Page 109 of The Matchmaker’s Mistake

“No,” he said with a small laugh. “She allows the text to be read for however long it takes, being scripture. Anything the curate adds of his own accord, however, is carefully timed.”

Elizabeth moved to sit next to her aunt, where they both worked on their embroidery and observed.

Over the course of the hour, Mr. Aldridge asked Elizabeth whether she was well, whether London had used her kindly, and whether her uncle had enjoyed Tom Jones. She had answered cheerfully and directed him back to Jane. He seemed happy to comply.

When Mr. Aldridge rose to go, he said he hoped to call again. The hope was addressed to everyone. But he bowed over Jane’s hand last.

“I shall bring the third volume when Mr. Gardiner has finished with the second,” he said, still holding her hand.

“My uncle likes to consider what he reads,” Jane replied. “You must not hurry back merely on the book’s account.”

“No,” said Mr. Aldridge, releasing her hand at last. “Not on the book’s account.”

The door closed behind him.

“Goodness,” Aunt Gardiner observed, “it is a pity all men cannot manage a morning call so well.”

Jane said nothing, instead finding a reason to return upstairs, and Elizabeth put her needle down.

For the first time in nearly a week, she felt hopeful and satisfied. It was on Jane’s behalf, of course, but it did not decrease the joy she took from it. Because of Lady Anne’s desire to match Elizabeth with a gentleman, Elizabeth had found a gentleman better suited to Jane. And once that connexion had been made, all Elizabeth had needed to do was step back, just as she had done with Miss Grantley and Mr. Fulford.

That was all. No plan. No pressure. No careful arrangements. An introduction, that was all. Jane had not been required to do anything except laugh before she could stop herself. One unguarded laugh, and Mr. Aldridge had stayed an hour.

Elizabeth had laughed with Mr. Darcy more or less the entire winter. But every time the laughter threatened to become something warmer, either he had retreated or she had withdrawn to safer ground, where she could not be hurt. She had believed herself certain of her feelings. Until recently, she had not thought that he might also be certain of his.

She wondered whether Mr. Darcy would have appreciated the irony.

CHAPTER 27

Darcy had never known his mother to knock at doors in her own house. She arrived at doors, and they were opened for her. But on Friday morning, she knocked.

He had spent the past week being especially diligent. His steward had received answers about the north farms, the drainage, the timber contracts, even several matters he had not asked about. Letters went out in the morning, and they were beginning to come back in the evening.

And all the while, a clean exhibition catalogue was lying at his elbow. He had not opened it, but he could not put it away.

Richard had called to see him twice and been denied. He had visited with Georgiana instead and left a note for Darcy, offering to be fond of landscapes and terrifying flowers again whenever required. Darcy had fed the note to the fire.

There was a second knock.

“Come,” Darcy said, as he wrote the third page of a letter about sheepfolds.

His mother entered. She looked at him, then closed the door behind her, crossed the room, and sat in the chair in front of his desk.

“Fitzwilliam,” she said without preamble. “Emmeline came to me this morning.”

Darcy set down his pen.

“She was distressed, declined to sit, and would accept neither food nor drink. She came, she said, because Richard said you had turned him away twice, and she was sure you would not do so unless you had given up, which she would not allow you to do. I asked what she meant by ‘given up,’ and she told me a story.”

He sat back in his chair. “What are you talking about?”

“Emmeline began to think of you two, she tells me, the day she met Miss Elizabeth in the park. George thought nothing of it. Emmeline thought a great deal.”

Darcy said nothing.

“The night of our party, the one where I introduced Mr. Aldridge—” She paused.

His whole body went cold. She must have noticed, because she did not finish her sentence but instead began another.