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Her high spirits lasted throughout the walk to town, and even after entering Meryton — until she encountered Mrs Long.

“My dear Miss Elizabeth!” Mrs Long said, taking her hand. Elizabeth liked the older woman and believed the feeling was reciprocated, but she could not like the calculating look she caught in Mrs Long’s eye before her expression settled into a wide, determined smile. “What a pleasant day considering the season, my dear. Are you well? You look it, and I am so glad.”

“I am well,” Elizabeth said. “You are very kind.”

“And Mr Bingley?” Mrs Long asked, crossing the bridge from greeting to information gathering with barely a pause. “Is he well? I expect you see him quite often.”

“We are engaged,” Elizabeth agreed pleasantly, “so I do see him with some regularity, yes. He is quite well, thank you.”

“Of course you do, my dear, of course,” Mrs Long said, nodding rapidly. “I am so glad to hear that he is well. And speaking of your engagement, you must be quite absorbed with planning the wedding. What is the date? I don’t believe I’ve heard anything regarding the date.”

“We have not yet fixed a date,” Elizabeth said. “We are enjoying a longer engagement.”

Mrs Long’s pleasant expression flickered. It was a brief shift, but Elizabeth was experienced in the non-verbal language of Meryton matrons and drawing rooms, and she read it clearly. It said that Mrs Long had already heard of the long engagement, Elizabeth had just confirmed what she had heard, and she did not consider that positive news. “Ah,” she said. “Well. That is certainly…one’s engagement is definitely a time to be enjoyed. I remember the time when I was betrothed to Mr Long with great fondness. Although…” She trailed off.

“Although?” Elizabeth prompted. Long years of familiarity with her mother’s friend and frequent partner in gossip told her it would be impossible to escape the conversation until Mrs Long shared her thoughts on the length of the engagement.

Mrs Long looked at her with the determined, slightly pitying expression of a woman determined to help a less experienced girl along. “It is merely that one hears things,” she said delicately. “In a small town like ours, one always hears things, do they not? I would not have you believe that anyone means you ill, for of course they do not, but this situation is somewhat novel, to be sure, and people do wonder. Indeed, they wonder, sometimes, whether a longer engagement is a sign of something that a shorter engagement might not be, if you take my meaning.”

The only meaning Elizabeth took was that the town was filled with a group of small-minded gossips, but she doubted that was what Mrs Long was attempting to indicate. “I see,” she said evenly.

“You do? I am so glad,” Mrs Long said. “It is just that those who wonder…well, many of them wonder whether a long engagement indicates that Mr Bingley is perhaps…that is, that things between you are not entirely… I am sure it is none of my concern, my dear, and I know it is nothing of the sort, but you must understand that there are those who might think that a long engagement indicates that…”

“That Mr Bingley intends to withdraw,” Elizabeth finished helpfully.

Mrs Long nodded vigorously, looking relieved that Elizabeth had been the one to say the words aloud. “Exactly, my dear! Of course, only those without a proper understanding of Mr Bingley’s character would have that thought,” she added quickly. “I am sure that he has no such intent.”

“He is entirely honourable,” Elizabeth agreed, for once feeling perfectly sincere.

“Of course he is. Of course,” Mrs Long said, her nodding starting again. “I only thought that you should know about the people wondering, my dear, because if anyone were to think there was a possibility that… Well. A girl’s reputation is a delicate thing, you know. There is likely no concern at all, in fact, I am certain that there is not, but I would not want you to be unaware of what may be said.”

Elizabeth thanked her for her concern, assured her that she understood that Mrs Long herself was not saying anything untoward, agreed that it would come to nothing, and extracted herself from the conversation as quickly as politeness allowed.

She walked rather faster than usual to the haberdashers, and selected her colours with somewhat less care than she might have. When she was finished, she stepped back onto the street with a considerably less cheerful outlook than she had enjoyed before meeting Mrs Long. She decided she needed a distraction and settled on the lending library.

She made her way to the small, grey building, but she had not gone two steps within the door before she saw Mr Darcy.

He was standing before a shelf near the window, two volumes tucked under his arm while he read the spine of a third, his attention entirely focused on the book in his hand. He looked, Elizabeth thought, rather out of place in the small, shabby lending library, rather like a large and glossy thoroughbred would look hitched to a dusty hitching post outside a small roadside inn. Two ladies near the centre desk were still with the kind of vibrant stillness that indicated repressed excitement. Elizabeth smiled.

He looked up as she approached, looking briefly as surprised to see her as she had been to see him.

“Mr Darcy,” she said. “This is unexpected.”

“Miss Elizabeth,” he said, inclining his head. “I find that I have exhausted the Netherfield library, and have decided to look elsewhere.”

Elizabeth blinked in some surprise. “You have exhausted the library entirely?”

“In the areas that interest me,” he amended. “I would not want to malign the collection, which is more than adequate in most areas. But it was assembled some years ago and has not been much developed since.”

“That was precisely my impression,” Elizabeth agreed, moving to look at the volumes arranged atop the shelves in a display. “One feels it was put together by someone of excellent taste, but then forgotten about and not touched since. Like a meal prepared by an excellent cook, but left uneaten on the table until it is less savoury than when it was fresh.”

He nodded. “A most apt, if unappetising, description,” he said with a smile.

“Unread books are always somewhat melancholy,” Elizabeth said. “You have, I suppose, a far superior selection at Pemberley,” she said, knowing it was a mild provocation, and deciding she did not mind.

Her provocation did not reach its target. “It is a very good library,” he said, with a warmth that was entirely free of pride. “My father, and his father before him, were great readers. I have continued to add to it where I can.” He paused. “We have expanded out of the main library, in fact, and there are three chambers of books adjacent to it. The oldest volumes are kept in the east room, which is an internal room, allowing the temperature to remain more consistent. The others are arranged by subject, though I confess the system has become somewhat unwieldy as the collection has expanded. I have been meaning to review it and possibly investigate plans to expand the library. I should like to leave it better than I found it, and that is a considerable challenge.”

Elizabeth had intended to tease him a bit about the library and Pemberley in general. It was most inconvenient that instead, he had inspired her with a desire to see his library. She took a book off the shelf and examined it, a bit at a loss. “I hope I have not made you miss it unduly with my questions.”