Elizabeth nodded. “Jane has that effect upon people.”
“Yes,” he said after a pause. “I believe she does.”
The answer carried strange weight.
During the next course Mr. Wilson succeeded in redirecting conversation once more toward Elizabeth.
“Miss Elizabeth spent part of her childhood in London, did she not?”
Beside her, Darcy's attentiveness grew.
“I did,” Elizabeth answered.
Mr. Wilson nodded enthusiastically. “Near Gracechurch Street originally. Her father’s business connections proved quite successful before his unfortunate death.”
Elizabeth became aware, without delay, of several people listening more closely than politeness required.
Miss Bingley’s expression glowed.
Darcy spoke before discomfort could fully take hold.
“I imagine London felt rather confining after Hertfordshire.”
The ease of the intervention startled her.
Elizabeth turned toward him gratefully. “Very much so. Longbourn spoiled me for town life within a few months of relocating.”
“How old were you when you came here?”
“Eleven.”
“That is young enough for belonging to root deeply.”
The gentleness beneath the words caught her unexpectedly.
“Yes,” she admitted. “It is.”
Miss Bingley interrupted smoothly from farther down the table. “I confess I cannot imagine preferring muddy fields to London society.”
Darcy glanced toward her briefly. “Different people value different comforts.”
“And yours, Mr. Darcy?”
Elizabeth lowered her gaze quickly to her plate.
She should not have wanted to hear his answer.
Wanted it desperately all the same.
Darcy’s voice remained calm.
“I find comfort depends almost exclusively upon company.”
Something inside Elizabeth fluttered dangerously.
Across the table, Charlotte discovered a sudden and profound interest in her wine.
Good heavens.
