Page 19 of Idle Gossip

“They both want their share in the conversation. My aunt is concerned with everything and everyone within her purview. Your mother strikes me as like-minded in that respect.”

“Lady Catherine is a gossip, then?”

Darcy chuckled. “You have described her accurately. My aunt’s honorific grants her certain liberties. A gossip in one social circle is merely a concerned patroness in another.”

“That is the nature of our society.” Elizabeth did not like it, but it was so. “Impropriety might be called liveliness if the lady has a large enough dowry.”

“That is a bitter take, though I confess it to be true enough.”

“And do you take advantage of society’s beliefs?”

He frowned. “I suppose I do. Some might call my manner eccentric rather than proud. I am dignified instead of arrogant.”

“We have established I misjudged you, sir. Do you use my words against me?”

“Not at all. I am using them to prove a point. Society’s expectations vary based on wealth, rank, and connections. You do not conform to our peers’ dictates. It is something to be applauded.”

He was correct. “Thank you,” she said impulsively.

“For?”

The distance between them felt enormous. “For rescuing me from my mother,” she answered. “I endure her enthusiasm poorly.”

“Yes, your expression grew increasingly desperate. Besides, I wished for your company.”

“Can you read me so easily, sir?” She ought not be surprised, he had spent weeks studying her from afar.

“When one is given the opportunity to learn another’s expressions, one can become proficient,” he said, agreeing with her unspoken thoughts.

“Again, you make your unsettling habits sound romantic,” she teased.

“Is it working?”

She paused, considering. “Yes.”

“Then I shall continue. Why should I change that which already works in my favor?” He grinned triumphantly.

“Goodness, the rain has flooded the drive.”

They looked up. Mary stood near a window, squinting out through the rain-streaked glass.

“Our departure will be delayed then,” Mr. Bingley said. One could not mistake the pleasure in his voice.

“That is good,” Elizabeth murmured.

“Is it?” Mr. Darcy pivoted to face her, an inscrutable expression on his face.

“I meant only that you ought not risk the roads. Your poor coachman would be soaked.”

“Of course.”

He does not believe me in the slightest. Elizabeth did not believe herself, either.

“You never answered my question,” Darcy continued.

“What question?” She could not recall.

“What would happen if I asked for three sets? Would you decline?”