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“She likes you, Bingley. She loves you.”

“Do you know her so well then?” he queried.

“I know she does not possess a bit of guile. And anyone with a pair of eyes can see she is enamored. Why, the whispers I heard at the Netherfield Ball attested to it.” Darcy was not fabricating it. Besides Mrs. Bennet’s pronouncements, Sir William had said something, and no fewer than four ladies had spoken of the future nuptials.

“I should like to propose before Christmas,” Bingley admitted. “I meant to go to town after the ball and have my solicitor begin drawing up the contracts, but I did not wish to be parted from her.”

“I can hardly blame you,” Darcy agreed. “The Bennets’ company is preferable to traveling in the cold. Perhaps you could write a letter?”

“He would never be able to read it,” Bingley laughed. “Perhaps I should hire a secretary.”

“If you are insistent, I shall help you pen a legible missive. You can sign it and write a brief note explaining why the directions are not in your writing.”

“That is capital! And then I am not required to leave Hertfordshire. Very well, we shall do it…but perhaps not until after I propose.”

The carriage turned to enter Longbourn’s drive, and Bingley’s attention shifted out the window. Darcy thought of Miss Elizabeth, her lively disposition, and her beguiling eyes. Would he, too, have the chance at happiness with a Bennet sister?

They were welcomed warmly as they entered Longbourn’s vestibule. “The ladies are in the west drawing room,” Hill told them. “Mrs. Hill will announce you.”

Still slightly cold from the journey, Darcy eagerly followed the housekeeper. He wished to be by the fire. Bingley went ahead of him when Darcy paused to remove his scarf, which he had neglected to hand to Mr. Hill.

A tug on his sleeve made him turn to find Miss Bennet pulling him into a small parlor.

“Miss Bennet?” Darcy asked, confused. “Is something amiss?”

“Not at all. I needed to speak with you before we joined the others.” Her blue eyes were eager, and her blonde curls bobbed with excitement.

“You like my sister,” she said bluntly.

Darcy flushed. “Yes, I do. I thought there would be no hard feelings—”

“It is not my hard feelings of which you must be aware. I was honest when I said I had forgiven you. Elizabeth has a resentful temper, particularly where I am concerned. Your…defection was the first in a long line of gentlemen who found me lacking.”

“I did not find you lacking!”

“That is beside the point, Mr. Darcy. Perception is everything in this matter. Elizabeth has spent seven years hating you because you hurt me. She does not know it was you who penned those verses—verses my mother purloined and showed to the family.”

Darcy’s embarrassment knew no bounds. “That is dreadful.” He had penned those for Miss Bennet’s eyes only. While they were nothing inappropriate, they were personal.

“She does not know?” he repeated.

“No. She suspects you are a gentleman admirer I did not tell her of. Her attempts to win more information from me have not succeeded.”

“Why are you telling me this?

Miss Bennet hesitated. “Because she likes you as well, and I thought it best to prepare you for battle. Elizabeth will not make it easy on you. She is already struggling with her feelings because she fears it is a betrayal to me. I am afraid she is remarkably loyal.”

“What am I to do?”

“Give her nothing of which to complain. You and I must be unfailingly polite with each other—friendly even. She can have no reason to believe there is tension between us.”

“You would help me win your sister after I behaved so abominably?”

“I have my happiness within reach, Mr. Darcy. It is not fair to deprive someone I love of the same simply because you courted me first. We were young. It is in the past.” Miss Bennet patted his arm. “Now, you go to the drawing room. I shall follow in a few minutes.”

Darcy nodded and left, bemused at the information he had been given. Miss Elizabeth likes me! It was a thrilling thought and offered him hope. Despite their short acquaintance, she admired him, too. Perhaps there was a chance to win her hand, after all.

“There you are, Darcy!” Bingley cried.