All Bets are Off (First Impressions)

4. Four

Four

The drawing room at Mrs. Phillips’s house was far smaller and more crowded than Darcy preferred. Low ceilings and too many bodies made the air stifling, and the cacophony of voices felt as though it was conspiring to drive him out. Darcy stood near a narrow window, half-tempted to pry it open for relief.

He should not have come. The wager was a foolish distraction, and this was no place for a man like him. But Bingley had insisted—loudly and with relentless optimism—that “engaging with the neighborhood” would do them both good. Worse, Darcy had agreed, bound as he was to fulfill his side of the challenge.

And so he found himself enduring Mrs. Phillips’s simpering pleasantries, surrounded by people who found his silence inexplicably fascinating.

“Well, Mr. Darcy, I do hope you find Meryton to your liking,” Mrs. Phillips was saying, smiling so hard Darcy feared it might cause her injury. “We are not so grand as London, but we have our charms.”

“Indeed,” he replied, forcing a polite nod.

“Yes,” she continued, oblivious to his disinterest, “our assemblies are modest affairs, but they are most agreeable, as you must have seen for yourself. Why, my niece Elizabeth alone could keep a room lively.”

At the sound of her name, Darcy turned—just slightly—and saw Elizabeth across the room. She was speaking to her elder sister, her posture relaxed but her hands animated as she gestured through some point. She was smiling.

She was always smiling.

But not in the way of her sister, whose face seemed eternally washed in nauseating serenity. No, Elizabeth Bennet seemed always on the verge of laughter—laughter so infectious that it made him want to lean in and learn what she found so amusing.

Dash it all.

Mrs. Phillips followed his gaze, and the woman was on him like a hawk on a mouse. “Why, Mr. Darcy it seems you must quite agree with me! How silly of me to keep you here with my dull chatter when you could speak with someone far more interesting.”

He snapped his focus back. “No, madam, you mistake me. I—”

“No, no, I insist! It would be a shame to miss such excellent company. Do come along, Mr. Darcy. Lizzy?”

Before he could refuse, Darcy found himself propelled toward Elizabeth Bennet like a chess piece moved by an unseen hand.

She turned as they approached, her smile bright and watchful. “Mr. Darcy. What an unexpected delight.”

Darcy inclined his head—there was little else he could do, for Mrs. Philips was fairly holding his feet to the fire. “Miss Elizabeth.”

“I hope you are finding Meryton tolerable,” she said, tilting her head. “Or is tolerable too strong a word?”

Darcy hesitated. The wager demanded civility, but Elizabeth Bennet made it devilishly difficult to remain polite without being drawn into her traps. “I believe I am finding it... lively.”

Elizabeth laughed softly. “Lively? Now that is unexpected. One might almost think you meant it as a compliment.”

“Merely an observation,” Darcy replied before he could stop himself.

Elizabeth raised her eyebrows, though the humor in her eyes betrayed her. “I see. A half-compliment, then. I suppose it is better than nothing.”

“Do you always persist in finding meaning where none was intended, Miss Bennet?”

“Only when the meaning is amusing,” she said, holding his gaze. “And I must confess, you are a most obliging subject.”

Darcy’s mouth twitched, though he schooled it into stillness. “I am pleased to provide entertainment, though it was not my intention.”

“Intentions are overrated,” Elizabeth replied airily. “ Results are far more interesting.”

“I cannot think what ‘results’ you refer to. I should think intentions are what matter.”

“Do they? I suppose it depends on what one intends. As for myself, I only intend to keep you speaking. It is such a rare occurrence, Mr. Darcy, that I feel it a duty to encourage it.”

He narrowed his eyes. “And what makes you so certain I wish to be encouraged?”

Elizabeth smiled again, though there was a sharpness to it now. “Perhaps I am wrong, and you would prefer to glare at the bookshelves instead. I will not stop you, though I imagine the books have little to say in return.”

Darcy exhaled slowly, trying to suppress his irritation. It was not irritation, though—not really. It was the unsettling knowledge that Elizabeth Bennet had managed, yet again, to draw him into conversation without his consent.

He looked at her, truly looked at her, and knew in that moment that no amount of “civility” would be enough to satisfy Bingley’s terms, and nor could his usual aloofness protect him from her. Her wit was a net, and he was caught.

“I find it difficult,” Darcy said finally, “to keep up with you, Miss Bennet.”

“Then I shall endeavor to slow down,” she replied, though the gleam in her eyes promised no such thing.

Darcy’s lips twitched again. He was betrayed by the smallest movement—the kind Elizabeth Bennet always seemed to notice.

