Page 120 of The Matchmaker’s Mistake

“You have showed admirable restraint.”

“Do you know what it is to watch a match go wrong and remain silent?”

“No.”

“It is a form of martyrdom the Church has entirely overlooked.”

“I shall write to the bishop.”

“Do not mock me. I am suffering.”

Darcy looked at the untouched sermons. “I can see that.”

“I have two weddings following Easter and four more by June. Two more at least are in the offing, but none of them are yours.” She said it lightly, but her gaze remained upon him. “You need not relate any details, but do tell me you are making progress.”

“I am making progress.”

His mother drew a satisfied breath. “How much?”

“You said you did not need to know.”

“I was speaking under strain.”

He lifted his eyebrows and repeated, “I am making progress.”

“Has she smiled at you?”

“Mother.”

His mother narrowed her eyes. “You are enjoying this.”

He gazed back at her. “A little.”

“That is most ungenerous.”

“You wished me to be happy.”

“I did not expect you to become secretive about it.” She picked up the sermons but did not open them. “Richard called yesterday,” she told him. “He has become very attentive to me, which I find suspicious. A man who has avoided my drawing room since he came of age does not suddenly discover a taste for my company unless there is something afoot.”

Darcy said nothing. Silence remained the safest course whenever Richard and his mother were involved. But his mother with nothing to do was undoubtedly more dangerous to her family than his mother fully occupied. Richard had better marry Miss Finch quickly.

Lent allowed them one entertainment that week, and it was a sober one, a charity concert of sacred music at Lady Ansley’s.

Darcy attended for the reason he now attended everything. He found the Gardiners before the music began. They had established themselves near the front.

A month earlier, the sight of Mr. Aldridge crossing a room towards the Bennet sisters had made Darcy nearly desperate. This evening, as he watched the man bring Miss Bennet a glass of orgeat, he felt only gratitude.

Darcy’s mother was also present. She reached Miss Elizabeth before he did, and as he watched, they moved to sit in a window embrasure, their chairs turned slightly away from the room. Their voices were too low for Darcy to hear above the musicians tuning their instruments.

His mother did most of the speaking. That alone made him uneasy. Her art had always been to say very little while arranging everything.

The conversation was brief. His mother asked something. Miss Elizabeth studied her for a moment, then answered. Darcy could make nothing of it beyond the one fact that unsettled him most. His mother did not ask leave to do things. She did them, and the people concerned were informed afterwards.

But there was no audience but him. No strategically placed third person waited to carry the account across London before supper. Whatever his mother wanted of Miss Elizabeth, she had asked for it in private, which she very rarely did.

When they rose, Miss Elizabeth caught his gaze. She looked curious, not distressed, which left him no wiser than he had been before.

His mother joined him near the door.