Page 15 of Honor Requires

She laughed. “You will not tell me the evening was merely satisfactory.”

“No,” he said, surrendering with more ease than pride. “It was more than satisfactory.”

“I thought so.”

He offered her his arm as they moved back toward the drawing room. “And you? Were you pleased?”

“Very much.” She paused, then added with more feeling, “Miss Bennet is exactly the sort of friend I have long wished for.”

The simple earnestness of the admission touched him.

“I am glad of it, dearest.”

“And Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner are so sensible and easy. One need not guess at every word before speaking.”

“That is high praise.”

“It is true praise.” Georgiana glanced toward the room where the candles still burned low. “I hope they will come often.”

“As often as propriety allows.”

She looked at him sideways with unmistakable meaning. “Prudence speaks.”

“It occasionally does.”

“And is prudence very content tonight?” She smirked.

Darcy’s mouth curved despite himself. “It is sufficiently content to call on the Gardiners later this week.”

Georgiana clasped his arm with delighted approval. “Very good.”

He escorted her upstairs soon after, for the hour was growing late and the animation of the evening had begun to settle into a pleasant weariness. At her chamber door, she wished him good night with unusual cheerfulness, and he remained a moment after she had gone in, reflecting with gratitude upon the change the sea air—and perhaps new friends—had already wrought in her.

When at last he retired to his own room, Brisby was waiting to assist him in the ordinary business of the night. Darcy submitted to it with uncommon patience. His thoughts were elsewhere.

Elizabeth Bennet in blue silk. Elizabeth laughing over Bruno’s offenses. Elizabeth listening intently when he spoke of duty and land and things many would have found dull. Elizabeth engaging Georgiana in conversation, fostering an immediate sense of familiarity.

He had liked her from the first moment of their meeting; by the end of this evening, he was obliged to admit that liking had deepened into something more decided. He admired her, and he desired her company. Darcy found the very prospect of seeing her again sufficient to brighten every part of the week ahead.

It was too soon, perhaps, to say more than that. He was not a boy to mistake a lively evening for attachment.

As he extinguished the last candle and lay down in the tranquil darkness, with the faint murmur of the sea beyond the windows, he knew one thing with certainty.

He would call on the Gardiners later that week, and he would do so with real pleasure.

The intention satisfied him so entirely that sleep came easily, and when it did, it left him smiling.

Chapter Three

The following afternoon brought with it a gentle warmth, the sort that lightened the edges of the day and made even the most ordinary occupations feel agreeable. The windows of the Gardiners’ lodgings had been opened to admit the sea air, and the faint, steady murmur of the tide carried into the drawing room, lending a sense of calm to the hour.

Elizabeth sat near the window with her needlework, though she had made little progress upon it. Her attention wandered far more than her stitches advanced, and more than once she found herself pausing altogether, her gaze drifting toward the street below.

They said they would call this afternoon.

She told herself she was merely curious to renew an acquaintance that had begun so pleasantly—but the thought rang only partially true.

Bruno lay stretched at her feet, his brindled coat gleaming where she had brushed him earlier. He lifted his head occasionally, clearly sensing her restlessness, then settled again with a contented sigh.