Page 36 of A Question of Character

Elizabeth’s embarrassment did not prevent her answer. Indeed, it appeared to steady her, though the pink remained in her cheeks. “That you are a remarkably handsome gentleman.”

Mr. Gardiner coughed behind his newspaper.

Darcy’s mind, which had governed estates, handled disputes, dismissed unreasonable tradesmen, and survived Lady Catherine’s opinions, failed him entirely.

“I see,” he said.

Elizabeth’s lips pressed together. “Do you?”

“No.”

Her laughter, though hushed, shook her shoulders. “That was honest, at least.”

“I am attempting to be grateful without appearing vain.”

“You are failing in both directions.”

“That is unfortunate.”

“A little.”

Darcy took up his cup, discovered it was empty, and set it down again. He wished Richard were present so he might later be forbidden to mention the moment to any living soul. He wished Richard were in Scotland. Or France. Somewhere without ears.

“I do not know what reply a gentleman is expected to make,” he admitted.

Elizabeth’s eyes danced. “Perhaps there is no expected reply. Compliments are more entertaining when they are allowed to make people uncomfortable.”

“You are enjoying this.”

“I am afraid I am.”

“I shall remember it.”

“That sounds ominous.”

“It was meant to.”

She smiled into her tea, and Darcy, who had once believed himself above the ordinary follies of attachment, found himself considering whether he might spend the next fifty years attempting to make her smile in precisely that way.

Georgiana rose from the pianoforte and came to them with a sheet of music in hand. “Miss Bennet, Mrs. Gardiner says I ought to practice this portion more slowly. Would you mind hearing it?”

“Gladly,” Elizabeth said, standing with obvious gratitude for the interruption. She then gave Darcy a quick, mischievous look over her shoulder. “You may recover while I am gone.”

“I shall require longer.”

“How fortunate that Miss Darcy’s piece is difficult.”

Georgiana looked between them, puzzled but pleased, and led Elizabeth back to the instrument.

Darcy remained where he was for a minute, until Mr. Gardiner lowered the newspaper.

“Fine weather for Derbyshire, I imagine.”

Darcy looked at him.

Mr. Gardiner’s face was grave. Too grave.

“Very fine,” Darcy replied.