the events in Derbyshire.
The color which had been driven from Elizabeth’s face by Kitty’s announcement returned for half a minute with an additional glow, and a smile of delight added lustre to her eyes, as she thought for that space of time, that his affection and wishes must still be unshaken. But she would not be secure. There was too much that could have altered.
Her thoughts then flew to the letter she had written to him from Gracechurch Street. Would he have received it already? She frantically counted back the days since posting it, and deduced that it certainly could have arrived by this time, but of course he might well have left Pemberley before its arrival. She closed her eyes as she thought of the immodest things she had written in it—what must he be thinking of her?
“Let me first see how he behaves,” said she to herself. “It will then be early enough for expectation.” She sat intently at work, striving to be composed, and without daring to lift up her eyes as the servant was approaching the door. On the gentlemen’s appearing, she curtsied with her usual smile to Bingley, then turned to Darcy to find his serious gaze upon her. Immediately the memory of their last parting came into her mind, and an awareness of all that her family did not know; then, cognizant that she was blushing under his regard, she sat back down again to her work, with an eagerness which it did not often command. She ventured only one more glance at Darcy. He looked serious as usual; and she thought, more as he had been used to look in Hertfordshire, than as she had seen him at Pemberley. But perhaps he could not in her mother’s presence be what he was before her uncle and aunt. It was a painful, but not an improbable, conjecture.
Darcy, fortunate in finding himself rapidly dismissed by Mrs. Bennet in favor of her civilities to Mr. Bingley, took the opportunity to sit in the chair nearest Elizabeth. As so often in the past, he was silent, seeming content merely to be near her. Elizabeth herself felt far from calm, and was perturbed by her acute awareness of his proximity.
“Have you come from Pemberley, Mr. Darcy?” asked Elizabeth, carefully watching her embroidery.
“Yes, I only arrived at Netherfield late yesterday.”
“It is early yet for a hunting party.”
“I did not come to go hunting.”
Elizabeth glanced up and met his eyes. His intent gaze was on her; she had forgotten the danger of losing herself in those dark eyes. A slight smile touched the corners of his mouth, and her spirits fluttered in response. Forcibly collecting her thoughts, she said, “I am sure Mr. Bingley is most happy to have your company, especially since his visit to Pemberley earlier this summer was cut short.”
“I am very happy to be here.”
He has received the letter, she thought with agitation. Something had altered in his demeanor since they had last met, some sense, perhaps, of assurance. Aloud, she said, “I hope Miss Darcy was well when you saw her last.”
“Quite well. She greatly enjoys your correspondence,” he replied. “Your last letter was a particular favorite, I believe.”
“I… am always glad to hear from her. I hope it will allow me to know her better; she seems less shy in her letters.”
“Sometimes there are things that are easier to say in a letter than in person, I believe.”
“I suspect you are correct, sir,” she responded, her cheeks flushed.
The conversation lapsed, and they sat in silence for some minutes, listening to the cheerful discussion of wedding plans across the room.
“They seem very happy,” Darcy commented.
“Yes, I believe they are. I suspect that we may owe thanks to you for Mr. Bingley’s precipitous return to Netherfield.”
“It was long overdue,” he acknowledged.
Elizabeth wondered how anyone in the room could possibly be oblivious to the rising tension between the two of them. Her cheeks felt hot enough to make her long for a fan.
In some desperation,
The color which had been driven from Elizabeth’s face by Kitty’s announcement returned for half a minute with an additional glow, and a smile of delight added lustre to her eyes, as she thought for that space of time, that his affection and wishes must still be unshaken. But she would not be secure. There was too much that could have altered.
Her thoughts then flew to the letter she had written to him from Gracechurch Street. Would he have received it already? She frantically counted back the days since posting it, and deduced that it certainly could have arrived by this time, but of course he might well have left Pemberley before its arrival. She closed her eyes as she thought of the immodest things she had written in it—what must he be thinking of her?
“Let me first see how he behaves,” said she to herself. “It will then be early enough for expectation.” She sat intently at work, striving to be composed, and without daring to lift up her eyes as the servant was approaching the door. On the gentlemen’s appearing, she curtsied with her usual smile to Bingley, then turned to Darcy to find his serious gaze upon her. Immediately the memory of their last parting came into her mind, and an awareness of all that her family did not know; then, cognizant that she was blushing under his regard, she sat back down again to her work, with an eagerness which it did not often command. She ventured only one more glance at Darcy. He looked serious as usual; and she thought, more as he had been used to look in Hertfordshire, than as she had seen him at Pemberley. But perhaps he could not in her mother’s presence be what he was before her uncle and aunt. It was a painful, but not an improbable, conjecture.
Darcy, fortunate in finding himself rapidly dismissed by Mrs. Bennet in favor of her civilities to Mr. Bingley, took the opportunity to sit in the chair nearest Elizabeth. As so often in the past, he was silent, seeming content merely to be near her. Elizabeth herself felt far from calm, and was perturbed by her acute awareness of his proximity.
“Have you come from Pemberley, Mr. Darcy?” asked Elizabeth, carefully watching her embroidery.
“Yes, I only arrived at Netherfield late yesterday.”
“It is early yet for a hunting party.”
“I did not come to go hunting.”
Elizabeth glanced up and met his eyes. His intent gaze was on her; she had forgotten the danger of losing herself in those dark eyes. A slight smile touched the corners of his mouth, and her spirits fluttered in response. Forcibly collecting her thoughts, she said, “I am sure Mr. Bingley is most happy to have your company, especially since his visit to Pemberley earlier this summer was cut short.”
“I am very happy to be here.”
He has received the letter, she thought with agitation. Something had altered in his demeanor since they had last met, some sense, perhaps, of assurance. Aloud, she said, “I hope Miss Darcy was well when you saw her last.”
“Quite well. She greatly enjoys your correspondence,” he replied. “Your last letter was a particular favorite, I believe.”
“I… am always glad to hear from her. I hope it will allow me to know her better; she seems less shy in her letters.”
“Sometimes there are things that are easier to say in a letter than in person, I believe.”
“I suspect you are correct, sir,” she responded, her cheeks flushed.
The conversation lapsed, and they sat in silence for some minutes, listening to the cheerful discussion of wedding plans across the room.
“They seem very happy,” Darcy commented.
“Yes, I believe they are. I suspect that we may owe thanks to you for Mr. Bingley’s precipitous return to Netherfield.”
“It was long overdue,” he acknowledged.
Elizabeth wondered how anyone in the room could possibly be oblivious to the rising tension between the two of them. Her cheeks felt hot enough to make her long for a fan.
In some desperation,
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