Page 170 of A Debt Inherited

“I mistake no man who rode off with Wickham willingly.”

The rebuke struck softly, which made it worse.

Darcy inclined his head. “You have fallen to alliteration.”

Fitzwilliam’s smile reached his eyes.

“Do not be clever,” Fitzwilliam murmured. “Be dull. Dull men are never remembered accurately.”

“You recommend what you have never practised.”

“Just so. Learn from my deficiencies.”

Georgiana squeezed his arm and looked up at him. “Brother?”

Darcy covered her gloved hand with his own and patted it once. “Are you well?”

“Quite well.” Her eyes moved about the room with shy delight. “It is only that I am pleased to be here—with you and Richard.”

Fitzwilliam bowed over her hand with exaggerated gravity. “Miss Darcy, you honour the regiment.”

She smiled, and Darcy felt something in his chest ease.

“And you?” she asked softly.

Darcy looked down at her. Georgiana’s question held no fear, only the anxious loyalty she tried so hard to hide beneath new composure.

“I am very well.”

Her brows lifted a fraction.

“Well enough,” he amended.

“That is nearer truth.”

Fitzwilliam gave a low sound that might have been amusement. “Miss Darcy grows formidable.”

“She has had excellent examples of stubbornness,” Darcy said.

Georgiana’s colour rose, but she did not look down. That, too, pleased him.

Bingley, meanwhile, had fixed upon the Bennet party with a look of such frank admiration that concealment became unnecessary. Any eye in the room would assign their approach to him.

“Darcy,” he said under his breath, “that must be Mr Bennet of Longbourn. Gardiner spoke of him. And that lady—surely that is Miss Bennet.”

“Very likely.”

“Very likely? You are a cold creature. She is an angel.”

Fitzwilliam’s brows rose. “Already?”

Bingley ignored him. “Come, Darcy. We must be introduced before half the county gets there first.”

Miss Bingley’s eyes followed his. “Charles, pray recollect that admiration across a room is not an introduction.”

“Then let us repair the defect,” Bingley said cheerfully.

Darcy almost smiled. Bingley’s ardour would do them a service no strategy could improve. Bennet had seen him; of that there could be no doubt. No recognition beyond what a civil acquaintance might permit.