Page 91 of The Matchmaker’s Mistake

“No. Forgive me. I had only—” He stopped.

“My sister will be sorry to lose you,” he said.

Elizabeth did wonder why his questions had come so quickly one following another. But Mr. Darcy often said nothing at all in company, and so perhaps it was not so odd that when he did speak, everything came out at once.

As she thought about that, her eyes drifted over to a commotion at the tea table. Colonel Fitzwilliam had turned from the tray and nearly met Miss Finch coming the other way. He had checked himself just in time. She did the same, though her teacup gave a dangerous little rattle in its saucer.

“I beg your pardon,” he said.

“No harm done,” Miss Finch assured him. “Though if you had upset it, I should have been obliged to form a poor opinion of your skill at manoeuvres.”

“Then I am fortunate to have saved both the tea and my reputation.”

Miss Finch lifted her brows. “A reputation that cannot survive one cup of tea must be a delicate thing.”

Colonel Fitzwilliam laughed. “I shall not test it.”

“That seems safest for all concerned.”

Lady Finch, who wished to speak about the music, called Miss Finch back to her side.

Colonel Fitzwilliam reclaimed his place near the fire and offered Lord Matlock one of the macarons on his plate.

Presently, Mr. Darcy excused himself and returned to Lady Anne. She said something, put a cup of tea into his hand, and sent him away with it. He carried it to Lady Finch by the window. Lady Anne gave him another, and he took it to her Aunt Gardiner. In this way he made a slow circuit around the room.

So that was it. His coming to Elizabeth’s side had felt like him singling her out, but it was not. He was only a good son handing round his mother’s tea, and she had made a great deal too much of it.

The last cup went to Miss Finch. Elizabeth did not hear what he said, but she watched as Miss Finch answered, and whatever it was made him smile. Not much, for he was Mr. Darcy, but enough that Elizabeth noticed it.

She looked down into her cup. The leaves had nothing to tell her about the sudden turn of her stomach.

“Lizzy,” said Jane softly, “you are not drinking your tea.”

Elizabeth looked up. Jane had come to sit beside her, with Aunt Gardiner just behind.

“I was waiting for it to cool.”

“It is already cool,” said Aunt Gardiner, taking the chair on Elizabeth’s other side. “You have perhaps been too patient.”

“That must be it,” Elizabeth said. “I have often been accused of excessive patience.”

Uncle Gardiner joined them with a plate in hand. “I am sorry to intrude upon a discussion of Lizzy’s virtues. Shall we begin on mine next?”

“Uncle,” Elizabeth said, grateful for his familiar nonsense.

“Only in moderation, of course. Your aunt insists upon moderation.”

“In biscuits,” said Aunt Gardiner, nodding at the three on her husband’s plate. “Not in teasing my nieces. There we may have rather a freer hand.”

Lord Milton, passing near enough to hear the last, turned back with a smile. “Then I have arrived at a fortunate moment. I am very fond of family teasing so long as it is being administered to someone else.”

“You had better sit down, my lord,” said Uncle Gardiner. “We are about to hear my niece defend her stores of patience.”

“That will be a brief defence,” Jane said.

“Jane,” Elizabeth protested with a little laugh.

“I only say what is true.”