6. Six
Six
Darcy set down his wineglass, his fingers brushing the stem with meditative slowness. Across the table, Miss Elizabeth Bennet’s smile sharpened like the point of a quill, her wit slicing through Caroline Bingley’s carefully laid remarks with the kind of effortless precision that left even him taken aback.
He coughed lightly, though the sound seemed to draw her attention. She glanced at him, her eyes bright with amusement, and for a moment—just a moment—he felt the flicker of a smile threatening to escape.
No. Not here.
He reached for his knife instead, slicing a neat line through the roast on his plate, though he barely tasted it. Across the table, Caroline shifted in her seat, her expression schooled into something meant to resemble poise. Darcy knew better. He could see the tightness in her jaw, the slight rigidity of her shoulders. Miss Bennet had scored a hit, and Caroline was preparing her counter.
“Miss Elizabeth,” Caroline began, her voice sweet enough to curdle. “I must say, your loyalty to your neighbors is rather inspiring. It is such a delight to see someone so... spirited.”
Elizabeth inclined her head, her expression neutral but her eyes alive with challenge. “How kind of you to say, Miss Bingley. I do hope I have not bored you with my observations.”
“Not at all,” Caroline said, her smile tight. “Indeed, I was only just thinking of how important and rare true, spirited conversation is—particularly among ladies. My dear friend Georgiana, for example, always appreciates a good wit.”
Darcy’s hand froze briefly above his plate. The mention of Georgiana was calculated, of course. Caroline wielded her supposed intimacy with his sister like a weapon, and it was a tactic he found increasingly tiresome.
“Your sister is such a treasure, Mr. Darcy,” Caroline continued, turning toward him now with an indulgent smile. “She often writes to me, you know, sharing her thoughts on music, art... so many subjects. Such refinement for one so young.”
Elizabeth’s gaze flicked toward him briefly, curiosity flashing in her eyes. Darcy set down his knife with deliberate care. “Georgiana is indeed talented,” he said evenly. “Though I was not aware she corresponded with you so regularly.”
Caroline’s smile wavered, just for an instant. “Oh, well, perhaps not regularly,” she admitted, her tone airy. “But we have exchanged letters. She is always so eager to hear my thoughts on matters of taste.”
Elizabeth’s mouth curved faintly, like a wolf catching the scent of blood, though she said nothing. Darcy resisted the urge to shift in his seat.
“Your guidance must be invaluable to her, Miss Bingley,” Elizabeth said at last, her voice carrying just enough sweetness to match Caroline’s. “How fortunate that she has you to look up to.”
Caroline straightened, clearly interpreting Elizabeth’s words as genuine. “Indeed. Georgiana is such a darling girl, and I do feel quite protective of her. It is only natural, of course, given my closeness to Mr. Darcy and his family.”
Darcy’s grip tightened briefly on the edge of the table, but he remained silent, his expression impassive. Elizabeth, however, was not so restrained.
“How noble of you, Miss Bingley,” she said, tilting her head slightly. “To take such an interest in a young woman’s development. I am sure Mr. Darcy values your mentorship of his sister greatly.”
Caroline hesitated, clearly unsure whether Elizabeth’s words were sincere or mocking. “Of course,” she said after a moment, her tone clipped. “Could I do less for such a sweet young friend?”
“No, indeed,” Elizabeth replied, her eyes glittering. “Though I must confess, it surprises me that someone of your sophistication and many obligations would have so much time for correspondence.”
Darcy fought valiantly, but in the end, he managed to suppress the urge to smile. Caroline, on the other hand, faltered visibly, her reply catching on her tongue before she could deliver it.
“It is no trouble,” Caroline said finally, her voice brittle. “One must always make time for those in need of guidance.”
“Especially those so young,” Elizabeth added lightly. “I daresay she must look upon you as a second elder sister.”
This time, Darcy did not bother to hide the slight upward curl of his mouth. He reached for his wineglass, taking a measured sip as Caroline’s composure cracked further, her smile slipping just enough to reveal her frustration.
