Page 123 of The Matchmaker’s Mistake

She took Lizzy’s hand. “I thought I loved Mr. Bingley. But the third time Mr. Aldridge visited to see me, I felt it, Lizzy.”

“Felt what?”

“The spark.” Her sister paused. “I do believe I am in love with Mr. Aldridge.”

A deep voice spoke behind them. “You are?”

Jane’s eyes widened.

Elizabeth looked from her sister to Mr. Aldridge, who had gone pale but appeared otherwise capable of remaining on his feet.

“I believe,” Elizabeth said, stepping away, “that I have an urgent need to find Mr. Darcy.”

“Lizzy—”

But Elizabeth was already crossing the room. She found Mr. Darcy near the door and took his arm.

“You appear pleased with yourself,” he said.

“I have done nothing.”

“Your expression suggests otherwise.”

Behind them, Mr. Aldridge drew Jane towards the window.

Mr. Darcy glanced past Elizabeth’s shoulder. “Should we leave?”

“Certainly not.”

He nodded. “Then I shall find us somewhere discreet to stand and observe.”

Elizabeth smiled up at him. “Do you know, you are becoming quite essential to me, Mr. Darcy?”

“That is my intention, Miss Elizabeth.”

Elizabeth had not expected courtship to involve so much conversation, but she did not mind it. Mr. Darcy said he had wasted an entire winter, and he clearly meant to account for every week of it. He told her about his sister at six, refusing to play the pianoforte until she had a dog to play for, about his father teaching him to fish, and about how during his first lesson he had fallen into the river.

He also described his mother’s habit of winning an argument by leaving the room before anyone could answer her.

“I shall have to adopt her methods,” Elizabeth said cheerfully. “They sound unassailable.”

“They are,” Mr. Darcy replied, his tone dry. “Because she is my mother. A son is obliged to let her go. I am under no such obligation to you.”

Elizabeth pretended to consider her chances. “No, I suppose not. And with legs as long as yours, escape would be quite hopeless.” His eyes darkened at that, and she had no idea why.

On Tuesday morning, Mr. Darcy did not come. Instead, his mother did.

Elizabeth walked to the landing when the knocker sounded, for she was expecting Lady Anne’s call.

“You cannot come up,” she heard Edward say stoutly. “Not unless you tell me the secret word.”

There was a pause, and Elizabeth stopped to listen, just to see how Lady Anne would respond.

“I never guess,” Lady Anne said, her voice perfectly audible from Elizabeth’s position. “Guessing is for people with time to spare. Name your price.”

Edward named it. It was, indeed, extortionate.

“Done,” Lady Anne said. “And sixpence over, if you will keep the stair against all comers for the next half hour. I am here on business.”