“Company! Oh, the honour! The glory!” Mr Collins bounced on his feet with sycophantic joy. “Sir William! Charlotte! Cousin Elizabeth! Maria! Make haste!”
Within moments, everyone had assembled in the narrow hallway. Sir William Lucas was trying to find his hat; Mrs Collins was appropriately sensible; Maria Lucas was staring at Robert as if he were the Prince Regent.
And then there was Miss Elizabeth.
Darcy’s breath caught in his throat. She was tying the ribbons of a simple straw bonnet beneath her chin. Her eyes swept over the crowded hallway, briefly landing on Viscount Keathley, then Richard, then Anne.
Finally, her gaze stopped on Darcy.
He braced himself for the chill. He braced himself for the arch raise of her eyebrow, or the subtle, mocking smile that accompanied their interactions. He waited for her to look at him as though he were an ogre.
Instead, a small transformation occurred. Her eyes softened and the rigid line of her shoulders relaxed. She did not sneer, nor did she avert her eyes. She offered him a hesitant but undeniably warm smile.
Darcy felt as though he had been struck by lightning. His brain ceased to function.She smiled,his internal monologueshrieked.She is not glaring. What does it mean? What is the procedure for a smile? Robert did not cover this in the library!
Before Darcy could spiral into another collapse in the hallway, the viscount sprang into action.
“Mrs Collins.” He offered his arm to her. “I have heard rumours of a very fascinating rock formation near the edge of the parish boundaries. As a woman of sense, you must tell me if it is worth the tramp.”
Mrs Collins, recognising exactly what was happening, allowed herself to be led out of the door. “I believe you mean the old quarry, my lord. It is mostly just dirt, but I am happy to oblige.”
“Sir William!” Robert called over his shoulder, not breaking stride. “You must accompany us! I require a man of the world to settle a debate regarding the Prince Regent’s latest architectural folly.”
“The Regent!” Sir William beamed, eagerly trotting after the viscount. “Capital! I have many thoughts on the pavilion, my lord!”
“Miss Lucas,” Richard chimed in, offering his arm to the young girl. “I understand there is a militia regiment camped in Meryton. Tell me, are their uniforms up to standard, or are they a disgrace to the king’s red?”
“Oh, Colonel!” Miss Lucas giggled, hooking her arm through his. “Captain Carter had the most magnificent epaulettes!”
That left Anne, Mr Collins, and Mrs Jenkinson.
Anne executed a masterpiece in tactical warfare. She let out a small, rattling cough, leaning on her companion.
“Mr Collins,” Anne whispered, her voice reedy and weak. “My mother mentioned that your sermon on the theological implications of... of shrubbery pruning... was most enlightening. I find my soul troubled by the concept. Could you perhaps walk with me and elucidate the finer points of ecclesiastical botany?”
Mr Collins looked as though he had just been handed the keys to the kingdom of heaven. “Miss de Bourgh! It would be the crowning achievement of my clerical career! Mrs Jenkinson, if you will permit me to support her on the other side—”
Within sixty seconds, the hallway was empty.
Everyone had spilled out and strategically fractured into distinct groups, rapidly disappearing down the country lane.
Darcy was left standing in the entryway alone with Miss Elizabeth Bennet.
The silence was deafening.
Darcy swallowed dryly. He looked at her. She looked at him.
“It appears,” Miss Elizabeth said, her voice laced with a speck of amusement, “that your family moves with the efficiency of a trained military unit.”
“They are... disciplined,” Darcy managed to croak. He cleared his throat, trying to summon the lessons from the library.Engage her. Banter. Do not mention the barometer.
He offered his arm, which felt like a lead pipe. “Shall we, Miss Elizabeth?”
“We shall, Mr Darcy.”
She placed her gloved hand in the crook of his arm, the warmth of her touch burning through the broadcloth of hiscoat. They stepped outside and followed the others at a very slow pace.
Darcy’s mind was racing. He needed a topic. He needed to be charming.
