Page 34 of Miss Bingley’s Return

“Not at all, Miss Bingley,” said Mr. Darcy in that inflectionless tone he often used with her. “If you recall, I spoke with your brother, and several others present earlier in the evening.”

“We were having an interesting discussion about Marlowe, Miss Bingley,” said Elizabeth. “Mr. Darcy finds value in his work, whereas I am ambivalent.” Elizabeth turned a sly grin on Mr. Darcy and added: “Then again, my opinion may be biased, as my father does not appreciate Marlowe at all.”

“At least you have confessed it,” said Mr. Darcy, a strange twinkle in his eye.

The subject was calculated to provoke Miss Bingley to retreat—although she was not deficient, Elizabeth did not think she counted reading as one of her accomplishments. That was curious, of course, as Mr. Darcy had specified how he deemed it necessary for any woman claiming the title.

At that moment, Mr. Darcy gave her a look that, while it gave nothing away, was as clear to Elizabeth as if he had spoken aloud. It took all her willpower to avoid smiling in response.

“Come, Miss Eliza,” said Miss Bingley, taking her arm. “I was just speaking with Miss Teasdale—I suspect you would enjoy the subject.”

With a significant glance at Mr. Darcy, Elizabeth allowed Miss Bingley to lead her away. It did little to promote Miss Bingley’s designs, however, for Miss Teasdale was not a scintillating conversationalist. The need to ensure Jane and Mr. Bingley’s proximity soon distracted her, and not long after, Elizabeth was once again in conversation with Mr. Darcy.

“Tell me, Mr. Darcy,” said Elizabeth, “do you find my company compelling?”

Mr. Darcy raised his cup to his lips and surveyed the room. “More so than anyone else.”

Elizabeth arched an eyebrow at him. “Even more than Mr. Bingley?”

With a low chuckle, Mr. Darcy said: “My friendship with Bingley is not because of his ability to amaze the room with his witty repartee, Miss Elizabeth. Bingley’s lightness of spirit draws me to him—he is excellent company.”

“That is curious, sir,” said Elizabeth. “I had not thought you interested in me at all.”

“Surely recent weeks have given the lie to that supposition.”

Elizabeth regarded him critically. “Yes, I suppose you are correct. Then do you suppose Miss Bingley is achieving her aim by coming between us as often as she does?”

It was several moments before the gentleman responded. “In her mind, I suppose she is achieving her objective.”

“Oh?” asked Elizabeth. “That is quite mysterious, Mr. Darcy—I assume you will clarify.”

“Of course,” said he. “Miss Bingley wishes for my attention, desires to fill the position most recently occupied by my mother. She considers you a threat, so she interferes with our conversations.”

The notion that she represented any threat to Miss Bingley’s designs seemed ridiculous, but something in Mr. Darcy prevented her from laughing. The gentleman did not appear amused or contemptuous; rather, he watched her as if wondering what she would make of it.

“If you will excuse me, Mr. Darcy,” said Elizabeth, feeling her way forward, “I have never thought you favored Miss Bingley in that way.”

“No, I do not,” replied Mr. Darcy. “The problem is Miss Bingley’s opinion. To her, I have simply not come to the point yet.”

“I am not surprised. Miss Bingley strikes me as a woman of supreme confidence. Whether that confidence has merit is another question entirely.”

“You see the heart of the matter, Miss Elizabeth.”

“Not entirely, Mr. Darcy,” said Elizabeth, now meeting and holding the gentleman’s eyes. “It is quite curious to me that Miss Bingley considers me a danger to her designs. You have spoken of your interest in me, but I have seen nothing to suggest that interest is anything out of the common way, and our argumentative exchanges in Hertfordshire should tell her otherwise.”

Mr. Darcy regarded her, saying nothing, and Elizabeth felt discomfort sweeping over her. It was not the way he was looking at her, or not that only—something of the emotion behind that gaze spoke to her, saying things she was not ready to hear.

“Again, Miss Elizabeth,” said he at length, “I would direct you to our recent exchanges in London.”

“Then does Miss Bingley suspect you are on the verge of a proposal?” jested Elizabeth. “If so, her acuity is much less than I supposed.”

There had been a testing quality to Elizabeth’s remark, wondering what Mr. Darcy would do with it.

“No, that is yet premature.”

Astonishment welled up within her as Elizabeth considered the implications of that statement. Before she could respond, however, Miss Bingley’s voice rose, and Elizabeth understood at once what she was saying, though she knew nothing of what provoked it.

“Oh, Miss Whitcombe means nothing to us,” said she, her tone determined, forceful. “Any connection she tries to assert is unfounded.”