CHAPTER ELEVEN
ELIZABETH WATCHED AS Caroline Bingley tried to insert herself into Mr. Darcy’s company the moment they stepped out into the garden.
The air was cool and still, carrying the faint scent of damp earth and roses.
Apollo and Pippin trotted a few paces ahead, their easy companionship a striking contrast to the stiff civility behind them.
Every now and then, Pippin circled back toward Elizabeth before bounding forward again, tail high, as if to ensure both parties were keeping pace.
Caroline, however, seemed less enchanted.
Each time she attempted to draw near Mr. Darcy, Apollo veered subtly into her path, tall and elegant, his presence an unspoken barrier.
Once or twice she tried to pat his head, only to be met with a cool, unblinking stare that made her step quickly away.
Elizabeth might have pitied her if not for the faint amusement curling in her chest.
One thing had become perfectly clear: Miss Bingley’s civility toward her and Jane was only a veil for something far sharper.
Her admiration for Mr. Darcy was plain, and her dislike for any lady who caught his notice equally so.
The effort to hide both under a sheen of elegance was almost admirable—but not convincing.
Jane and Mr. Bingley had drifted ahead, their quiet conversation punctuated now and then by a laugh that carried lightly on the air.
Elizabeth followed at an easy pace, content to watch the scene unfold.
Caroline’s silks swished impatiently as she tried once more to command Mr. Darcy’s attention, but his gaze remained fixed on the dogs playing before him.
Mrs. Hurst, fanning herself despite the coolness of the afternoon, announced she would return indoors. “The damp air never agrees with me,” she said, already turning toward the house.
Caroline lasted only a few minutes longer. When Pippin’s delighted bark rang out, echoed by Apollo’s deeper tone, she flinched. “Good heavens, what dreadful noise! I shall be quite ill if I remain. These creatures are giving me a headache.”
Elizabeth’s smile was polite, though her eyes betrayed her amusement. “They mean no harm, Miss Bingley. Only joy.”
Caroline gave no reply beyond a tight-lipped nod and hurried back toward the house, her perfume trailing faintly behind her.
Mr. Darcy, who had walked a few steps ahead, slowed his stride and turned. “It appears we are abandoned, Miss Bennet.”
Elizabeth hesitated only a moment before joining him. It was the only reasonable thing to do, for he had quite deliberately slowed for her.
“So it would seem,” she said lightly. “I am afraid neither our company nor the dogs could compete with the lure of comfort indoors for Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst.”
“Then I count myself fortunate,” he replied in a lower tone. “I prefer the company that remains.”
Elizabeth’s composure faltered. She glanced down at Pippin, who trotted happily beside Apollo, the two weaving together along the gravel walk like threads in a single pattern.
“They seem content,” she said softly. “Different in every way, yet perfectly at ease.”
“Yes,” Darcy said, his gaze following them. “Perhaps they understand something we do not.”
“You give them too much credit, Mr. Darcy.”
“Or ourselves too little,” he answered, and there was the faintest warmth behind his words.
The path curved toward the tulip beds. From there they could see Jane and Mr. Bingley strolling ahead, their conversation easy and unbroken. Darcy's gaze rested on them for a moment.
"They look very well together," he said at last, nodding toward Jane and Mr. Bingley ahead of them.
"Indeed they do," Elizabeth replied. "Though I confess, I am surprised. I would have thought you disapproved of their attachment."
Darcy's brows lifted slightly. "Why must everyone assume my opinion governs Bingley's choices?"
Elizabeth tilted her head, her eyes alight with gentle mockery. "You have not answered my question, Mr. Darcy. Do you disapprove?"
“Not at all. But I dislike being obliged to explain that Bingley is quite capable of knowing his own mind.”
“Forgive me for asking,” she said, watching him with curiosity, “but you speak as though someone has recently questioned it.”
He gave a short laugh. “His sister may have asked my opinion.”
They walked in silence for a while, the sound of their steps mingling with the rustle of leaves.
Did you give her your honest opinion?" Elizabeth asked at last.
Darcy's jaw tightened slightly. "I gave her the answer I thought prudent."
Elizabeth nodded slowly. "We often do, do we not? Say what is expected rather than what we truly believe."