Across the table, Sir William Lucas was regaling Mr. Philips with an account of some long-past hunting adventure, his voice carrying with the cheerful obliviousness of a man accustomed to being indulged. “...and there I was, face to face with the beast! It was a stag of the largest size, I assure you—though I would not expect anyone to believe me without seeing the rack for themselves!”
“Indeed,” Mr. Bennet mused as he lowered his drink. “So large it would not fit through the door of your study, hence the reason you did not take it.”
“Well! I had only just fired and had not yet the opportunity to reload, of course,” Sir William chuckled. “But I assure you, it was the largest ever seen in Hertfordshire.”
“Oh, naturally, naturally.”
Mrs. Purvis, seated nearby, made a polite noise of interest, though she barely looked up from her plate. Darcy caught Elizabeth’s glance flicking briefly in their direction, her lips curving slightly as if in private amusement.
“Mr. Darcy,” Caroline said, turning to him with a forced laugh. “You are far too quiet tonight. Do say something to defend me.”
He set the glass down carefully, his gaze resting on Caroline for a moment before shifting to Elizabeth. “I was not aware that you required any defense, Miss Bingley.”
“Require it? Of course not, but I feel my words have been little understood this evening. You, however, are much more intimately acquainted with my tastes and manner, and surely I need not explain myself to you .”
“Miss Bennet seems to be managing the conversation quite well without my interference.”
Elizabeth’s brows lifted slightly, and for a moment, their gazes held. There was something in her eyes—amusement, yes, but also something sharper, something that made the hair on the back of his neck prickle.
Meanwhile, Mrs. Philips leaned closer to Mrs. Bennet at the far end of the table, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Do you see how Mr. Bingley looks at Jane? I daresay something will come of it soon. Mark my words.”
Mrs. Bennet, practically glowing with anticipation, nodded enthusiastically. “Oh, I have every confidence. Every confidence!”
Caroline’s laugh rang hollow in the silence that followed her exchange with Darcy. “Well, I see I am outnumbered.”
“You speak as if opinions are arrayed against you, Miss Bingley,” Elizabeth said. “How could anything be further from the truth? You have such a talent for commanding attention.”
Darcy cleared his throat, setting his glass down with more force than necessary. “Miss Bingley, I believe the next course is being served.”
Caroline blinked, her irritation poorly masked as she turned toward the servants now entering the room. “Of course. How delightful.”
Elizabeth’s gaze lingered on him for a moment longer, and then she turned back to her plate. And it was as if he never existed.
Darcy focused on his own meal, though he could feel the lingering tension in the room like a taut string waiting to snap. It was not Elizabeth’s words that stayed with him, though they had been sharp and clever as always.
It was the way she had looked at him—curious, questioning, as though trying to see something beneath the surface. He wished she would stop.
And he wished, in equal measure, that she would not.
Elizabeth clasped her hands tightly in her lap, her eyes darting between her mother and Lydia as they fluttered around the drawing room like magpies in a glittering treasure chest. The Bingley sisters sat poised on the elegant settees, their expressions composed as bone china to the casual observer but painfully transparent to Elizabeth. Every raised brow, every faintly curled lip, was a silent declaration: How unfortunate to share a room with such company.
Across the room, Lady Lucas busied herself with a cup of tea, her polite murmurs to Mrs. Philips barely masking her own appraisal of the furnishings. Sir William stood by the fireplace, his stance as jovial as ever as he engaged Mr. Purvis in a loud recounting of the evening’s finer points.
“Oh, look at these curtains!” Mrs. Bennet exclaimed, running her fingers along the edge of the brocade. “Such fine workmanship. Do you not agree, Lydia? They must have cost a fortune!”
“Certainly not what we have at Longbourn,” Lydia agreed. She leaned in closer to the mantle, her fingers trailing dangerously near the delicate porcelain figures displayed there. “I wonder if they’re real gold.”
