So, she took the opening. “I suppose you might say that I am middle child with elder-sister tendencies. I often attempt to direct my youngest sisters in their behavior, much to their dismay.”
Darcy gave a soft sound of amusement.
“My eldest sister, Jane, is—well, you have met her. She is what she appears to be. There is no duplicity or calculation in her character.”
He nodded solemnly. “That is very rare. And admirable.”
Elizabeth smiled, pleased. “Mary is next—after me. She is… serious. Very serious. Always reading sermons or moral treatises. Papa says she believes dancing is a gateway to sin and that ballads are a threat to civilization.”
Darcy’s mouth twitched, but he only said, “And you?”
“Oh, I dance,” she said promptly. “And I sing. And I read a great many things besides sermons.”
She let the silence hang for a breath before adding casually, “Mary also enjoys a good religious argument. Lately she has taken up an interest in warning us against Catholics, though I have no idea what prompted it. Some pamphlet or another, most likely, or the recent changes in the rules for Catholic soldiers.”
She peeked at Darcy. He did not flinch, but his brow lifted a fraction, and his expression grew still. Tilting her head, she smoothly added, “I do not share her sentiments. As I said last night at dinner, I believe that how one lives speaks more loudly than the name of the church on one’s parish door.”
For a moment, Darcy said nothing. Then he looked over at her, the corner of his mouth curling faintly. “That is a most uncommon view.”
“I tend toward uncommon, much to my mother’s dismay,” she said airily. “And the dismay of my two youngest sisters. After Mary comes Kitty and Lydia. They are close in age and—well, close in disposition as well. Full of energy and schemes. They rarely have an original thought between them, but they are clever at borrowing one from the other. Kitty follows Lydia everywhere.”
“Rather like Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley,” Darcy said before he could stop himself.
Elizabeth burst into laughter, surprised and delighted. “Indeed! I had the same thought yesterday when Mrs. Hurst came to Jane’s room to apologize for the entire situation. Kitty often looks just as pained when Lydia drags her into something foolish.”
“I daresay your youngest sister would make quite a mistress of a drawing room, then,” he said dryly.
“Or a disaster of it,” Elizabeth replied, smiling. “But she would enjoy herself thoroughly, which I suppose is something.”
They walked for some moments in silence, then Elizabeth, emboldened by the ease between them, asked, “Is it strange to find yourself in someone else’s home, away from your family? Especially when you are used to such solitude?”
“Sometimes,” he admitted. “But not this morning.”
She looked up at him, surprised—and perhaps just a little pleased.
He met her gaze evenly, then glanced away. “I hope your sister continues to improve.”
Elizabeth nodded. “She is already much better. Thank you.”
They turned another bend in the path, and the house came into view beyond the trees. The walk had passed quickly—too quickly, she thought.
Darcy seemed about to say something more, but then only nodded and said, “Thank you for the conversation, Miss Bennet.”
“The pleasure was mine, Mr. Darcy.”
She watched him go, thoughtful. He was not what she had expected—not at all. Reserved, yes, and often grave, but there was a steadiness to him. A quiet depth. And beneath it, the suggestion of humor, of conviction, of warmth.
Altogether… a very pleasant companion.
∞∞∞
The gentlemen entered the drawing room to the pleasant surprise of Miss Bennet sitting by the fire, swathed in shawls but alert and pink-cheeked. Mr. Bingley visibly brightened and went immediately to her side with such eagerness that Darcy and Mr. Hurst exchanged the faintest of glances. Miss Elizabeth, ever attentive, stood to make room, offering a soft word to her sister before stepping away.
She crossed the room to a second settee not far from the writing desk and sank down with the unhurried grace Darcy had come to admire. Her eyes scanned the pianoforte where Mrs. Hurst played a gentle tune—simple and inoffensive, but without Miss Bingley’s usual over-embellishment.
Darcy took a seat at the writing desk, removing a sheet of paper with the intention of continuing his letter to Georgiana. He had scarcely written two lines—decent enough lines, he thought, though the ink pooled a little at the tail of a “g”—when a thought intruded:What would Miss Bingley say to this scene?
He imagined her standing at his elbow, murmuring some insipid compliment about his penmanship and offering—unasked—to trim his quill for him. He nearly snorted at the thought, but covered it with a slight cough.
