Page 18 of Idle Gossip

“Thank you, sir.” The boy’s gratitude was apparent. He touched his cap and ran off again, though Elizabeth noted he was more aware of his surroundings.

“That was kind,” she remarked.

“It was no more than a proper gentleman ought to do. Anyone could see the boy’s distress.”

“I suspect your solicitude is worth more to him than you imagine.” Admiration for Mr. Darcy grew as she noted his discomfort at her praise. She suspected this behavior was the rule rather than the exception.

How I have misjudged him!

They found Bingley and Jane some time later. Jane held a wrapped package in her hand, a handsome blush on her cheeks.

“Giving gifts, Bingley?” Darcy asked.

“Yes. Are you jealous?” Bingley playfully poked Darcy in the ribs.

“More than I can express.”

“What did you give my sister?” Elizabeth asked.

“It is but a trifle—there was a fine wool shawl in the window. The blue was the exact shade of Miss Bennet’s eyes.” Bingley exchanged a warm glance with Jane.

“It is too much,” Jane insisted.

“You had best become used to gifts, Miss Bennet,” Darcy warned. “My friend expresses his affection by bestowing such things upon those he cares about.”

Elizabeth wondered how it would feel to receive something from Mr. Darcy. The thought thrilled her.

They returned to Longbourn where Mrs. Bennet had tea waiting.

“It is good you are here,” her mama said. “I suspect the rain will begin momentarily.”

She was correct, and soon the sound of rain hitting the window panes filled the room.

Elizabeth brought Mr. Darcy a cup of tea before fetching her own. Mrs. Bennet pulled her into conversation, and she sat for a time at her mother’s side, attempting to listen as the matron rambled about preparations for the ball.

Her mind wandered, and she sought Darcy’s gaze across the room. He raised an eyebrow as if to say Do you require rescuing?

She rolled her eyes and shrugged a shoulder. Darcy pressed his lips together as if to smother a laugh.

Jane leaned closer. “You cannot tell me you do not like him,” she whispered.

Elizabeth had no response. She wished to reply in a manner to deter her sister from pressing the point.

I do not wish to deny it, she realized. It was a strange and thrilling idea.

Darcy appeared at her side. “Miss Elizabeth, I wonder if you might tell me about that painting over there.”

“Oh, yes, Elizabeth, go with Mr. Darcy,” Mrs. Bennet said agreeably. “Jane and I can continue speaking with Mr. Bingley about the ball.” She waved them away, and Elizabeth gratefully set her teacup on the tray and accompanied Mr. Darcy.

“You do not truly wish to know about my great-aunt’s abysmal efforts at oils, do you?” Elizabeth whispered. The aforementioned painting was a truly atrocious landscape her father’s aunt had attempted many years ago. “It hangs there because my father has fond memories of his favorite relation.”

“You looked as though you needed an escape,” Mr. Darcy replied.

“Mama’s conversation can be a trial. She lacks…finesse, so to speak.”

“She reminds me a great deal of my aunt, Lady Catherine.” Darcy led her to the settee near the painting and they sat.

“Does she? In what way?”