed with unmistakable weight.
Elizabeth’s breath caught. For a heartbeat, she thought she might say everything—that the secret was poisoning her peace, that her father’s indecision frightened her, that the ground beneath their feet quite literally hid the truth. She saw the crate again, the gold gleaming by candlelight, her father’s conflicted face.
Instead, she shook her head. “No,” she said quietly. “Nothing more.”
Darcy studied her, not with suspicion, but with careful attention—an awareness that did not accuse yet did not acceptthe answer without reservation. She could see it in the slight narrowing of his eyes, in the way his hand flexed once at his side.
“I believe you,” he said at last, though the words were chosen with care. “And I also believe there is more you are not yet ready to share.”
Elizabeth felt both relief and a pang of guilt. “Thank you,” she replied, her voice soft. “For not pressing me.”
“I would never force your confidence,” Darcy said. “Whatever you choose to tell me, you shall do so freely—or not at all.” His mouth curved into a faint, reassuring smile. “I trust you, Elizabeth.”
The words settled over her like a promise. She nodded, unable to trust her voice.
Across the room, Fitzwilliam laughed at something Jane had said, and the sound seemed to draw Jane fully back into herself. Elizabeth watched her sister’s shoulders relax, her smile grow more genuine, and felt a small easing in her chest.
Darcy followed her gaze. “She seems more at ease now.”
“She is,” Elizabeth said. “Thatis not insignificant.”
“No,” he agreed again. “It tells me much.”
They stood in companionable quiet for a moment, the unspoken stretching between them—not strained, but full. Elizabeth knew Darcy sensed the truth hovering just beyond her silence. She also knew that when she did choose to speak, he would listen.
For now, his restraint was a gift she did not take lightly.
Darcy had scarcely settled himself into the rhythm of the ride back toward Purvis Lodge when the groom from Netherfieldovertook him, breathless and red-cheeked, bearing Mr. Hurst’s summons. With a frown of faint apprehension, Darcy turned his horse and retraced his path. Something in the urgency of the message sat ill with him.
He found the estate in a state of uneasy quiet. The house, once so animated by Bingley’s exuberant hospitality, now felt subdued, as though the walls themselves were holding a breath. Darcy handed off his reins and entered at once, where he was met not by Bingley, but by Mr. and Mrs. Hurst—and, to his surprise, Caroline Bingley—assembled together in the smaller drawing room.
At least I shall not face this alone,Darcy thought grimly, with Richard at his side.
