“I agree. Some things can be both. A bell cannot be unrung, but it will eventually be nearly as it was. It may well have caused someone to act on the sound, but the bell itself reverts.”
“Exactly! So, you see, I… well… I mean—”
Flustered, Elizabeth paused a moment to allow a few bars of one of Mary’s dirges that always soothed her to play in her head.
He waited patiently; she finally continued.
“I would not like to part in rancour, but beyond that, it is difficult to be friends after a day like yesterday. Perhaps it can be done… I do not know. I will be satisfied if we part without resentment, with the possibility of meeting someday, when time has passed, the ice has melted, and the bell is still again. I doubt we can ever be indifferent acquaintances again, but perhaps we could be… something different.”
He smiled. “I would like that.”
“May I offer some unsolicited advice, Mr Statue?”
“I would like nothing better, Miss Mirror.”
“You previously asserted I had… what was it…‘10 times your skill in social interaction?’”
“I stand by it.”
Elizabeth sighed. “Is that as you think thingsshouldbe?”
Chastened, he shook his head. “One night at Rosings, you told me I needed to practise. You are absolutely correct. As the colonel asserted, I never took the trouble.”
“Let us return to your claim. You spoke euphemistically, as I am not certain it is even possible to have a 10-fold difference in social skill.”
He nodded.
“Why do you believe I have more skill?”
“Because it is an established fact! I did not believe you superior because I wished it; I believed it on impartial conviction, as truly as I wished it in reason. In the letter in my pocket, which I shall burn for your protection, I counted at least two dozen times when I behaved badly towards you by any reasonable person’s reckoning, culminating in yesterday’s debacle. I counted even more offences from theladiesof Netherfield that I endured without comment. In all that time, you raised your voice preciselyonceand said something remotely unkind preciselynever. Is my count in error?”
“Close enough,” she grumbled.
“I stand by my opinion. You are my superior. I will take your advice andpractise.”
A tiny, wistful smile graced Elizabeth's face. “Mr Statue,” she said, and paused for some time. “I applaud your effort. Would you… could you… well—”
He waited patiently.
She finally said, “Would you like to know something… well… Oh… I cannot believe I am saying this!”
She stamped her boot like a spoilt child, stared at the ground, and stopped short. Darcy halted beside her.
He held his tongue. A telltale twitch in her cheek suggested she was thinking furiously. It shamed him that he had wanted to marry this woman yesterday, still wanted her hand today, and hoped, without any encouragement whatsoever, that he might one day ask for it again—yet knew so very little about her. He had only seen her angry or frightened once, and admitted it took far more to rattle her than him. A nagging suspicion remained: he had never seen hertrulyangry or frightened. How bad might such a sight be?
She faltered still, so he said gently, “You may tell me anything you like without fear of censure or gossip, Elizabeth. I will not repeat it to a soul, not even my cousin or sister. I have no right to ask, and I will not. It is your choice.”
She snapped, “Of courseit is my—”
She broke off mid-sentence and closed her eyes tightly; her fingers moving as if counting until a decision settled in her face. He recognised the expression from the previous evening, when she pulled on three pairs of the softest gloves to crush his hopes with.
At length, she said, “I would like to tell you something important… though I have no idea why.”
“I am at your disposal.”
She pulled him into motion again. “I must remind you what I once said to you.”
“Do you remembereverythingwe ever said to each other?”
