Page 66 of Dear Friend

“And if he does,” Bingley replied, “then you shall remain here until it is safe, and Caroline may complain of having too much company instead of too little.”

Jane laughed, and even Elizabeth could not suppress a smile at the uncomplicated sincerity with which he said it.

Mrs. Hurst rang for fresh tea while arrangements were made, and the conversation mercifully drifted from roads and carriages to safer ground. Bingley entertained them with some small misadventure at Colonel Forster's table, while Mr. Hurst roused himself long enough to correct one particular before subsiding once more into contented silence. Miss Bingley, having gained little from the discussion, occupied herself with the tea and directed towards Darcy only the occasional glance, each one more expressive than anything propriety permitted her to say aloud.

Darcy remained near Elizabeth when the general conversation resumed. He contributed little while Bingley held everyone's attention, but Elizabeth found herself listening for his occasional remarks with rather more interest.

“You look like you have had a trying day, I think, Mr. Darcy,” she said when the conversation allowed it.

His brows lifted. “Have I?”

“You have spent several hours dining with a company of officers. Unless I have greatly mistaken your character these past weeks, I cannot imagine you went eagerly.”

The smile that touched his mouth was immediate. “You begin to know me too well, Miss Elizabeth.”

Elizabeth laughed softly. “Then I am right.”

“Nearly. Colonel Forster is acquainted with my cousin Richard, and I have met him before. When he learnt I was staying at Netherfield, an invitation followed which would have been discourteous to refuse.”

“So you were not forced to attend.”

“Not in any sense that would satisfy a court of law.”

“But sufficiently for your own conscience?”

“Precisely.”

Elizabeth smiled. “Then I withdraw my sympathy.”

“I had not realised it was so easily lost.”

“You valued it too late.”

“I shall endeavour to be quicker next time.”

There was something so easy in the exchange that Elizabeth almost forgot the others were present. A fortnight ago she would not have imagined Mr. Darcy capable of such quiet playfulness, and perhaps that was what continued to surprise her most. He had not become a different man with greater acquaintance. Rather, she had begun to suspect that the man she first observed at the assembly had been only the part of himself he permitted strangers to see.

“And what of your afternoon?” Darcy asked. “Was it more agreeable than mine?”

Elizabeth glanced towards Miss Bingley, who was occupied in saying something to Jane. “I believe it would be ungrateful to answer that question honestly while I remain beneath your friend's roof.”

Darcy followed her glance, and understanding appeared at once in his expression.

“I see.”

“I rather thought you might.”

He looked back at her, and for a moment the amusement between them needed no further explanation. Elizabeth felt again that peculiar ease she had begun to associate with his company, the pleasure of saying very little and somehow being understood entirely.

“You are glad to be going home, then?” he asked.

“I shall be glad to see Longbourn,” she allowed. “Though I cannot say the afternoon has been entirely without compensation.”

Darcy's gaze held hers. “No?”

Elizabeth became suddenly conscious of what she had implied.

“No,” she said, with rather more composure than she felt. “Not entirely.”