Page 113 of What Change Entails

“Latin.”

“Worse.”

“Much worse.”

She gave a soft burst of amusement, and the look he granted her carried such unmistakable pleasure that the sound died abruptly upon her lips.

For one suspended instant, she believed he might say something of consequence. Something beyond books or family or harmless wit.

Her fingers closed more firmly around the parcel in her hands.

Then a shop door flew open behind them with unnecessary force.

“Mr. Darcy!”

Miss Bingley descended upon them and her sister hastened to join her, her pelisse restored to order though indignation still lingered plainly upon her features. A faint mark remained near the hem of her gown despite every attempt to remove it.

“There you are,” she declared while approaching with determined haste. “You cannot conceive what I have suffered. Country boys are dreadful creatures. I have endured mud, noise, incompetence, and staring of the rudest description.”

Mr. Darcy assumed the expression of a man long acquainted with trial.

Elizabeth bit the inside of her cheek to preserve her composure.

Miss Bingley took his arm before he could step back. “You must escort me to the carriage. I do not trust another step through this village unaided.”

Darcy’s expression changed slightly when Miss Bingley spoke. The expression he sent her would have scandalized Rosings entirely.

Elizabeth gave the smallest shrug she could manage while keeping her mouth perfectly sober.

He was led away.

Mrs. Hurst followed with a sigh that suggested she had endured equal suffering by association.

Elizabeth watched them go, still holding her books.

Aunt Gardiner came to stand beside her.

“Well,” her aunt said after a moment, “Mr. Darcy appears very attentive.”

Elizabeth did not pretend to misunderstand. “Yes.”

Mrs. Gardiner put her hand on her niece’s arm. “And do you welcome it?”

Elizabeth examined the parcel in her arms. One corner of the brown paper had loosened, revealing the worn spine of Mr. Bennet’s book.

“I think I do.”

Her aunt said nothing for several steps.

Then, gently, “He is nothing like the gentleman you described in your letters from Hertfordshire.”

“No.” Elizabeth watched Mr. Darcy help Miss Bingley around a puddle while enduring an animated account of rural torment. “It turns out I am a rather poor judge of character.”

“I would not say that.”

“I would.”

Mrs. Gardiner touched her arm lightly. “Some characters are more easily mistaken than others. Some people hide their best qualities behind pride. Others hide their worst beneath charm.”