Page 63 of Twice Chosen

Darcy had endured examinations from ministers, magistrates, physicians, and Elizabeth's elderly Aunt Philips after she developed a fondness for brandy. None had been quite like Thomas Bennet's silence.

At last Mr. Bennet said, "My daughter likes you."

Darcy kept his face still. "I hope so."

"She likes very few fools."

"Comforting."

Mr. Bennet's eyes sharpened. "How long have you known her?"

Darcy's heart jumped. "Since the assembly."

"Hm."

Silence.

Darcy waited.

Mr. Bennet tapped one finger against the arm of his chair. "You behave as though she cannot surprise you."

Darcy thought of fifty-five years, four children, two lifetimes, a blue room chimney, and one diseased hawthorn.

"She surprises me constantly," he said.

Mr. Bennet's expression changed slightly. "That sounded sincere."

"It was."

"She has changed."

Darcy said nothing.

"Have you noticed?"

Danger.

Darcy answered carefully. "She is more patient than I expected."

"With Lydia."

"Yes."

"Mary."

"Yes."

"Her mother."

Darcy did not answer.

Mr. Bennet smiled. "Wise."

Then the smile faded. "She is less patient with me."

Darcy looked at him.

Mr. Bennet continued, "She used to laugh."