Thank you all for your reviews, I have tried to correct some of the mistakes, but as English is not my first language, there can be some more I really hope you will enjoy this!

Chapter 3: The Silence After the Gathering

The evening after the gathering at the Phillips' household passed in an unusual manner. I had been busy attending to some small matters for Mr. Darcy earlier in the day, and as the hour grew late, I made my way toward his chambers to ensure everything was in readiness for his return. He had gone out with Mr. Bingley and the Bingley sisters for the gathering, a relatively informal affair with the Phillips family—an evening of cards and polite conversation, or so I had been told.

As I waited, I couldn't help but feel a twinge of curiosity about the evening's events. From what I had gathered earlier in the day, Miss Elizabeth Bennet would be present at this gathering, and given my master's interest in her after the assembly, I fully expected some mention of her upon his return. Yet, as the clock ticked steadily toward midnight, there was an unusual stillness in the air.

When Mr. Darcy finally arrived, I was standing by the door to greet him, as was my custom. His steps were firm and unhurried as he entered the room, but there was something different about him. He seemed almost… preoccupied, his brow furrowed slightly as though his thoughts were elsewhere.

"Good evening, sir," I said, taking his cloak and hat.

"Good evening, Reynolds," he replied curtly, his voice giving nothing away. He was not brusque, but neither was he particularly forthcoming. It was as though the evening had left him in a pensive mood, and I was keen to understand why.

As he moved toward his desk, I observed him carefully. His manner was calm, controlled, but there was a subtle tension in the way he stood—a slight stiffness to his posture, as if he were holding something back. It was unlike Mr. Darcy to return from such a gathering without some comment, however brief, on the proceedings.

"Shall I prepare your bath, sir?" I offered, hoping to draw him into conversation.

"No, thank you," he said, his tone polite but clipped. He did not turn to look at me, instead busying himself with the papers on his desk.

For a moment, I considered pressing further, but I had learned over the years to be patient. Mr. Darcy was not a man who opened himself easily, and when something weighed on his mind, it was best to allow him time to address it in his own way. Still, his silence was unusual, and I could not help but feel a sense of unease.

After a few moments, I ventured a more direct approach. "I trust the gathering was agreeable, sir?"

There was a pause—longer than expected—and then Mr. Darcy replied, though without turning from his desk. "It was as one might expect of such an evening."

This vague response caught my attention. Typically, Mr. Darcy would offer some insight into the company he had kept or the nature of the conversation, particularly when Mr. Bingley's sisters were involved. Miss Caroline Bingley had a habit of making her presence known, and her attempts to charm Mr. Darcy were often a subject of quiet amusement between us, though never discussed openly.

"And Mr. Bingley and his sisters—did they enjoy the evening?" I asked, trying to elicit more detail.

"They did," he said, his tone still guarded. "Miss Bingley, as ever, was the model of propriety."

I detected the faintest trace of irony in his words, but it was so subtle that it might have gone unnoticed by anyone less familiar with Mr. Darcy's manner. Still, he offered nothing more, no mention of the Phillips family, or the other guests in attendance.

I decided to take a slightly bolder step, knowing well that subtlety would be required. "I understand Miss Elizabeth Bennet was present, sir. I hear she is well regarded in Meryton."

This time, there was a noticeable pause before he answered. Mr. Darcy's hand stilled on the papers before him, though he did not look up. "Miss Bennet was there, yes," he said, but his tone was dismissive, as though that simple statement was all the explanation needed.

This was strange. After his earlier interest in Miss Bennet, I had expected him to comment further, perhaps offer some insight into his impressions of her after another encounter. But instead, he seemed to deliberately withhold any mention of her, as if the entire evening had passed without incident.

I waited for a few moments, hoping he might elaborate, but the silence stretched on. It was becoming clear to me that Mr. Darcy was deliberately avoiding the topic, and that only heightened my curiosity. It was not like him to be so reticent, especially when something—or someone—had so obviously occupied his thoughts of late.

"Was the evening as lively as the assembly, sir?" I asked, attempting once more to prompt him without overstepping my bounds.

"Lively is not the word I would use," Mr. Darcy replied, finally turning away from his desk to face me. His expression was composed, but his eyes—those sharp, discerning eyes—betrayed a flicker of something deeper. "The company was… pleasant enough."

Pleasant enough. That, I knew, was Darcy's way of saying that the evening had not been to his taste. But again, he offered no further detail. No mention of Miss Bennet's wit or conversation. No mention of any interaction with her at all.

I inclined my head, sensing that he was not inclined to discuss the matter further—at least not at this moment. "Shall I lay out your nightclothes, sir?"

"Yes, thank you, Reynolds," he said quietly, moving toward the window as I went about my task.

As I moved to lay out Mr. Darcy's nightclothes, my mind churned with uncertainty. His vague responses and reluctance to speak of the evening raised questions I could not ignore. Miss Elizabeth Bennet had clearly occupied his thoughts after the assembly, so why now did he seem so indifferent to her presence at the Phillips' gathering? Had his interest in her waned so soon, or was he concealing something deeper?

I glanced at him as he stood by the window, his silhouette cast in shadow against the moonlight filtering through the curtains. His posture was still, contemplative, as though he was far removed from the room—lost in thought.

Could it be that Miss Bennet had failed to meet his expectations? Or perhaps he had dismissed her entirely, deeming her too far beneath him, after all? And yet, something didn't sit right. His earlier curiosity about her, the way he had spoken of her wit and her refusal to fawn over him—those were not qualities he easily dismissed. No, Mr. Darcy was not one to simply forget someone who had captured his interest in such a manner.