Elizabeth’s breath caught. “Lydia,” she said, her voice sharper than intended, “perhaps it would be better to admire the room from a little farther back.”
Lydia waved her off with a careless laugh. “Do not be such a bore, Lizzy. You can admire things much better up close.”
“Admiration does not require touching,” Elizabeth snapped. She glanced at Caroline Bingley, whose prettily pursed lips spoke volumes. A faint hum of laughter passed between her and Louisa, and Elizabeth’s stomach tightened. Nearby, Lady Lucas exchanged a pointed glance with Mrs. Goulding, her fan fluttering lightly against her cheek.
Mrs. Bennet clasped her hands together and beamed. “What an exquisite room! Such refinement. Oh, I must tell Mr. Bennet how splendidly Mr. Bingley has furnished his home. May I suppose it was you who oversaw all these arrangements, Miss Bingley?”
Caroline Bingley’s smile was smooth, but there was a faint edge to her voice as she replied, “Most of the credit belongs to my brother, Mrs. Bennet. He does have a certain... exuberance when it comes to pleasing his guests.”
“Exuberance!” Mrs. Bennet laughed, her fan fluttering. “Well, it is a credit to his taste, then. Though I daresay he must have sought your advice for such details. Gentlemen rarely have an eye for these things.”
Elizabeth clenched her hands tighter, praying the earth might open and swallow her whole. Charlotte, devil take her, had been distant and quiet all evening, talking with Jane at the edge of the room. From the corner of her eye, she noticed Lady Lucas’s polite smile tighten, though she said nothing, her gaze lingering on Lydia, who had now moved to the far corner, examining a collection of small silver boxes with far too much interest. Caroline’s gaze followed her, a faint sneer tugging at the corners of her mouth.
“Lizzy,” Jane whispered from the seat beside her, “perhaps you should—”
But Elizabeth was already rising. “Lydia,” she called, her voice firmer now, “I am certain you will find the view from here just as impressive.”
Lydia turned, a pout forming on her lips. “You are no fun, Lizzy. No one minds.”
Elizabeth’s gaze flicked to Caroline, who was now watching the exchange with the air of a cat observing cornered mice. Sir William’s booming laugh punctuated the tension from across the room, though Elizabeth barely noticed. “I mind,” she said firmly, stepping closer. “Come sit with me for a moment.”
Lydia groaned but obeyed, plopping onto the settee with all the grace of a child denied sweets. Elizabeth sat beside her, smoothing her skirts and forcing her expression into one of calm. It was not difficult to see the disdain in Caroline’s posture, the slight angle of her chin as she turned to whisper something to her sister. Louisa laughed quietly, the sound just loud enough to carry. Lady Barrow’s fan fluttered again, though this time it seemed more to conceal a smile than cool her face.
Elizabeth’s jaw clenched. She could not deny the truth of it—her mother’s gushing, Lydia’s impulsiveness, the loud and ungraceful way they filled the room—it was all painfully out of place in a setting like this. But she hated, hated, the way Caroline wielded her disdain as though it were a weapon. As though the Bennets’ flaws were a source of her personal amusement.
“Miss Eliza, you must tell me—do you find the countryside offers much in the way of… refined society?”
Her mother—dash it all—overheard the remark Caroline had directed at Elizabeth and responded herself. “But of course! We dine with four and twenty families! Some of whom you see here, so I should say ‘refined,’ indeed!”
Elizabeth closed her eyes faintly and held her breath at Miss Bingley’s poorly concealed amusement. She gritted her teeth and added, “I suppose that depends on your definition of ‘refinement.’ I find the variety of the countryside keeps one quite sharp. It is difficult to fall into dullness when there is always something—or someone—to keep you on your toes.”
Caroline’s lips pressed together, but she said nothing. Instead, she turned to her sister, murmuring something Elizabeth did not catch, though the faint smirk that followed spoke volumes.
