That answer drew the remotest change in her expression. Not quite amusement, though near enough to encourage him.
They began walking slowly along the gravel path. For several moments neither spoke. The silence between them was not uncomfortable precisely, but it carried weight. Darcy found himself unusually aware of every small detail—the sound of their footsteps against damp gravel, the movement of wind through the hedges, the slight rise and fall of her breathing as she walked beside him.
He inhaled deeply and steadily at last.
“I would be remiss,” he said thoughtfully, “if I failed to take this opportunity to offer my apologies for my abysmal behavior at the assembly.”
Elizabeth’s gaze remained fixed ahead.
Darcy continued before caution could interfere. “I never should have spoken as I did. The words were both ungentlemanly and patently untrue. At the time, I considered them careless. Since then, I have discovered there are few things more capable of causing injury than careless speech. I regret it more sincerely than I can properly express.”
Still, she said nothing. The quiet stretched long enough for him to feel the full force of his own uncertainty. At last, she spoke.
“Thank you for the apology.” He was taken aback by the respondent's formality.
“But you do not forgive me.”
Elizabeth glanced toward him briefly before looking away again. “I shall endeavor to do so.” The distinction landed precisely where intended.
Darcy bowed slightly. “I deserve no better.”
“You deserve honesty,” she replied. “And honesty requires me to admit that words spoken in haste have consequences. Once said, they cannot be recalled or unheard.” The steadiness of her voice affected him more deeply than anger might have done.
Elizabeth continued after a moment, her tone reserved now though no less sincere. “I have never considered myself particularly vain, Mr. Darcy, but even so… my vanity was wounded. My confidence as well.”
Darcy stopped walking. The admission pierced him with uncomfortable clarity. Until now, he had understood his offense chiefly in terms of impropriety. Hearing its consequences spoken plainly transformed it into something far worse.
“I see now,” he said quietly, “how far-reaching my thoughtless remark truly was. At the time, I treated it as nothing more than careless conversation. That alone condemns me. All I can do now is endeavor to prove I am not such an ungentlemanly wretch as I appeared.”
To his immense relief, she laughed. The sound came unexpectedly, warm and genuine despite herself. “I am relieved to discover,” she said, “that you are at least capable of condemning yourself properly.”
“No one has performed the task more thoroughly than I.”
She grinned. “That is fortunate. It saves me the effort.”
Darcy’s mouth curved despite himself. The shift between them was slight but unmistakable. The sharpest edge of tension had eased, replaced by something more uncertain and infinitely more dangerous.
Interest.
They resumed walking.
The path curved gradually toward the eastern gardens where late roses climbed along low stone walls still darkened by rain. Elizabeth slowed briefly near one particularly vivid cluster, studying them with open appreciation.
“The season lingers longer this year,” she observed.
“I had not noticed until now.”Liar.Had he not marveled at the roses still blooming and wished to pluck one for her?
Elizabeth did not notice his grimace. “That is because gentlemen rarely notice flowers unless a lady compels them to.”
Darcy glanced at her. “Then I am fortunate to be instructed.”
She shook her head lightly. “You improve too quickly, Mr. Darcy. It makes reform suspicious.”
“I assure you my reform remains incomplete.” Though he would work to remedy the situation.
“That, at least, I find believable.” Again, the quick flash of amusement.
Darcy found himself wanting to prolong it indefinitely. After a few moments, he said, “Miss Bingley informed us of the conversation at supper before your sister became ill.”