“I prefer sincerity,” Darcy replied quietly, “though I seldom encounter it.”
“Perhaps you intimidate sincerity out of people,” Elizabeth said, her tone teasing but kind.
He looked down at her, faintly amused. “Do I intimidate you, Miss Bennet?”
“Only when you are silent,” she said with a smile. “It leaves one guessing whether you are judging or merely thinking.”
“I shall try to speak more, then,” he said. “Though that may not improve your opinion of me.”
“Not at all,” she replied. “It only makes you more—human.”
He glanced away, clearly unsettled but not displeased. After a moment, he said, “I was speaking recently with Bingley and his sisters, and it recalled something I said to you at the assembly.”
Elizabeth’s steps faltered. Her heart gave an unsteady beat. “Which comment, sir? The one concerning my dog’s being overly independent?”
“You know I do not refer to that. If I still thought as I did that evening, I should never have allowed Pippin and Apollo to play together.”
Elizabeth raised a brow. “Indeed.”
"I have been wanting to speak to you," he said quietly, "about what I said to Bingley during the third dance at the assembly."
Elizabeth's step faltered slightly. "Oh," she said, her voice carefully even. "It is of no consequence, Mr. Darcy. People speak their minds freely in society. I should hardly take offense if one gentleman among many finds me... unremarkable."
"You mistake me entirely," he said, turning to face her fully.
"I did not mean to dismiss the matter. I meant to offer you my sincerest apology, both for the words themselves and for the inexcusable vanity that produced them.
They were unworthy of a gentleman, and even more unworthy of their subject. "
She looked up at him, arrested by the gravity in his tone.
For a moment she could not decide whether to laugh or be genuinely moved.
"You are very kind, sir," she said at last, "though I confess I am not certain an apology is required.
After all, it is no great tragedy if I am not handsome enough to tempt you. "
His expression tightened. "Then you did hear me. The precise words."
"Every syllable," Elizabeth replied. "I am a poor liar, Mr. Darcy. I have always prided myself on honesty, even when it is inconvenient."
"That is a quality I esteem greatly," he said quietly.
Her brow arched, though her lips curved with faint amusement. "Esteem is a weighty word, sir. You had best take care how you use it. If a servant should overhear, I shall find myself engaged to you by suppertime."
A smile, genuine and unguarded, crossed his face. "Ah. The rumors. Miss Bingley informed me of them not two days ago. It seems half of Meryton has concluded we are forming an attachment."
"An easy mistake," Elizabeth said lightly. "They observe Apollo and Pippin's devotion and assume their masters must share it. I hope those rumours do not make their way to Kent.”
“To Kent?” Darcy repeated, glancing at her with mild curiosity. “I should not care where they travel. Those who choose to believe without seeking truth are at liberty to think what they please.”
Elizabeth coloured slightly. “I only thought—well, I heard you were to marry your cousin soon. I suppose rumours of this kind might cause some confusion.”
Darcy’s brows drew together, then he gave a short laugh.
“Marry Anne? I see Mr. Collins has been industrious with his tales. No, Miss Bennet, I am not engaged to my cousin, nor is there any arrangement of that kind. My aunt may fancy the notion, but my cousin and I are perfectly agreed that it shall never be.”
“Mr. Collins spoke with much confidence on the matter,” she said.
“His confidence and my aunt’s opinion do not alter the truth,” Darcy replied calmly. “If I am ever to marry, it will not be from duty or convenience but for regard. No arrangement, however proper, can supply that.”
Elizabeth swallowed hard, unsure whether she ought to speak or remain silent. She felt an unexpected warmth rise in her chest—a mingling of relief and something far more dangerous.
Before she could trust herself to reply, Jane’s clear voice called from ahead, “Lizzy! Mr. Darcy! We are returning to the house. The air grows chill.”
Elizabeth glanced toward her sister, grateful for the reprieve. Darcy looked at her once more, his expression composed but unreadable.
“Shall we follow?” he said.
“Yes,” she managed, smiling faintly. “Before we give Meryton any new material for its stories.”
***
THE AFTERNOON WANED into a soft gold haze, and by the time the Bennet sisters took their leave, the lamps in Netherfield’s hall had been lit.