The sound of the gentlemen’s approach was a welcome reprieve. Lydia sprang to her feet at the sight of Mr. Bingley entering the room, and Mrs. Bennet was quick to follow, engaging him in animated conversation as though he were the answer to all her prayers. And Jane’s blush warmed her cheeks as Mr. Bingley came to stand rather casually beside her chair.
Darcy entered last, his dark eyes scanning the room briefly before settling, as they so often did, on her. Elizabeth felt her spine stiffen under his gaze, but she refused to look away. If Caroline wished to play at superiority, Elizabeth would not indulge her further by ceding ground.
Darcy entered the drawing room, letting his gaze sweep over its occupants with the practiced ease of someone who could both observe and remain unseen. Mrs. Bennet was holding court near the fireplace, speaking to Mrs. Hurst while her youngest daughter hovered nearby, her laughter loud enough to bounce off the walls. Miss Jane Bennet stood slightly apart, serene as ever, though Darcy thought he detected the faintest hint of tension in her posture.
And then there was Elizabeth Bennet.
She was seated near the far settee, her expression calm but her eyes alert, as though bracing herself for a storm. Darcy’s gaze lingered on her for half a beat longer than it should have, drawn by the quiet resolve in her posture. She was, he realized with some unease, the only member of her family who seemed entirely aware of how they were being perceived.
“Do come and sit, Mr. Darcy,” Caroline said, her voice lilting as she gestured to the chair nearest her own. “The evening has been most entertaining--, though I daresay we could use a bit of your… ahem… decorum to settle our spirits after the meal.”
Darcy inclined his head and took the seat, and then he took up a book that was resting on the table beside him. He had no intention of indulging Caroline tonight—not when she had spent the better part of the evening making Elizabeth Bennet her target. Her attempts had been as transparent as they were tiresome.
“Mr. Darcy,” Caroline began, her tone honeyed but brittle at the edges, “I was just about to observe to Miss Eliza how charming it must be to grow up in the countryside. Such an inspiring setting for simpler pursuits, I imagine—needlework, flower arranging... perhaps a bit of poetry?”
Elizabeth’s lips curved into a faint smile, though Darcy, from his place near the fire, caught the glint of challenge in her eyes. “Indeed, Miss Bingley. The countryside is a wonderful muse for those with the creativity to appreciate it. Though I confess, I find poetry to be a pursuit fraught with danger.”
“Danger?” Caroline laughed. “What could be dangerous about poetry, of all things? It is the purest expression of love.”
“Oh, I think nothing is more certain to extinguish affection than bad poetry. A single, overwrought verse can do what no rival ever could.”
Darcy’s gaze flicked up from his book, though he kept his expression neutral. He filed away her words with silent amusement.
“Surely you exaggerate,” Caroline said. “Poetry is timeless, an art that moves even the most unfeeling hearts.”
Elizabeth’s brows lifted, her smile sharpening. “Is that why it is so often the refuge of the rejected? A poor sonnet scribbled in haste, with rhyme as its only merit, is a surefire way to drive love out the door.”
Caroline opened her mouth, but Elizabeth was not finished. “Do you not agree, Mr. Darcy?” she asked, turning her gaze to him with mock innocence. “Surely, as a man of letters, you must have encountered your share of poetic catastrophes.”
Darcy, caught off guard, lowered his book. “I suppose I have seen examples where the effort outweighed the effect.”
“How graciously put,” Elizabeth said, inclining her head toward him. “Though I suspect you are merely too kind to share your honest opinion.”
“Mr. Darcy is always kind,” Caroline interjected quickly. “Particularly when others mistake their efforts for accomplishments.”
Elizabeth’s eyes danced with amusement. “How fortunate for us all. There can be no danger in attempting to impress, so long as Mr. Darcy is there to offer his measured approval.”
“Or disapproval, as the case may be,” Darcy said mildly, his gaze meeting hers.
