Page 58 of The Vanished Bennet Sister

Elizabeth was pleased by the way matters turned out. Mary was her immediate younger sister, the one who was next in their line of sisters and in some ways the one Elizabeth had always understood best after Jane. They both shared a trait that Jane did not have and that Lydia and Kitty had too much of: they were both deeply interested in specific subjects, and both kept their deepest interests at some remove from public display.

Elizabeth was glad Mary had Mr Thwaite, who was the only person who had encountered that trait in her sister and not found it wanting.

At the moment, Jane was in the park with Mr Bingley, chaperoned by Lady Hamilton. Mr Bingley had proposed a day before, as the two were out in the garden planting Jane’s favourite flowers, an event Jane had described as being exactly what she hoped for. She had moved through the house afterwards with a wide-eyed, fanciful stare that made it clear that she was quietly astonished by Mr Bingley’s romantic request for her hand in marriage.

Elizabeth sat in the drawing room with a book in hand. Amidst the season’s events to attend and everything else, she had a lot of reading to catch up on.

Kitty had her face inches from the window glass, which she had claimed offered superior light for reading, but dismantled her own point by not holding any book.

Lydia was on the sofa and she picked up a piece of needlework that Elizabeth was fairly certain had not moved in three weeks.

"He is on the steps," Lydia said without glancing up, a smile creeping along her face.

Elizabeth turned a page, her heartbeat increasing. "Who is?"

"You know perfectly well who."

Kitty burst into laughter, her hand shielding her face.

"Kitty," Elizabeth said, "you can see perfectly well from a chair."

"The light is better here."

Elizabeth set the book down and smoothed her skirt, which did not require smoothing, but she did so anyway. The act made her cognisant of the full extent of her own ridiculousness, which she accepted hesitantly.

She felt as if she had suffered an inexplicable reverse. She had never been the sort of person to act anxiously in the presence of a caller. She did not recognise herself in the behaviour. She chose to attribute it to residual exhaustion from recent events.

This was a sensation she had watched in Jane with fond amusement, had observed it in Mary with tenderness, and privately maintained confidence that her own disposition was too clear-sighted for such susceptibility. She was being educated out of this at great speed.

In the days since they had found Mary, Mr Darcy had been…attentive was the word she found for it, because it was the most accurate. He had sent a note the day after to enquire after Mary's recovery, which was kind and appropriate. He had sent a second note to enquire after Elizabeth's own rest and health, which was more specifically directed.

Then he had begun calling on the Bennets. On those occasions, he had asked politely after Mary before requesting to speak to Elizabeth in a register she would have had to be considerably less perceptive than she was to mistake for mere social courtesy.

He had turned to her, during those moments, with an expression she had spent weeks misreading and now read correctly: not assessment, judgment or the studied regard of a man forming verdicts. It was the kind of attention that belonged to the person it was directed to without hesitation, making it clear they were the subject of interest.

She had responded to this with what she hoped was adequate composure, but Lydia's suppressed amusement suggested that may not be the case.

She was in the full and somewhat vertiginous condition of a woman who had fallen in love with someone and had not yet quite accustomed herself to that fact. It produced specific symptoms: an air of heightened alertness in any room where he was present, a tendency for her thoughts to arrange themselves around recent conversations with him in the intervals between other subjects.

And—this was the symptom she found least dignified—a propensity to blush deeply when his name was mentioned without warning, which Kitty and Lydia had noticed and were exploiting, having been waiting for an opportunity of that exact kind.

Mr Darcy was let in by the butler, who exchanged some words of greeting before directing him towards the drawing room.

When he entered, he greeted the room with appropriate civility, and then looked at her.

It was a direct look. It made no pretence of scanning around the room. His gaze, from across the room, communicated what she could not reduce to words but which she understood without difficulty.

She was glad she had set down the book, after all. The thought of further sudden movement made her anxious.

Kitty and Lydia performed a brief and unconvincing theatre of greeting and then returned to their respective pretences. A maid poured the tea, and Mr Darcy picked up the cup to drink, whereas Elizabeth managed a tiny sip before setting hers back down on the tray.

"I hope all is well," he said.

"Quite so. Jane and Mr Bingley are out together. Mary and Mr Thwaite are growing more settled around each other, and she is more herself than ever. We owe you a very significant debt, Mr Darcy."

"The debt is not mine to claim."

"You are deflecting a true expression of gratitude."