“Did you just smile?” she asked, eyes narrowing with exaggerated suspicion. “How extraordinary.”

“I did no such thing.”

“I could swear you did. Perhaps the books are more amusing than I thought.”

Before Darcy could reply—before he could regain the upper hand—a voice edged into his awareness.

“Elizabeth, I believe our aunt wishes to speak with you,” Miss Bennet said gently, approaching with her usual bland smile.

Elizabeth turned back to Darcy, giving him a polite curtsy. “Do excuse me, Mr. Darcy. I shall leave you to the books.”

As she walked away, Darcy stared at the empty space where she had stood. He had managed to remain polite. He had even managed to carry on a full conversation. And yet, he felt less in control than ever.

“Jane, you are being silly. I have done nothing untoward, and you needn’t try to accuse me of any underhanded means. I was perfectly civil yesterday.”

The next day dawned gray and brisk, the clouds low and heavy over Meryton. Elizabeth was grateful for the chill as it gave her excuse to walk briskly, arms tucked close to her sides to ward off the damp.

“All I am saying, Lizzy, is that I cannot believe you spoke so tartly to Mr. Darcy,” Jane continued, adjusting her shawl. “You will frighten him away.”

Elizabeth laughed. “I highly doubt that. Is that why you interrupted us? I had him right where I wanted him.”

“Which is where?” Jane asked, hurrying a little to keep up. “Befuddled and frustrated with that rambling sort of exchange you call ‘conversation’?”

“Oh, do not pity him so much. Mr. Darcy seems impervious to most things, including good cheer.”

“Lizzy!” Jane sighed, though she could not hide a smile. “I only mean to say you might try being kinder.”

“Kinder? I am always kind. It is not my fault he takes offense at every sentence.”

“Kitty, Lydia, you might slow down,” Jane called. “It is still early. I doubt the officers are parading through town at this hour.”

Lydia and Kitty—bouncing ahead as usual—seemed oblivious to both the weather and decorum. “They might be!” Lydia shot back over her shoulder. “And what if we miss them?”

Elizabeth shook her head fondly. “Let them tire themselves. I have no desire to chase redcoats through the mud.” Just as well, for Kitty and Lydia were long gone, and even if Elizabeth and Jane ran to catch them, they would not manage it at this point.

“Do not speak too soon, Lizzy,” Jane said as a peculiar grin overtook her face. “They may not be the only gentlemen you see today.”

Elizabeth frowned. “What do you mean?”

Jane gave her a meaningful look just as a familiar figure appeared ahead, rounding the corner near the haberdasher’s shop. Mr. Darcy, his tall form unmistakable, walked beside Mr. Bingley, who waved immediately upon spotting them.

“Oh no,” Elizabeth said under her breath. “Not the officers, but the generals.”

Good heavens, was she constantly to be faced with the man? Mr. Darcy ought to know well enough that his place was at Netherfield, and he ought not to depart from it without her leave. She sighed. This wager was becoming rather vexing, consuming far more of her time and energies than she liked.

“Miss Bennet! Miss Elizabeth! What an excellent surprise!” Mr. Bingley called cheerfully, making his way toward them with little regard for the mud splattering up from his boots.

Mr. Darcy followed, his pace slower, though there was no mistaking his notice of Elizabeth. She felt it like a weight—no, a presence—that lingered even after he looked away.

Elizabeth curtsied as the gentlemen approached. “Good morning, Mr. Bingley. Mr. Darcy.”

“Good morning,” Bingley replied warmly. “Are you out to take the air?”

“I am not sure there is much air to take this morning,” Elizabeth said, glancing up at the leaden sky. “But yes, we are.”

“It is brisk,” Bingley agreed, apparently untroubled by the chill. “I am convinced a walk does wonders for the spirits, though Darcy insists otherwise.”

Elizabeth turned to Darcy, her smile teasing. “Does he? I should think Mr. Darcy prefers the company of his books.”

“I am fond of exercise when the occasion requires,” Darcy replied. “Though I find this mud less charming than others appear to.”

“Ah, but the mud is all part of the adventure,” Elizabeth said lightly. “Surely you do not let it deter you?”

Darcy glanced at the hem of her gown, already flecked and soggy where the damp had splashed it. “You seem unbothered.”

“One must learn to endure a little inconvenience for the sake of one’s spirits,” she replied. “Or have you not been lectured on the virtues of fortitude, Mr. Darcy?”

Bingley laughed. “You have him there, Miss Elizabeth.”

Darcy’s gaze remained on her, though she could not quite determine its meaning. “Fortitude has its place, Miss Bennet, though I doubt it requires ruining one’s shoes.”

