Mr. Hurst said nothing, already half asleep.
Miss Bingley sat opposite Darcy, her posture perfect, her expression composed to the point of severity. She said very little. That troubled him more than her complaints might have done. She was not indifferent. She was calculating.
The remark about fine eyes had been a mistake. In attempting to understand Miss Elizabeth, he had given Miss Bingley a weapon. She would not use it openly at first. She was too practiced for that. But she had heard him. She had marked his attention. She would act upon it.
Irritation tightened across his shoulders.
Bingley, unaware or unwilling to attend to it, continued in high spirits. “Miss Bennet danced beautifully. Did you not think so, Darcy?”
“Very much so.”
“And Miss Elizabeth? I saw you ask her.”
Miss Bingley’s gaze was like flint.
Darcy looked out the window. “She declined.”
Bingley’s tone held amusement. “So, she did.”
Miss Bingley spoke at last. “A remarkable display of confidence.”
Darcy turned his head. “A lady may decline a dance.”
“Of course. Though some ladies make a virtue of being difficult.”
His frown went unnoticed in the dark carriage. “Miss Bennet presented no difficulty.”
“No?” Miss Bingley’s smile was slight. “How generous you are this evening.”
Bingley glanced between them and, with admirable wisdom, directed the conversation elsewhere.
Darcy turned his attention back to the darkness beyond the glass.
The road carried them toward Netherfield. The wheels moved steadily over the uneven surface, and the sounds of the evening gradually receded behind them.
He had failed again.
The thought sat poorly with him.
By this hour, Thomas and Toby would be expecting progress. They would look for honor, action, and amendment. Two boys of tender years had passed judgment upon him and found him wanting. Absurd as the notion might have seemed, it possessed a force he could not dismiss.
They would be disappointed. Worse, they would be right.
Darcy leaned back against the seat, his mouth settling into a firm line.
At the next opportunity, he would apologize. Properly. Without Miss Bingley near enough to overhear. Without interruption or failure.
Whether Miss Elizabeth Bennet intended to allow it was another question entirely.
The carriage lamps cast a wavering light upon the road, illuminating little beyond the narrow stretch before them. Within, conversation had diminished. Even Bingley’s spirits, though never subdued, had settled into a quieter satisfaction, his thoughts plainly engaged elsewhere.
Darcy remained silent.
Miss Bingley’s composure was outwardly unchanged; a new tension lay beneath it—a restraint more deliberate than before. She had said very little since her last remark, but her attentionremained keenly fixed. He could feel it without turning in her direction.
That, too, was a consequence of his own making.
He shifted slightly, drawing his gloves more tightly into his hand. The motion provided a small occupation, though it did little to steady his thoughts.
