Page 84 of The Matchmaker’s Mistake

Jane’s needle paused for so brief a moment that another observer might not have marked it. “No. The weather, how he looks forward to the spring, the journey. He was perfectly agreeable.”

“I do not doubt it,” Aunt Gardiner replied, exchanging a glance with Elizabeth.

Her sister was correct, of course. Mr. Aldridge was everything a gentleman ought to be. He was well-mannered, intelligent, comfortably situated, and had not insulted Elizabeth before they were even acquainted. He had asked her opinion on Fielding, who was not to her taste but his expectation that she would have her own opinions showed that he valued her intelligence. He was, in short, a good man, and affection founded upon sense and goodness was surely to be preferred.

Yet when she tried to imagine Mr. Aldridge calling expressly to see her, she felt only a mild sort of gratification.

She could picture him seated opposite her, making keen observations. She could picture Uncle and Aunt Gardiner approving. She could picture an entire conversation conducted without once having to puzzle out an expression or phrase.

It ought to have been appealing, but instead, she remembered Mr. Darcy striding towards her this morning, and how her traitorous heart had beat a little harder when she saw him.

Elizabeth frowned at the fire.

Mr. Aldridge was civil without effort. At times, Mr. Darcy appeared to find civility a trial. But he had also apologised. And she had forgiven him.

Jane had resumed her work. “You are very quiet.”

“I am thinking.”

“Oh dear. That sounds dangerous.”

Elizabeth glanced at her sister. “You have become quite impertinent these past months, Jane.”

Her sister smiled. “If I have, it is because you are an excellent tutor.”

“Jane—”

“Yes?”

“You have my leave to like Mr. Aldridge, you know. Not that you require it, but you do have it.”

Jane did not reply, only nodded once. Her needle never stopped moving.

Elizabeth was uninterested in Mr. Aldridge unless he was interested in Jane. Mr. Darcy, on the other hand, had entered her thoughts unbidden and refused to leave her in peace.

It was most provoking. But if she was being honest, she could not say it was unpleasant.

CHAPTER 21

The morning room at half past ten contained Darcy’s mother, her correspondence, and no one at all for him to marry.

He entered and took the chair across from her. From the music room came the notes of Georgiana’s sonata, the same passage worked over until his sister was satisfied. It already sounded perfect to him.

He opened the paper and read the first paragraph three times before he realised something was different.

For the better part of three months, ladies had been discussed each morning as reliably as the weather. His mother had compiled countless lists. For one particularly fraught dinner, there had even been a seating chart.

Since his discussion with his mother about Miss Finch, there had been nothing at all for him. His mother wrote her letters, spoke of the weather, praised the poultry. Before this winter he would have declared victory, but he was too wise to let his guard drop now.

“Lady and Miss Finch are to call this afternoon.” His mother signed her name and reached for the sand.

Darcy waited for the rest of it. In January there had been a full accounting of his mother’s plan for the visit.

“She asked particularly whether the camellias were in bloom,” his mother said. Her look rested on him a fraction longer than the remark wanted. Then she went back to her letter.

That was all.

“I shall be at home,” he said, mostly to hear her response.