Page 168 of A Question of Character

“Beg pardon.”

That did nothing to improve her composure.

She looked away first, mortified, elated, and thoroughly aware that every soul in Longbourn would remember this moment until the end of time.

But beneath the embarrassment, one conviction was firmly established.

Darcy had yielded where pride most resisted.

And Elizabeth, who had feared the worst of him for days, found herself believing him again.

Mr. Bennet cleared his throat.

“I believe,” he said, “that if my daughter means to reward concessions in such a manner, Mr. Darcy may become the most reasonable gentleman in England before Michaelmas.”

“Papa!”

Mrs. Bennet had one hand pressed to her bosom. “Mr. Bennet, do not tease her. I think it was very pretty. Very natural. Very—”

“Public?” Mr. Bennet supplied.

Elizabeth covered her face with one gloved hand.

Darcy, to his credit or peril, looked as though he was attempting not to smile. “Mr. Bennet, I assure you, Miss Elizabeth’s conduct was prompted by relief and cannot be taken as precedent.”

“That is disappointing.”

“Papa,” Elizabeth said again, this time from behind her hand.

Lydia recovered first. “I think it ought to be precedent. If gentlemen behaved better when kissed, ladies would have a great interest in improving society.”

Mary closed her book with a snap. “Lydia, that is improper.”

“It is also practical.”

Kitty dissolved into giggles.

Mr. Wickham, who had remained near the hearth during the exchange, lowered his gaze. He did not laugh at Elizabeth. That alone she appreciated more than she wished to admit.

Darcy handed the bill back to Mr. Bennet. “May I ask whether you intend to write to the innkeeper?”

“I intend to write to everyone,” Mr. Bennet replied. “It is one of the few pleasures of a gentleman’s life when others become tedious enough to deserve correspondence.”

“I should like the name of the inn,” Darcy said.

Mr. Wickham’s head lifted.

Darcy met his eyes with visible reluctance. “If an accusation has been made in your name, the source ought to be known.”

“That is nearly agreement,” Lydia whispered to Elizabeth.

Elizabeth did not answer. Her face was still too warm, and her heart had taken to behaving with more enthusiasm than dignity permitted.

Mr. Wickham gave the name of the establishment. Darcy wrote it in his pocketbook, the movement precise.

“I make no promise beyond inquiry,” Darcy said.

“I ask no more,” Wickham replied.