The air between them crackled before Caroline cleared her throat, drawing the attention back to herself. “I am sure Miss Eliza’s preferences are merely a reflection of her... rustic tastes. Simplicity has its own charm, I suppose.”
“Indeed,” Elizabeth replied, her tone careless. “Simplicity is often underrated. It requires no artifice to make an impression.”
Darcy’s gaze lingered on her for a moment longer before returning to his book. He did not need to look up again to know she had bested Caroline entirely.
Caroline’s eyes narrowed just slightly, then she crossed her hands over her lap and fixed her gaze petulantly across the room.
“Lydia, come away from that!” Mrs. Bennet called, flapping her fan as Lydia approached a delicate vase perched on a nearby table. “You’ll knock it over, and I daresay it must have cost a fortune.”
“It is quite stable, Mama,” Lydia Bennet replied, though her hands hovered near the vase as if testing its balance. “I am only looking.”
“You have a way of looking that involves too much touching,” Elizabeth said sharply, rising to intercept her sister. “Come, Lydia. Sit with me.”
Miss Lydia huffed but complied, flouncing onto the settee with an exaggerated pout. Mrs. Bennet, however, seemed unperturbed, turning back to Bingley. “Oh, Mr. Bingley, your house is so exquisitely appointed. I do hope you will call on us soon at Longbourn! I have often thought our drawing room felt so much more cheerful when a gentleman was present.” At this, she shot a withering glance at her husband, who gave every appearance of ignoring her.
Elizabeth stiffened. Darcy saw the faintest flicker of color rise to her cheeks, though she quickly recovered, sitting straighter as though she could physically lift herself above the moment.
“Oh, Mrs. Bennet,”Miss Bingley said, “I am sure your drawing room is perfectly charming. I imagine it reflects your family’s... unique character.”
Darcy felt his ears actually burning, a wave of secondhand embarrassment prickling at his skin. He watched Elizabeth closely, his pulse quickening despite himself. Would she rise to Caroline’s bait, or would she let the remark stand?
Elizabeth turned her head slightly. “Indeed, Miss Bingley. Our drawing room is quite unique—though I imagine it would benefit greatly from your advice. You seem to have a particular gift for... curating appearances .”
Caroline’s smile faltered, her eyes narrowing. There was just enough ambiguity in Elizabeth’s tone to force her to consider whether the remark was truly a compliment or something far more barbed.
From across the room, Charlotte Lucas coughed delicately, her gloved hand lifting to her mouth, though the faint quiver of her shoulders betrayed her mirth. Darcy’s gaze shifted between the two women, his pulse quickening as he watched Caroline Bingley’s composure waver.
“Thank you, Miss Eliza,” Caroline said at last, her voice clipped. “It is always a pleasure to hear your observations.”
Elizabeth’s smile widened, a picture of innocent triumph. “The pleasure, Miss Bingley, is entirely mine.”
Darcy felt a strange surge of satisfaction, though he quickly forced his expression into its usual stoicism. She had not merely answered Caroline’s condescension—she had dismantled it, piece by elegant piece.
She was clever—too clever. And beautiful, though she made no effort to be. Most unsettling of all, she was utterly unafraid to challenge anyone, even him.
This fascination was dangerous. It pulled at the edges of his carefully constructed control, threatening to unravel everything he had spent years mastering. Elizabeth Bennet was a puzzle, yes—but she was also a distraction. And distractions were the one thing he could not afford.
“Mr. Darcy?” Caroline’s voice cut through his thoughts, her tone sharp with impatience.
Darcy blinked, his expression smoothing as he turned toward her. “Yes, Miss Bingley?”
Caroline’s smile returned, though it was tight. “I was simply asking if you would care to add your observations. You have been so quiet this evening.”
Darcy glanced toward Elizabeth once more before replying. And dash it all if the lady was not looking at him with something akin to hope. “I believe Miss Bennet has already said all that needs to be said.”
That was the worst thing he could have said, for Miss Elizabeth actually favored him with a smile.