Page 9 of Twice Chosen

Her pulse stumbled.

Jane glanced at her. "Lizzy?"

Elizabeth forced herself to reach for tea while Mrs. Bennet continued talking about four or five thousand a year, a young single man from the north, and Mrs. Long's unreliable information concerning his appearance.

The old exchange unfolded. Mrs. Bennet fretted. Mr. Bennet hid his amusement behind the newspaper.

Once, Elizabeth had delighted in it. Now she saw her mother's anxiety beneath the foolishness. Five daughters. An entail. No sons. No substantial savings. Mrs. Bennet's methods were frequently appalling, but her fear had never been entirely ridiculous.

Elizabeth reached across and touched her mother's hand. "Mama, if Papa has already called upon Mr. Bingley, I am certain he will eventually enjoy telling us."

Mr. Bennet slowly lowered the newspaper.

Mrs. Bennet looked between them. "He has?"

Elizabeth smiled before realizing her mistake. "He always enjoys the reveal."

Mr. Bennet stared. "Always?"

She froze, then corrected lightly, "Frequently."

He continued looking at her before his mouth curved. "My daughter is becoming distressingly perceptive."

Elizabeth lowered her eyes to her tea.

One mistake.

Four days in.

She would need to be careful.

Chapter Three

The Assembly

Elizabeth recognized him immediately.

Not because of his height, though he was taller than most men in the room. Not because of his face, though every woman in Meryton turned to look when the Netherfield party entered. She recognized the way Fitzwilliam Darcy paused just inside the door.

Young Darcy had always done that.

One heartbeat. No more. A gathering seemed to strike him physically when he entered it, and for one heartbeat he had to arrange himself against it. At twenty, Elizabeth had called that pause arrogance. At forty, she understood it as preparation. At seventy, she had merely squeezed his fingers before entering any large room.

Now he stood beside Bingley, beautiful and young, with black hair untouched by silver and broad shoulders that had not yet begun to stoop.

Elizabeth's breath caught.

Jane touched her arm. "Are you well?"

"Yes." Elizabeth smiled because she could not help it. "Quite."

Darcy looked across the room. His gaze moved, then stopped on her.

His face changed.

Not much. No one else would have seen it, but Elizabeth had spent fifty years reading that face. His left eyebrow lifted perhaps the width of a thread. His lips parted. His fingers tightened at his side.

Shock.