“That is hardly the same thing.”
Before Darcy could reply, Sir William joined them.
“Mr. Darcy! Mr. Bingley! We are honored, most honored, to have you at Lucas Lodge. A small gathering only, but we pride ourselves upon friendly society.”
“You are very kind,” Bingley replied. “I am happy to be here.”
“And you, Mr. Darcy?” Sir William turned expectantly.
Darcy gave a polite nod. “I am obliged to you for the invitation.”
“Excellent, excellent. We shall have music presently, and perhaps a little dancing if the young people are so disposed.”
Bingley brightened. “Nothing would please me more.”
Darcy’s gaze returned to Miss Elizabeth. She had moved. Of course she had. She now stood beside Jane Bennet, speaking with Lady Lucas. Her manner altered with each person she addressed—not in character, but in attention. With Lady Lucas, she was respectful without stiffness. With Miss Lucas, open and easy. With her sister, affectionate in a way that needed no display.
He began to cross the room.
Miss Elizabeth glanced up.
Their gazes met.
For one moment, he thought she might remain where she was.
Then she turned to Lady Lucas and said something that drew a laugh, and by the time Darcy had taken three steps, she had shifted toward the far side of the room with such naturalness that no one could accuse her of avoiding him.
She had deliberately avoided him. He stopped.
Bingley appeared beside him again, his expression knowing. “You are attempting to speak with Miss Elizabeth.”
Darcy’s gaze remained across the room. “I am.”
“To apologize?”
“Yes.”
Bingley chuckled. “Then I wish you success. She is clever enough to avoid a man for a full evening if she chooses.”
“I begin to perceive that.” Attempting to speak with her was proving to be quite difficult.
Bingley’s mouth twitched. “You might ask her to dance, should dancing begin.”
“I would prefer first to speak.” He had not deigned to dance with her at the assembly. Darcy wished to beg her forgiveness and then enjoy the pleasure of her smiles for a set.
“That is sensible. Though what is sensible and what is possible may not be the same.”
Darcy gaped at him.
Bingley lifted his hands slightly. “I only observe. She does seem rather disinclined to be in your presence.”
Across the room, Miss Elizabeth was now in conversation with another sister. He recalled Miss Bingley vaguely mentioning a third sister who was out. Miss Mary Bennet, if he remembered correctly. Miss Mary’s appearance was one of gravity, her hands knitted before her. Miss Elizabeth listened, her expressionattentive. When she answered, Miss Mary’s face melted into something like satisfaction.
Darcy found himself watching closely.
There was no impatience in Miss Elizabeth’s manner. No condescension. She did not flatter, nor did she dismiss. She met each person precisely where they stood and somehow made them better pleased with the ground beneath them.
In a fit of pique, he had thought her beneath his notice. The inherent irrationality of the situation became apparent once more.
