Page 10 of The Servants’ Matchmaking

His expression altered. Something closed in it, then opened again by choice. "I have given you reason to say that."

The assembly stood between them, plain as a wall. He had brought it there himself, and they both knew it.

"Mr. Darcy, I did not mean to invite an apology."

"That does not make one unnecessary. I spoke of you with discourtesy. Worse — I spoke for the purpose of dismissing a friend's invitation, and let you bear the insult of it. I am sorry."

No defence followed. No explanation of boredom, or strangers, or an injured pride he might have hidden behind. Just the plain admission, offered without decoration. Elizabeth had prepared herself, somewhere in the back of her mind, to enjoy his discomfort if the moment ever came. The preparation now embarrassed her considerably.

"Thank you. I accept the apology."

His shoulders eased by some small degree, a loosening she could see happen. "You are generous."

"Do not press your advantage."

That nearly amused him. She watched him decide not to smile, and lose the argument with himself.

Sarah entered carrying a note for Elizabeth. Mrs. Nicholls wished to know whether Jane preferred broth or white soup at dinner.

"Broth," Elizabeth said at once. "She will claim white soup and eat three spoonfuls out of politeness."

Sarah curtsied, and before leaving, glanced towards the window with what Elizabeth would later swear was deliberate timing. "The south terrace is dry, miss. Mrs. Nicholls thought you might take the air while Miss Bennet sleeps."

"Did she?"

"Yes, miss."

Elizabeth could not, for the life of her, imagine Mrs. Nicholls thinking any such thing unprompted. She looked at Darcy.

"Your valet's influence extends to weather reports now?"

"McKeever is cautious about my boots."

"Then we should not disappoint him."

The invitation had left her mouth before she had properly examined it. Darcy examined it for her, and his expression shifted — surprise first, then a cautious warmth he could not quite suppress.

"Would you care to walk on the terrace, Miss Elizabeth?"

"For ten minutes. Jane may wake."

They left through the long window into air that smelled of wet stone and leaf mould, sharp and clean after the sickroom's warmth. Water dropped from the yews in fat, irregular beads, but the terrace itself lay clear and dry underfoot.

They walked within sight of the house. That ought to have satisfied propriety entirely. It did not satisfy Caroline, who appeared at a drawing-room window and watched them with the rigid attention of a woman counting minutes. Elizabeth turned her back to it, refusing to give the window the satisfaction of her face.

"Miss Bingley believes the country has no diversions."

"Miss Bingley requires an audience for every diversion she undertakes. The country is innocent of the charge."

He gave the judgement without hesitation, and Elizabeth found herself wondering whether candour became him better than civility ever had.

"You are severe with your friend's sister."

"I am accurate."

The reply should have offended her. Instead its sheer frankness drew a laugh she had not meant to give him at all.

"That was my defence of observation a moment ago. You opposed it."