The Guest | F. Darcy

Chapter 18: A Return to Pemberley

As the party strolled through the gardens, Adele deliberately slowed her steps, allowing herself a moment of quiet. It was a habit she had not outgrown—falling behind, letting her thoughts stretch longer than the conversation around her.

She was not alone for long.

"Do not scold your sister too much," Richard whispered, falling into step beside her, his voice laced with amusement.

Adele glanced at him, bemused. "And why should I?"

"The scene was most entertaining," he admitted, his grin boyish. "Elizabeth's bewilderment, the tension thick enough to cut—ah, truly, it was worth enduring Miss Bingley's company."

Adele huffed a quiet laugh, though her smile did not quite reach her eyes. Yes, the spectacle had been amusing, but she could not fully bring herself to enjoy it. There was too much left unspoken, too much lingering in the spaces between words.

Georgiana joined them then, slipping her arm through Adele's in a gesture so natural that Adele had to chuckle. The picture they made was almost comical—Elizabeth linked with Richard, Georgiana with herself. Four figures walking in near-perfect synchrony.

Richard, ever ready to turn any situation into a jest, sighed dramatically. "Oh, what fortune is mine! Walking with such lovely ladies—Darcy, tell me, am I now the object of your envy?"

Darcy, who had taken his place beside the Gardiners, cast them a wry glance. "Indeed, Richard," he said, his tone dry but not unkind, "though I believe their grace only serves to highlight your misfortune."

"Misfortune?" Richard repeated, placing a hand over his heart in mock offense.

"A trial, no doubt," Darcy continued smoothly, his lips twitching. "To be surrounded by such elegance—one can only pity you."

Miss Bingley, trailing just behind, interjected with a thin smile. "Elegance, indeed."

Elizabeth, who had thus far been biting back laughter, seized the opportunity. "Oh, how well you know how to charm, Mr. Darcy."

He inclined his head slightly, the amusement in his expression barely concealed. "I assure you, Miss Elizabeth, if I possess any such skill, it is purely accidental. Perhaps it is more a testament to the ladies' patience than to any talent of mine."

"Must you always be so modest, Mr. Darcy?" Adele quipped, arching a brow. "One might think you fear the responsibility of being agreeable. Or perhaps charm, in your hands, is such a rare commodity that you hesitate to squander it?"

Darcy turned to her then, his gaze steady. There was something softer in his expression now, something deliberate. "Miss Bennet, if charm is indeed a rare commodity in my possession, it is only because I have not often found it worth the effort."

His voice dropped, quiet but certain.

"But perhaps, in the presence of such wit and spirit as yours, I find myself wishing to squander it entirely."

Adele's breath caught.

The Fitzwilliam Darcy she had once known had not been so bold.

To her further astonishment, he allowed himself the smallest of smiles. "It seems I have succeeded, unintentionally, in proving your point," he added. "And yet, I do not regret it."

Before Adele could compose a response, Miss Bingley, who had been watching the exchange with poorly concealed displeasure, spoke with saccharine sweetness. "My, Mr. Darcy, it is not often we see you so... eloquent. Perhaps Miss Bennet possesses some magical influence over you."

Adele stiffened.

She did not wish to give Miss Bingley reason to assume there was something to misunderstand—nor did she particularly enjoy being the subject of such speculation.