Chapter Five The Lemon Biscuit Emergency #2
"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, eyeing 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 dance master.
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 glanced 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 not to be heard by the others, but not enough to be improper.
He cleared his throat. "Miss Elizabeth."
"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 gazed at her eyes. They were dark, intelligent, and currently dissecting him. "And the... the rest of the family?"
"The rest?" She asked 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 apologise. 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 could not 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 did not answer. He was busy memorising 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 searched his face. She saw 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 did not look like a woman pining for Charles Bingley. She was a woman enjoying the company of a man who made his admiration undeniably clear.
Miss Elizabeth turned back to Darcy. She saw the question hanging between them. Do you want him back? Do you want me to fix it?
But Miss Elizabeth was not 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. "I shall not ask it of you. But I shall not forbid it."