Page 56 of The Matchmaker’s Mistake

This left Elizabeth to be escorted by Mr. Darcy which, strangely, she did not mind.

They walked ahead of their party in silence for a moment, until Elizabeth decided to break it. “I spent Friday with your sister, Mr. Darcy. She is a very sweet girl.”

“She is,” he said, with a softness Elizabeth had not expected. “And happier after your visit than I have seen her in some time.”

Elizabeth had expected something polite, but Mr. Darcy’s response was warm.

“I am glad of it. I feared I might have been a little too impertinent.”

He lifted his eyes to hers but did not seem in the least distressed. “In what way?”

“She confessed that she never knows what to say to strangers. I told her she need not labour to please people who had not yet proved themselves worth pleasing.”

“You have said nothing impertinent, only true.” He added, “She is fortunate to have made your acquaintance.”

The words themselves were simple enough, but the feelings they created were not. Elizabeth had known what to do with Mr. Darcy in Hertfordshire, for there he had been proud, aloof, disapproving. It had been easy enough to maintain her poor opinion of him when he left her standing alone at the ball. But this quick defence of his sister, the compliment he had offered her—it did not fit her previous sketch of him.

For the first time, she felt obliged to allow that there was more to Mr. Darcy than the part of him that had offended her.

Before they reached the gate, she noticed that the colonel, some distance behind though he was leading the others, had slowed considerably.

Was it deliberate?

Between her mother and Lady Anne, she had been too long among matchmakers; she was beginning to see them everywhere. Still, a little experiment would not hurt.

She stopped and watched out of the corner of her eye.

Mr. Darcy stopped beside her. The colonel managed another two steps before halting also. He lifted his foot, discovered nothing whatever beneath his boot, and gave the paving stone a thoughtful prod with his toe.

Elizabeth walked on, Mr. Darcy beside her.

The colonel’s interest in the paving stone lingered for a time.

So she had not imagined it. Colonel Fitzwilliam was contriving to leave his cousin beside her—and doing it with rather less subtlety than she would have expected from a military man.

What remained uncertain was whether Mr. Darcy knew he was being assisted.

Elizabeth glanced at him, but she was to be thwarted, for his expression told her nothing.

At the gate the party reunited before it broke up slowly, for everyone was reluctant to part. Mrs. Wickham pressed Elizabeth’s arm before releasing it.

“I am glad to have met you properly, for I had heard you were clever and I was not disappointed. We shall meet again, for London is smaller than you might think.” She glanced at Mr. Darcy. “And Lady Anne’s London is smaller still.”

“I hope we shall,” Elizabeth told her, and she meant it.

The colonel and Mr. Wickham both tipped their hats.

Mr. Darcy bowed, Elizabeth curtseyed, and neither of them said anything that was not perfectly proper. But as she watched him and the colonel stroll through the Grosvenor Gate Elizabeth could not think of him in quite the same way as she had before.

The Wickhams went off arm in arm, heading north towards Cumberland Gate, plum velvet and blue coat close together among the bare trees. Mrs. Wickham was still speaking, her bonnet tipped towards her husband, and Mr. Wickham was listening intently.

For a while no one spoke. Then Jane said, “That is the kind of marriage I should like. In my own way, of course.”

“And you shall have it,” Elizabeth said, “if any of us does.”

After seeing a marriage so full of ease and pleasure, a happy woman might have been expected to think of one particular gentleman. But Jane had not spoken of Mr. Bingley all morning, other than when Mrs. Wickham had prompted her to it. Now Elizabeth considered it, Jane had scarcely spoken of him unless prompted for at least a fortnight.

Mr. Bingley was always delighted and delightful, always at the centre of a room. He was all ease and friendliness, no one could doubt that. Jane enjoyed Mr. Bingley, and she enjoyed company. But what she liked best were the quiet moments at home with those she loved, and Elizabeth wondered whether Jane was wishing for a little less of London and a little more of Longbourn.