"How very ill Eliza Bennet looked this evening," Miss Bingley started on haughtily as she took her place next to her sister, Mr. Darcy having re-entered after seeing Miss Bennet and the Gardiners to their carriage. It was not a surprise that she had hardly waited a moment after Elizabeth's departure to indulge in her criticisms, though it tired Darcy ruthlessly – the constant effort to put herself in his favor only served to push her further away from it, and her open dislike of Elizabeth Bennet did not benefit her cause. "She is grown so brown and corse; Louisa and I were just agreeing how we should hardly know her, wouldn't you agree, Darcy?"
"I noticed no great difference," he replied, not looking away from the wine he poured himself. "She was, perhaps, a little tan, but that is to be expected when traveling in summer."
"Oh, but I must confess I never saw any beauty in her," Miss Bingley persisted. Darcy fought to prevent himself from rolling his eyes as he moved silently to the mantel, glancing momentarily to Mr. Bingley to express his growing frustration. His friend answered his glance with a sympathetic expression. "Her complexion holds no brilliancy, and her features are not at all handsome. In her air altogether, there is a self-sufficiency without fashion, which is intolerable." Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst took great pleasure in their censure, snickering and conspiring together on their settee. Darcy knew he was being baited into agreeing with her, that she believed her opinion so high, it should influence his own. Could she be so blind to his obvious distaste of her petty insults? How incredibly childish it was to speak so, and equally vexing was the motive behind it all. He furrowed his brow as he struggled to stay silent. "I particularly remember, Mr. Darcy, your saying one night, 'She a beauty! - I should as soon call her mother a wit.' But afterwards, she seemed to improve on you; dare I say, I believe you thought her rather pretty at one time."
"Yes," Darcy said, resolutely. "Indeed, that was only when I first knew her, but it has been many months since I have considered her one of the handsomest women of my acquaintance." He rose then, having the great satisfaction of seeing the horrified look on Miss Bingley's face as he strode through the room and took his leave. Insufferable woman! he thought as he seethed up the stairs. Conceited, childish, loathsome woman – every word of her reproof, a reflection of her own jealousy and indulged self-confidence. He reached his chamber, relieving himself of his cravat, jacket and waistcoat. One window at the far end of the room was opened, a fire crackling softly on the hearth; the mixtures of the fire's musk and Pemberley's rich pines refreshed his senses. He inhaled deeply the fresh, untainted atmosphere as he dropped himself into his arm chair, leaning forward toward the blaze in front of him. How poorly Miss Bingley calculated her efforts this evening, Darcy grinned to himself. Her sentiments could not have been more opposite to mine. Indeed, Elizabeth acquired a new shade of brilliance on her travels, but it had only served to compliment her complexion; her features, though he would admit not conventionally beautiful, were as handsome as they had ever been, if not more so when illuminated by the afternoon's sun or the fluttering flames of candlelight. And her "self-sufficiency"? Yes, she possessed that independence, but she was sensible, perfectly polite, and her wit was matched with equal intelligence – her conversation kept him interested. She had not the regal elegance that Miss Bingley considered made a woman admirable, but her elegance had it's own regency, unlike that of the conventional, for was it not that look about her that drew him in from the first? She was so much her own person, his most beloved Elizabeth. Oh, but she would never be his. She had said once she did not love him, that she even despised him - those sentiments did not seem as very present as they were three months prior, but he could not so readily believe her opinion of him had improved. And yet, this evening, that intriguing look persisted, there was a closeness between them that was unmistakeable – had she not felt it? Was he imposing that energy upon her by assuming they had taken to such a closeness?
Her behavior when he escorted her to the Gardiners' carriage suggested otherwise. The time for his guests' departure came and Darcy had offered his arm to Elizabeth as they left the room together. There was no question that the gaze she bestowed upon him then was full of some sentiment of admiration. For one brief moment, they shared a look of reverence not lost on either party until Elizabeth smiled somewhat shyly and looked away.
"I must thank you, again, for allowing me to introduce you to my sister," Darcy murmured rather softly, feeling bereft of her gaze.
"I thank you for the introduction," she replied, eyes cast down, though still smiling. "Miss Darcy is a very accomplished and sweet-natured girl; I would consider myself very fortunate to call her a friend." They stopped by the carriage, waiting as Mr. Gardiner handed his wife inside.
"I hope our paths cross again very soon, Miss Bennet," Darcy said, his voice now very low as he reclaimed her gaze with feeling. She hung on one breath before replying, "As do I, Mr. Darcy." Her hand was in his again, squeezing his fingers with an unmistakeable tenderness and she lingered once more as she climbed up the one step into her seat.
"Good evening, Mr. Gardiner, Mrs. Gardiner." He nodded his head politely to both, and then with one last repressed look of hope, he bowed his head lower and said, "Good evening, Miss Elizabeth." He could see in the darkness, by the dim light illuminating the passengers, that Elizabeth had turned to watch him as they drove off, her position unmoving as they disappeared behind the pines. That last look had snapped the only remaining string of resistance in him; he could no longer hold back the hope he now very dangerously indulged in wholly. No, she had not gone through these last two days unmoved.
The increasing temptation was maddening; she was to leave this part of the country the day after tomorrow, and then when would he see her again? He had no business in Hertfordshire, it would be insupportable to write to her himself, what other choice did he have? Could he let her leave without renewing himself, without at least knowing how her feelings now stood? He made his silent resolution, knowing he absolutely could not.