Darcy’s expression cooled.
“The boys required assistance.”
“Of course.” Caroline turned toward Wilson gracefully. “Though I imagine practical gentlemen such as Mr. Wilson are far more accustomed to managing genuine difficulties than those raised solely among estates and drawing rooms.”
Wilson appeared uncertain whether compliment or insult had been intended.
Elizabeth disliked the remark instantly.
Darcy did too.
That became clear from the sharpness entering his voice.
“I have still to discover that compassion belongs exclusively to any profession.”
Miss Bingley laughed. “Surely no offense was meant.”
“Then I am relieved.”
The temperature of the room seemed to drop another degree.
Elizabeth watched Caroline carefully then and understood something suddenly.
Miss Bingley had not abandoned her ambitions regarding Darcy.
She had merely waited.
Waited for the moment Elizabeth became enough of a possibility to require opposition.
The realization unsettled her more than she wished.
Because beneath Caroline’s polished remarks lay an uncomfortable truth.
Wilson was sensible.
Respectable.
Hardworking.
A man Elizabeth genuinely liked and respected despite lacking romantic feeling.
And Darcy—
Darcy stood near the fire now, one hand resting against the mantel, listening while Thomas and Toby explained the structural weaknesses of frozen ponds with solemn expertise.
He seemed entirely at ease within the noise and warmth of Longbourn.
As though he belonged there.
That thought alone felt dangerous enough.
Then Charlotte Lucas glanced between them knowingly.
And Elizabeth understood with sudden clarity that people might begin to speculate.
Tea had only just been poured when Mr. Bennet, who had spent the better part of the last quarter hour observing the room with growing amusement, set aside his cup and directed his attention toward Bingley with unmistakable satisfaction.
“Well,” he drawled, “I suppose someone must finally relieve this household of suspense before Mr. Bingley expires from attempting to contain himself.”
