The softness entering her expression affected him more than it ought. “We are fortunate in one another.”
“Yes,” he said quietly. “You are.”
The words lingered between them.
Just outside the room, Mr. Wilson guffawed loudly at something Miss Lydia said. The sound jarred oddly against the warmth gathering around Darcy’s thoughts.
He became increasingly aware, during subsequent visits, of how often Wilson attempted to monopolize Elizabeth’s attention—and how naturally Elizabeth evaded him whenever possible.
That realization pleased Darcy far more than reason permitted.
Several days later he arrived alone under the excellent excuse of delivering books for Miss Mary from Netherfield’s library. Bingley had ridden elsewhere on estate business, leaving Darcy free to pursue what he firmly informed himself was simple neighborly civility.
Nothing more. Certainly not longing. He found Longbourn in mild disorder upon arrival.
A large, muddy wolf hound had escaped the kitchens and raced through the lower hall while the twins pursued it armed with towels and catastrophic confidence. Mrs. Bennet directedservants with calm efficiency despite obvious temptation toward despair.
Darcy found himself laughing before he could stop it.
Elizabeth turned at the sound.
For one suspended moment they simply held each other's gaze across the chaos of barking dog, shouting twins, and muddy footprints.
Elizabeth then began to laugh as well.
Something inside Darcy settled unexpectedly into place.
Comfort.
That was the dangerous truth of Longbourn. He was comfortable there in ways he had not anticipated possible.
Mr. Wilson entered moments later and stopped short at the scene.
“What in heaven’s name—”
“The dog escaped,” Toby explained while skidding past.
“Again,” Thomas added.
Mrs. Bennet winced in mortification. “Gentlemen.”
Mr. Wilson froze in visible dismay.
Darcy found himself absurdly pleased by the contrast.
Because Elizabeth belonged perfectly within this warmth and disorder.
And Darcy increasingly wanted to belong there too. The realization deepened later that afternoon when he discovered Elizabeth in the library helping Mary reorganize shelves while the twins argued over whether Julius Caesar or Nelson represented the superior military commander.
“Nelson is not even dead,” Miss Mary objected.
“That does not mean he cannot already be great.” Thomas folded his arms stubbornly.
Darcy lingered in the doorway watching them longer than propriety probably allowed.
Elizabeth spoke first. “You are smiling, Mr. Darcy.”
He had been.