The house glowed with quiet elegance, its windows catching the last light of day.
Mr. Bingley insisted on escorting them himself, along with Mr. Darcy, Miss Bingley, Mrs. Hurst, and a somewhat pale Mr. Hurst, who appeared to have been recently coaxed from his chamber.
“My apologies, Miss Bennet,” Mr. Hurst said, dabbing his brow with a handkerchief. “I would have joined you earlier, but I am afraid I have suffered greatly from a bad piece of fish. Abominable stuff. I should have known better than to trust Cook’s optimism.”
Mrs. Hurst gave him a reproving glance, while her brother laughed. “Then we are fortunate to see you on your feet again, Hurst. Though I hope the fish has not spoiled your spirits, for we shall soon have reason to celebrate.”
He turned to Jane, his eyes alight. “I had hoped to tell you earlier, Miss Bennet, but perhaps now is the perfect moment. I am to host a ball here at Netherfield next week. It was, in fact, what took me to Colonel Forster the morning you saw me. The invitations shall go out in a day or two.”
Jane’s eyes brightened. “A ball, Mr. Bingley? How delightful. I am sure all of Meryton will be overjoyed.”
Caroline smiled thinly. “Indeed. I dare say the neighbourhood will never recover from its excitement.”
Elizabeth caught the faint note of disdain and merely replied, “We shall look forward to it most sincerely, Miss Bingley. Few things bring people together so pleasantly as a dance.”
“Quite so,” said Mr. Bingley, laughing. “And you must promise me the first set, Miss Bennet. I shall not rest until you do.”
Jane blushed and inclined her head. “If I am present, sir, you shall have it.”
Darcy said little as they moved through the hall, though his gaze lingered more than once upon Elizabeth, who was fastening Pippin’s leash. The little spaniel tugged toward the door, her tail beating the marble floor in joyful rhythm, Apollo pacing beside her in clear reluctance to part.
“Come now, my girl,” Elizabeth murmured, bending to fasten her cloak. “You cannot live at Netherfield, much as you would like.”
Outside, the evening air was cool and scented faintly of rain. The carriage waited at the foot of the steps, the horses shifting in their traces. Pippin barked once, turning a pleading eye toward Apollo, who stood watching from beside his master.
“It appears they share a reluctance to part,” Darcy said quietly as he came to Elizabeth’s side.
"Indeed," she replied with a faint smile. "I fear keeping them apart will soon prove impossible."
His eyes held hers. "Then perhaps," he said quietly, "we should not try to keep them apart. I should like Apollo to see Pippin again. And I should very much like to see you."
Elizabeth felt her breath catch. The simple words, spoken so softly, carried a weight that startled her. He offered his hand to help her into the carriage, and when she placed her gloved fingers in his, she was aware—too aware—of the warmth that lingered there.
“Thank you, Mr. Darcy,” she managed.
He inclined his head. “A pleasure, Miss Bennet.”
Jane was already seated, her cheeks bright with the cold and something more. “Good evening, Mr. Bingley,” she said as he stepped back.
“Good evening, Miss Bennet. I shall hope to see you soon.”
With farewells exchanged, the coachman flicked the reins. As the carriage began to move, Pippin gave one last bark. Apollo answered with a single deep tone before trotting a few steps after them, only stopping when Darcy called him back.
Inside, the sisters sat in companionable silence for a time. Then Jane turned, her smile soft but knowing. “He admires you, Lizzy.”
Elizabeth blinked. “Who, Mr. Darcy? Nonsense.”
“Nonsense?” Jane repeated gently. “I saw how he looked at you, how he spoke to you.”
Elizabeth turned her face toward the window. The lantern light from Netherfield flickered faintly behind them, and in the distance, she could just make out a tall figure still standing at the foot of the steps.
“You imagine things, dearest,” she said, though her voice lacked conviction. “He is civil, that is all.”
Jane’s hand found hers. “And yet you are smiling.”
Elizabeth pressed her lips together, but the smile remained. “Then perhaps civility has its charms after all.”
As the carriage rolled down the lane, she cast one last glance back toward Netherfield. Darcy was still there, Apollo at his side, the pair dark against the glow of the house. For reasons she could not name, the sight warmed her more than the clothe about her shoulders.