Chapter Five The Lemon Biscuit Emergency #2
Georgiana stepped forward. This was her moment. She was the hostess. Her hands were trembling slightly, but she held her head high.
"We are so pleased you could come," she said, her voice soft but clear. "Please, do sit down. We... we have tea."
"And a botanical garden, apparently," Elizabeth said, a small smile touching her lips as she looked at a massive vase of pink roses.
"Those are Robert's fault," Georgiana said quickly.
"I accept full responsibility," Robert declared, stepping forward to bow over Miss Bennet's hand. "I merely thought that such beauty required a proper setting. Though I fear even nature's finest efforts pale in comparison to the guest of honour."
Miss Bennet blushed a deep, becoming rose. "My Lord, you are... exorbitant."
"I am merely accurate." He offered his arm. "Come, Miss Bennet. Let me show you this particular bloom. It reminded me of your..."
He led her away towards the window. The dynamic of the room settled instantly, as if arranged by a choreographer.
Robert clamped onto Miss Bennet, creating a private world of murmurs and smiles by the window.
Richard, sensing his duty, immediately engaged Mrs Gardiner and Georgiana. "Mrs Gardiner, you are from Lambton, therefore you must settle a bet. Robert claims the inn there serves the best mutton in Derbyshire, but I maintain it is the..."
Georgiana, relieved to have a buffer, joined in eagerly, and Mrs Annesley offered quiet, supportive comments.
Which left Darcy and Miss Elizabeth.
Alone. In the middle of the rug.
He watched her take off her gloves. He watched her gaze drift around the room, taking in the grandeur of his London home. It was a beautiful room—high ceilings, fine art, heavy silk drapes. But with her standing in it, everything else seemed to fade into the background.
She looked at him. Her expression was expectant. She was waiting for him to be the host. To be the gentleman.
"I..." he started, then cleared his throat. "I trust the drive from Cheapside was agreeable?"
"It was short," she replied. "And without incident. We did not stumble into any Viscounts today."
"That is fortunate."
"Indeed."
Silence. The sound of Robert making Jane laugh drifted over from the window. The sound of Richard telling a story about a goat filled the other corner.
Darcy looked at the lemon biscuits on the tray. He should offer her one. He should say, I remembered. But the words stuck in his throat. It felt too intimate. Too vulnerable.
Instead, he took a step closer, invading her space just enough to be heard over the others, but not enough to be improper.
"Miss Elizabeth," he said.
"Mr Darcy."
The air between them crackled. It was the same tension that had been there at the Netherfield ball, the same tension from the bookshop. It was the friction of two flint stones striking together.
He took a breath. He had to speak. He had to prove he was not the monster she thought him.
"I trust your family is well?" he asked.
As soon as the words left his mouth, he winced. He had asked that yesterday. It was the dullest, most rote question in the English language.
Miss Elizabeth arched an eyebrow. The corner of her mouth twitched, not quite a smile, but not a scowl either. "My family continues to be well, Mr Darcy, since yesterday. My father is still sarcastic, my mother is still enthusiastic, and my sisters remain unmodified."
"I... good. That is good." He struggled. He looked at her eyes. They were dark, intelligent, and currently dissecting him. "And the... the rest of the family?"
"The rest?" She looked amused. "My cousins? My aunt? The servants? The horses? The chickens at Longbourn? Yes, Mr Darcy. All are thriving. The chickens, in particular, are having a banner year."
Darcy felt his ears burning. "I am clumsy. I apologize. I am not... I do not have the talent for effortless conversation that my cousin possesses." He gestured vaguely towards Robert, who was currently amazing Jane with animated hand gestures.
"Few do," Miss Elizabeth conceded. "Lord Keathley seems to have enough charm for three men."
"He does. It is exhausting."
"And yet," she said, her voice dropping slightly, "you seem to tolerate him. You brought him to Cheapside."
"He brought me," Darcy corrected. "Robert is a force of nature. One does not lead him. One survives him."
She laughed. It was a short, surprised sound, but it settled comfortably in Darcy's chest. He stared at her.
He couldn't help it. The way her eyes crinkled, the way her posture relaxed just a fraction.
She was so alive. In this room of stiff furniture and ancient portraits, she was the only thing that felt real.
He stared. And stared.
Elizabeth stopped laughing. She tilted her head. "Mr Darcy?"
He didn't answer. He was busy memorizing the exact shade of brown in her iris.
"Mr Darcy," she repeated, a little louder. "You are staring."
He blinked, snapping back to reality. "I beg your pardon?"
"You are staring at me," she said, her tone a mix of amusement and challenge. "Do I have something on my face? A smudge of soot? A piece of lint?" She raised a hand to her cheek.
Darcy flushed a deep, humiliating crimson. "No. No, nothing. You are perfectly..." Perfect. "You are perfectly fine."
"Fine," she repeated. "High praise indeed."
"I meant—" He stopped. He was digging a hole. He needed to pivot. He needed to be honest, or at least as honest as he dared. He took a breath, steeling himself.
"I am to meet Bingley this evening," he blurted out.
Miss Elizabeth went still. The playful light vanished from her eyes, replaced by a sudden wariness. "Mr Bingley?"
"Yes. At my club. We are dining." He looked down at his hands, then back at her, holding her gaze. "He does not know I have seen you. He does not know you are in town."
"I see." Her voice was cool again.
"I..." Darcy lowered his voice, conscious of the others in the room. "Would you like me to convey your regards? To tell him you are here?"
It was an olive branch. It was a penance. It was him offering to undo the very thing he had done, to bring Bingley back to Jane, even if it meant admitting he was wrong.
