Page 63 of The Matchmaker’s Mistake

In the next moment, she was surprised to learn that he was.

“The oranges were my father’s notion,” Mr. Darcy said. “He was told they could not be made to fruit in London. He considered that a challenge to take on.”

A few oranges hung among the glossy leaves, still green at the shoulders, though one or two had begun to ripen towards yellow. “I see he was successful.”

“Yes, though they do not fruit abundantly.” A pause. “He still counted it a victory.” Mr. Darcy touched a leaf and let it go. “I have taken on his work.”

Elizabeth thought that it was very much in character for Mr. Darcy. Even his solitary pursuits were productive ones.

They walked on. Elizabeth searched for a topic, but could not think of one. So she spoke of what was directly before them. “Your mother’s evenings are very well arranged, sir.”

He did not answer at once. “They are the best organised evenings in London.”

“Exquisitely organised. I have never been so efficiently introduced in all my life.”

He chuckled. “I do not believe anyone has. She told me she has introduced three gentlemen to you this winter, Miss Elizabeth.” He sighed. “She has introduced me to several ladies as well.”

“Your mother has informed me that I am to meet her next candidate as soon as he returns to London,” she confided. “I begin to think I ought to absent myself somehow. It may be the only part of the arrangement left to my control.”

Mr. Darcy was silent for a moment. He glanced towards the door, then back to Elizabeth.

“I should not say anything . . .” he began, but hesitated.

“Oh, but now you must,” she said playfully.

“I owe my mother loyalty,” he said, “but as a fellow sufferer, I believe you have some claim upon my compassion. I will say only that she has been kinder to you than to me. I have recently been required to leave my own house by the front door, circle the square, and return by another, all so the lady in question might not suspect our meeting had been arranged.”

Elizabeth could not imagine the stately Mr. Darcy being forced to play such a part. That he would do so to please his mother—well, it offered a very different portrait of his character.

“It was a poor deception,” he added, his words and expression wry. “The lady certainly suspected it.”

Her laugh rang against the glass before she could stop it. The camellia ladies looked over. Elizabeth pressed her hand to her mouth, and for a moment they stood together, neither of them quite knowing where to look.

“Forgive me,” she said. “It is not amusing.”

He shook his head, and said wryly, “It is the most amusing thing in London. It is only that I am not really at liberty to laugh at it.”

They resumed their stroll.

“What you did this evening,” he said. “With Mr. Fulford and Miss Grantley. Most ladies would have been less generous.”

Elizabeth nearly laughed. Mr. Darcy had mistaken her before in Hertfordshire and apparently was continuing the habit in London. “How did you even know⁠—”

“I was watching Miss Bingley for fear she would be . . .”

“There is no need to finish that thought, sir. I entirely understand you.”

“And yet you responded with kindness.”

Elizabeth shook her head. “You credit me too much, sir. I am afraid I was not arranging either Mr. Fulford or Miss Grantley’s happiness. I was removing Miss Grantley from my path and removing myself from Mr. Fulford’s.”

Mr. Darcy raised his brows.

“That she and Mr. Fulford may suit was not at all my purpose,” Elizabeth assured him. “If they are happy, I shall accept no blame for it.”

“Then I withdraw the compliment,” he said, and smiled.

It was a very different expression from the restrained civility she was used to seeing from him, and for a moment, Elizabeth forgot what she had been objecting to.