Page 51 of What Change Entails

“That has not always stopped you.”

Her attention snapped to his face. For one alarming instant she thought she had offended him. Then she caught the trace of humor there, dry and tentative.

She allowed herself to answer in kind. “No. But I am trying to become more civil.”

“I have no complaint against your civility today.”

“Just today?”

His brows lifted slightly.

Elizabeth nearly smiled, then lost courage and returned her attention to the book. “Your letter deserved a better answer.”

“I did not write it to demand one.”

“I know. That is partly why it deserved one.” She set the Shakespeare back in its place, not quite aligned with its neighbors, and adjusted it until she could speak without looking at him. “I believed Mr. Wickham. I believed him readily because his story suited my opinion of you.”

Darcy said nothing.

Through the open door came the faint sound of Lydia exclaiming over something in the hall, followed by Miss Darcy’s laugh and Mrs. Reynolds’s firm instruction not to touch the Chinese vase.

Elizabeth breathed out, grateful for the ordinary interruption. “I am ashamed of that,” she finished.

Darcy crossed to the table, not near enough to crowd her, and rested one hand on the back of a chair. “I gave you reason to think ill of me before Wickham supplied the particulars.”

“That does not excuse me.” She ought to have judged better.

“No. Nor does Wickham excuse me.”

She met his eyes.

He appeared tired, but not in body. “I have been angry with him for many years. Justly, I think. But anger made his name easier to avoid than his damage. I did not consider how freely he might speak where I had chosen discretion.”

“Your discretion was not unnatural.”

“It was convenient.” He must have found the word challenging and appeared to express disapproval after articulating it.

Elizabeth shut her eyes against a swift, unwelcome ache. Elizabeth no longer knew what to make of him, and that uncertainty grew more uncomfortable by the hour. She did not know which answer comforted her less.

A scrape sounded in the hall.

Lydia’s voice followed. “But if a vase is very large, surely it is meant to be noticed.”

Mrs. Reynolds replied, “Not with one’s fingers, miss.”

Darcy’s attention shifted to the door.

Elizabeth chuckled under her breath. “You may regret inviting us.”

“I already regret the vase’s position.”

They left the library before Lydia could test the durability of porcelain.

The remainder of the tour proceeded with frequent interruptions. Lydia was awed and determined not to appear so. She admired a painted ceiling and then declared it must be dreadful to dust. She forgot herself before a long mirror, viewing herself first from one side and then the other before pretending she had merely been examining the frame. When shown the music room, she whispered to Miss Darcy that one could host a ball there if furniture were removed, whereupon Miss Darcy informed her, with surprising seriousness, that the larger salon was better suited.

Lydia’s eyes shone at that intelligence.

Elizabeth watched from the doorway while her sister bent over the pianoforte beside Miss Darcy, both girls speaking in tandem about music and it was clear Miss Darcy was not presently inclined to play. Lydia did not seem a girl unjustly exiled to misery. She was alive with curiosity.