Page 64 of The Matchmaker’s Mistake

They finished their circuit of the conservatory shortly after.

“Are you any warmer now?”

“Much.”

They returned to the drawing room, where he bowed to her. “I hope the remainder of your evening, Miss Elizabeth, is less well organised than its beginning.”

She smiled at him. “I thank you, Mr. Darcy. I hope the same for you, or that at least your mother will allow you to remain indoors.”

Miss Grantley sang after tea in very proper Italian with Mr. Fulford in the first row, leaning forward whenever she reached a difficult passage. At the final note, he was the first to applaud. Miss Grantley lowered her eyes to him as she curtsied.

The company broke apart again as the chairs were moved back. Mr. Bingley laughed at something one of the gentlemen had said, and the whole circle followed. Jane stood beside him, smiling down at her folded hands.

By eleven, shawls were being fetched and carriages called. Lady Anne followed them into the hall to wish her uncle a good evening. She embraced Jane and Mrs. Gardiner before taking Elizabeth’s hand between both of hers. She gave it one firm press, smiled, and released her.

The cold was biting when they stepped outside, and so they hurried to the carriage, her uncle handing each of them in before swinging up himself. A footman shut the carriage door behind them, and Aunt Gardiner drew the rug across their knees.

“You vanished for three-quarters of an hour,” she said to Elizabeth, “and came back looking rather pleased with yourself.”

“Mr. Darcy showed me the conservatory.”

“For three-quarters of an hour? It must be a remarkable room.”

“It smelled wonderful. Mr. Hurst was asleep under the lemon tree.”

“I cannot say I am surprised,” Uncle Gardiner replied. “If there is one man who can transform any room he enters into a bedchamber, it is Mr. Hurst.”

That observation carried them through most of the ride home, for her aunt was weary and Jane was silent. Later, as Elizabeth prepared for bed, her sister came into her room and stood behind her at the dressing table while she brushed out her hair.

“Lizzy?”

“Mm.”

“Do you think that—” Jane stopped. Elizabeth watched in the glass as her sister folded a bit of her nightrail into a pleat and smoothed it flat again. “Miss Grantley sang very well,” Jane said.

“She did. Mr. Fulford thought so too.”

“Yes. I saw you and Mr. Fulford speaking together, and then later, he was with Miss Grantley. I would have been upset for you, had I not seen the rather satisfied expression on your face.”

“My expressions are always a model of Christian charity.”

Jane shook her head, kissed Elizabeth’s cheek, and went away. She never did say what she had come to discuss.

Long after the house was quiet, Elizabeth sat in her bed with her knees drawn up and the blankets wrapped around her, still thinking about the evening. Mr. Darcy had surprised her, for he had not only been kind but actually solicitous tonight. He had even made her laugh. He must be very fond of his mother to go to such extremes to please her.

It made him seem more human, somehow. More like a man she might⁠—

Elizabeth pulled the bed curtains closed and went to sleep without finishing the thought.

CHAPTER 17

Darcy was at his letters when Hewitt announced Bingley, and one look was enough to know that something was badly amiss. Bingley’s cravat had been tugged at until it was nearly unknotted. He must have run his hands through his hair, for it was sticking out on one side. He came three steps into Darcy’s study, stopped, picked up the letter knife from the desk, and set it down again.

“For pity’s sake, Bingley,” he said, moving to the sideboard to pour his friend some wine. “What has happened?”

“I have been at Gracechurch Street,” Bingley said. He stopped. “I had better say it plainly, Darcy, or I shall not be able to say it at all. It is over. Miss Bennet has ended it.”

Darcy put the bottle down. “She refused your offer?”