Elizabeth gave a mock sigh, looking down at her half-muddied boots. “A pity, sir, for I was rather counting on clean shoes to make me look respectable. In such a state as this, what am I?”

“A challenge,” Darcy said, almost under his breath.

Elizabeth blinked, startled by the quiet remark. For a moment, she wondered if she had misheard him, but no—he was watching her with that same unsettling directness, as though her words and presence had unsettled him in turn.

She recovered quickly. “How fortunate that I find challenges invigorating.”

“You do seem to,” Darcy replied.

Mr. Bingley, fortunately, had been speaking to Jane, and was mercifully oblivious to Darcy’s words. He grinned broadly and gestured toward the row of shops lining the street. “Since we are all headed the same way, perhaps we might walk together. Darcy was searching for a book—as you see, we have just come from there—and Caroline has sent me to collect a ribbon—though I fear I shall choose the wrong shade and face her wrath. I say, Miss Bennet, allow me to escort you.” Bingley stepped quickly to Jane’s side, offering his elbow.

Elizabeth turned her gaze to the quieter of the two gentlemen. “Book shopping! How very industrious of you, sir. But, I see you have no book in your hand, even after departing the finest shop in Meryton. Were the bookshelves too talkative for your liking?”

Darcy raised a brow. “I thought you had declared them too quiet.”

“Did I? Then you must forgive me. My opinions are so numerous I sometimes forget them.”

Bingley chuckled as he secured Jane’s hand in the crook of his elbow. “Darcy does find books better company than most. He likes silence, Miss Elizabeth.”

Elizabeth tilted her head. “Not all company need be quiet. Some might argue that liveliness keeps the mind sharper.”

“I have never had that particular complaint,” Darcy replied.

“No?” She raised an eyebrow. “Then perhaps you simply need a livelier companion, Mr. Darcy.”

There it was again—that flicker of something behind his expression, quick as lightning and gone just as fast. He held her gaze for a moment before inclining his head. “I shall defer to your expertise on the matter, Miss Bennet.”

The streets of Meryton were busy with morning errands. Shopkeepers swept their stoops, carts rolled past with clattering wheels, and the damp air carried the mingled scents of coal smoke and damp wool.

“You seem very quiet, Mr. Darcy,” Elizabeth remarked after a moment. “I trust you are not overwhelmed by the excitement of Meryton.”

“Not overwhelmed,” Darcy said. “Merely observant.”

“And what have you observed?”

Darcy considered his answer. “That you are determined to provoke me.”

Elizabeth laughed, her breath clouding in the cold air. “Is that so? I believe I am merely being polite.”

“Polite,” Darcy repeated. “You have a very peculiar definition of the word.”

“I prefer to think of it as... lively.”

Darcy almost smiled—almost. “I shall take your word for it.”

Elizabeth glanced sideways at him, curious despite herself. There was something oddly compelling about the way he replied—always measured, always controlled, and never without precision. Yet there was something beneath it that looked very much like a cat toying with its prey. He was unlike any man she had ever met, and for all his faults, she could not deny that he intrigued her.

“Here we are!” Bingley’s voice carried back to them as he stopped before the ribbon shop. He turned toward Jane with an exaggerated sigh. “Miss Bennet, I beg you will assist me. I shall never choose correctly on my own.”

Jane blushed and followed him inside, leaving Elizabeth and Darcy momentarily alone on the street.

Elizabeth turned toward him, folding her hands together. “I believe that is another point in favor of liveliness.”

“How so?”

“Mr. Bingley’s liveliness has spared us all the horror of Miss Bingley’s disappointment,” she said. “Surely even you must admit it is useful.”

Darcy paused, looking at her intently for a moment longer than seemed polite. “I am beginning to see the appeal.”

“Then I have won,” Elizabeth replied, smiling.

“Not yet, Miss Bennet,” he said quietly. “But you are... persistent.”

Her smile faltered—just slightly—because there was something in his voice, something that made her fear that perhaps she was the prey the cat was playing with. How unaccountable!

Before she could reflect further on that notion or make any impertinent reply, Jane and Mr. Bingley emerged from the shop, and Darcy stepped back to let them pass.

“Shall we?” Bingley asked, clearly pleased with his purchase. “Miss Bennet, Miss Elizabeth, we must thank you for sharing the morning with us.”

Elizabeth and Jane curtsied together. “It was our pleasure.”

As they parted ways, Elizabeth glanced back once, just once, to find Darcy still watching her. For all his formality, there was no denying that something had shifted.

And she did not know what to do with that.