She looked at him, searching his face. She saw at the struggle in his expression, the genuine offer in his eyes. Then she looked past him, towards the window.
Miss Bennet was laughing. Actually laughing.
Robert had said something, and her head was thrown back, her hand on his arm, her face radiant.
She didn't look like a woman pining for Charles Bingley.
She looked like a woman who was enjoying the company of a man who made his admiration undeniably clear.
Miss Elizabeth looked back at Darcy. She saw the question hanging between them. Do you want him back? Do you want me to fix it?
But looking at her, Miss Elizabeth wasn't sure, he could see the thoughts on her expressive face. Was Bingley worth it? Was a man who could be persuaded to leave so easily worth the heartache? And Robert... Robert was here. Robert was trying.
She took a breath. "Do what you will, Mr Darcy," she said softly. "I shall not ask it of you. But I shall not forbid it."
It was a dismissal, but it was also a concession. She was leaving it in his hands.
Darcy nodded slowly. "Understood."
He felt a strange mixture of relief and disappointment. He had offered. She had not jumped at it.
"There is one more thing," he said, before he could lose his nerve.
"One more thing?" Miss Elizabeth asked, her guard still up.
Darcy fidgeted with his cufflink. "Robert. He has made arrangements. For tomorrow evening. Monday, the twenty-third."
"Another raid on Cheapside?"
"No. An outing. He has a box at the King's Theatre. He intends to invite your sister. And your aunt and uncle, of course."
"The Opera?" she looked surprised. "That is very public."
"Robert does not do private," Darcy murmured. "He wants to be seen. With her."
"I see."
"However," Darcy pressed on, his heart hammering against his ribs. "The box holds more than four. And Robert suggested... that is, I suggested..." He stopped, took a breath, and tried to be the man his mother would be proud of. "Will you do me the honour of allowing me to escort you?"
Miss Elizabeth stared at him. An invitation to a musical performance from Fitzwilliam Darcy. To be seen with him, publicly, in society. It was a declaration. It was madness.
"Mr Darcy," she began, "I do not think—"
"Oh, please say yes!"
The interruption came from Georgiana. She had drifted over from the group, leaving Richard to entertain Mrs Gardiner. She stood beside her brother, looking at Elizabeth with wide, pleading eyes.
"Please, Miss Elizabeth," Georgiana said, her shyness forgotten in her eagerness. "I am to go as well. It will be my first time in a box since... since ever! I am terrified. If you are there... I know I will feel braver."
Elizabeth looked at the girl. She saw the genuine anxiety, but also the hope. She saw the way Georgiana leaned slightly towards her brother, drawing strength from him, and the way Darcy looked at his sister with protective adoration.
She looked at Darcy again. He wasn't looking at her with arrogance now. He was looking at her with a raw vulnerability. He was holding his breath.
He had arranged lemon biscuits, she had seen them on the tray.
This wasn't a coincidence. He had endured his cousin's teasing.
He had welcomed her trade-connected relatives into his home.
And now he was asking, with no guarantee of acceptance, for the chance to stand beside her in front of all of London.
Her heart gave a traitorous little thump.
"You are very persuasive, Miss Darcy," Elizabeth said, a smile tugging at her lips.
"Is that a yes?" Georgiana asked, clasping her hands.
Elizabeth looked at Mr Darcy. "The Opera," she mused. "I suppose... I suppose I have not been to the Opera in a very long time."
"Is that a yes?" he asked, his voice low.
"Yes," Elizabeth said. "I would be honoured, Mr Darcy."
The relief that washed over his face was so profound it almost made her laugh. He looked like a man who had just been pardoned at the gallows.
"Excellent," he breathed. "Monday. The twenty-third. We shall collect you."
"I will have to inform my relatives, naturally, but we have no prior engagements that I know of. So, we will be looking forward to it."
The visit wound down shortly after that.
Mrs Gardiner, sensing that enough emotional ground had been covered for one day, gathered her chicks.
Robert protested, of course, claiming he had not yet finished describing the second act of the play he wanted Miss Bennet to see, but eventually, they were ushered towards the door.
"Until tomorrow," Robert said, kissing Miss Bennet's hand.
"Until tomorrow," she echoed, smiling.
"Goodbye, Miss Elizabeth!" Georgiana called. "I shall wear my pink ribbon!"
"Goodbye, Miss Darcy," Miss Elizabeth smiled warmly.
Darcy walked them to the carriage. He handed Mrs Gardiner in, then Miss Bennet. Finally, he offered his hand to Miss Elizabeth.
His palm was warm through her glove. His grip was firm.
"The lemon biscuits," he said suddenly, as she placed her foot on the step.
She paused and looked back at him. "Sir?"
"On the tray. I remembered you liked them. At Netherfield. Did you try them?"
She looked at him. He was blushing again, just slightly, on the tips of his ears.
"I did," she said softly. "Thank you, Mr Darcy. It was very thoughtful of you. They were delicious. Please convey my appreciation to your cook."
She climbed in. The door closed.
As the carriage pulled away, Elizabeth watched him from the window. He stood on the pavement of Grosvenor Square, a solitary figure against the grey stone of his house, watching them go.
"Well," Mrs Gardiner said, leaning back against the squabs. "That was successful."
"The Viscount is very charming," Jane admitted, touching her cheek.
"And Mr Darcy," Mrs Gardiner added, looking at Elizabeth, "remembered your biscuits."
"He did," Elizabeth murmured, touching the spot on her hand where he had held it. "He really did."
And as the carriage turned the corner, Elizabeth Bennet realized with a jolt of panic that she was actually, genuinely, looking forward to the Opera.