I folded the last of his garments and stood quietly for a moment, waiting to see if he would speak again. But the silence lingered, thick with unspoken thoughts. There was no mention of Miss Bennet's wit, no comment on her presence, and certainly no remark on the Bingley sisters' inevitable attempts to occupy his attention.

"Will that be all for this evening, sir?" I asked softly, my voice cutting through the stillness.

Mr. Darcy turned slightly, his expression neutral, as though nothing of significance had occurred. "Yes, Reynolds. That will be all."

I inclined my head and took my leave, closing the door gently behind me, but my thoughts were anything but settled. If Miss Bennet had been present, surely something had transpired between them. Why, then, had he said nothing? The possibility that he was simply not interested in her anymore nagged at me, but I couldn't shake the sense that there was more to it.

As I descended the stairs toward the servants' quarters, my curiosity deepened. Perhaps I could gather more from those below stairs. They always had their ears to the ground, and servants were the first to pick up on the subtleties that passed unnoticed by their masters.

When I reached the warmth of the kitchen, I found the usual bustle of activity. A few footmen were finishing their duties, while the maids, gathered around the hearth, engaged in quiet conversation. Mrs. Nichols, the housekeeper, sat at the long table, sipping tea and overseeing the last of the evening's tasks.

I took a seat nearby, close enough to listen but far enough to remain inconspicuous. It wasn't long before the conversation shifted to the Phillips' gathering, and as expected, Miss Bingley's name came up almost immediately.

"Miss Bingley was in rare form tonight," said Alice, one of the housemaids. Her voice was low, though filled with amusement. "She was fluttering about Mr. Darcy like a moth to a flame, but I swear, he hardly gave her a glance!"

Mrs. Nichols raised an eyebrow. "That doesn't surprise me. Mr. Darcy's not one to be easily swayed by all that flattery, especially from Miss Bingley. She tries too hard."

There was a murmur of agreement from the others, and I nodded inwardly. Miss Bingley had made her ambitions plain enough. Her relentless pursuit of Mr. Darcy had long been the subject of whispers, and it was common knowledge among the staff that her efforts were largely in vain.

"Did you see her face when Mr. Darcy hardly spoke to her during supper?" another maid, Sarah, added with a grin. "She was none too pleased. But then, she was really upset about Miss Elizabeth."

I leaned forward ever so slightly, my interest piqued.

"She was there too, at the gathering, though I hear she wasn't the least bit concerned with impressing Mr. Darcy. And from what I saw, he noticed."

At the mention of Miss Bennet, I focused my attention more sharply. So, she had indeed been present—and Mr. Darcy had taken note of her, just as I suspected. Yet, he had said so little about her. Why?

Mrs. Nichols shook her head, a wry smile playing on her lips. "Miss Bennet's not like the other girls, that's for certain. She doesn't simper and flutter around, trying to catch a man's eye. If anything, she challenges them."

"That she does," Sarah agreed, her eyes bright. "And it seemed to catch Mr. Darcy's attention more than Miss Bingley's efforts ever could. I overheard Miss Bingley muttering about it later, something about Elizabeth Bennet's 'fine eyes.'"

At these words, my attention sharpened considerably. "Fine eyes." The phrase echoed in my mind, and I recalled that Miss Elizabeth Bennet had, in fact, been the subject of Mr. Darcy's earlier musings. He had spoken of her intelligence, her wit, but also of something in her eyes that had left an impression on him—something that seemed to unsettle him in a way he could not quite understand.

"And how did Miss Bingley react?" Mrs. Nichols asked, her tone edged with curiosity.

"Oh, she was furious," Alice whispered conspiratorially, leaning in as if sharing a great secret. "She tried to hide it, of course, but you could see it in her eyes. She couldn't stand the thought that Mr. Darcy might be paying attention to someone like Miss Bennet."

The maids exchanged knowing glances, clearly enjoying the thought of Miss Bingley's discomfort. But for me, the revelation was far more significant. If Mr. Darcy had commented on Miss Bennet's eyes, even in passing, it was a clear sign that she had made a deeper impression on him than he had let on.

It was not just her refusal to fawn over him that intrigued him—it was something more personal, more intimate. And that, I realized, it was why he had been so guarded tonight. He had been affected by Miss Bennet in ways he did not yet fully understand, and rather than share his thoughts, he had retreated into himself, unwilling—or perhaps unable—to confront what it all meant.

"Miss Bingley won't take that well, mark my words," Sarah added. "She's after Mr. Darcy, but I think she's finally realized she's not the one who's caught his attention."

"She'll never admit it, though," Mrs. Nichols said with a smirk. "Too proud for that."

The conversation continued, but I had already heard enough to confirm my suspicions. Miss Bennet had, indeed, left her mark on Mr. Darcy, and while he might try to bury his thoughts beneath a mask of indifference, the truth was plain enough. She had affected him deeply—perhaps more than he was willing to admit, even to himself.

As I rose quietly from my seat, I reflected on what I had learned. The servants might gossip, but their observations were often sharper than the masters themselves realized. And tonight, their words had painted a clearer picture than Mr. Darcy's silence ever could.

Miss Elizabeth Bennet was not merely a passing curiosity—she had unsettled Mr. Darcy in a way that no one else had, and despite his best efforts to conceal it, the truth was beginning to show.