Page 60 of The Matchmaker’s Mistake

“Fitzwilliam.”

He turned.

“I have watched you at my evenings. With the Bennet sisters.” She took up the scissors and trimmed her thread.

Darcy’s heart raced. Had she discovered his secret?

“You removed her from Mr. Reed before his second story about the children could become a third and walked her to Georgiana who was very nervous. You thought I had not noticed.” She smiled at him. “You are making amends with great civility. It does you credit.”

“Thank you,” he said, his heartbeat slowing.

He might have told her. But he was not ready, and he did not know that he ever would be.

“Go on, then,” she said. “You have earned your library.”

In the hall, Hewitt took his hat and gloves.

Darcy walked down the hall to the library, where he meant to write a few letters. If his mother wished to call it amends, he would not correct her.

CHAPTER 16

Mr. Stephen Fulford had been speaking of Lisbon for a quarter of an hour without any sign of pausing. As a result, Elizabeth had learned a great deal about Lisbon and almost nothing about Mr. Fulford.

“Of course, the diplomatic mission is in Rio de Janeiro now,” he said, and for a moment Elizabeth feared they were about to begin over with another city. “The Portuguese court is in exile there, and the work would be engaging. It is the city for a man the Foreign Office intends to put to work.”

“It would be an exciting assignment,” she agreed.

“It would be. But a diplomatic household requires a mistress, especially one who can manage a table in two languages.”

“I can decline an invitation in two,” Elizabeth said with a smile. “Does that fulfil the requirement?”

Mr. Fulford laughed louder at her quip than it deserved, which told her that either he had not understood her meaning or was pretending not to. Lady Anne had presented him to her an hour ago with a light touch on Elizabeth’s sleeve and an approving pause before his name—the third gentleman this winter to be introduced in such a manner. Mr. Cresswell had wanted assistance with his parish. Mr. Reed had needed a mother for his children. Mr. Fulford required a hostess for a house in a country across the sea.

None of them, so far as Elizabeth could determine, had wanted her, though she conceded they could hardly be blamed for it. The information Lady Anne had drawn from her was only superficial, and she had not offered anything more.

Elizabeth wished she understood her own feelings. Normally, she would not have minded at all being introduced to new people, even to potential suitors. After Mr. Collins’s terrible offer, she had been put off. But the men Lady Anne had introduced her to were all good men. It was only that none of them knew much about her beyond the information Lady Anne had supplied.

In that way, even Mr. Darcy had the advantage, for although their acquaintance had been at times contentious, at least they knew something about one another. Certainly more than polite conversation could reveal.

“You would like Rio, Miss Bennet,” Mr. Fulford was saying. “The society is small but select.”

“I am sure there is much to admire in it.”

“Then you would not object to such a distance?”

Elizabeth shook her head. “I think I am too fond of England to be a credit to any gentleman settled so far from it. I should rather admire Rio very sincerely from this side of the Atlantic.” It was not entirely true. She would love to travel, should the opportunity ever arise. But to live for years so far from all her family? No, that she would not like.

“Are you so attached to home?”

“Not always, perhaps. Just enough to know when another person’s happiness would require more enthusiasm for faraway places than I could honestly promise.”

Mr. Fulford was not at all discouraged by this, for he smiled and turned to the subject of harbours. Elizabeth’s attention wandered.

She could see Miss Bingley standing near the fire with Lady Finch, appearing well pleased with her evening. Within a quarter of an hour of the Gardiners’ party being announced, she had claimed the company of a Miss Penelope Grantley and settled her on the sofa nearest Mr. Darcy. It was a strange thing, for Elizabeth had always thought Miss Bingley wanted Mr. Darcy for herself.

Miss Grantley laughed a good deal.

Mr. Darcy was clever—Elizabeth had never disputed that. But in the whole course of their acquaintance, she had heard him make a jest perhaps three times, and at least one of those had been nearly indistinguishable from a rebuke. The laughter, therefore, must have another source—or no source at all, she supposed. Did the ladies not understand that Mr. Darcy would not respond well to empty flattery? Miss Bingley ought to know it if her friend did not.