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“You might ask whether I played well.”

“Did you?”

“Exceptionally.”

Darcy caught Elizabeth’s eye. She looked from Charles to him with an amusement he could not mistake.

“There is no need to ask the defeated party,” he said. “The account is complete.” again.”

“I was only wondering whether Mr. Bingley would allow you to try

“He offered.”

“That was generous.”

“I thought so,” Charles said, settling beside Jane.

Elizabeth continued winding. Her thread did not tangle, and she spoke as easily as though she had not dismantled several of Darcy’s most carefully maintained arguments that afternoon. He was relieved. He was also a little vexed that she could leave the subject alone while he could think of almost nothing else.

Caroline asked whether he knew a particular air. He went to look at it, grateful for an occupation in which he was not required to examine his conscience.

The evening ended quietly. Elizabeth said good night to him with the others. She neither sought another private word nor watched him as though expecting a decision. He had told her he would consider what she said. Apparently, she meant to allow him to do it.

Upstairs, Darcy dismissed his valet and sat with a book until he had read the same paragraph three times. He closed it, went to bed, and lay listening to the wind until fatigue overcame him.

In his dream, he stood outside a locked door.

The passage was unfamiliar, narrow enough that the candle in his hand cast its light upon both walls. He held a key. Its bow pressed hard into his palm, though he did not remember taking it from the lock.

Somebody moved on the other side of the door.

“Open it.”

He knew the woman’s voice. He could not have said where he had heard it.

“You must remain here,” he answered.

The words came readily. There was a reason for them. He had settled the matter before coming upstairs, and it was unreasonable that she should make him explain himself again.

“There are women waiting for me.”

“They may send elsewhere.”

“They have sent for me.”

He put his hand against the wood. For a moment he thought she might put hers against the other side and be quiet. He wanted her to understand that the door had been locked for her own good.

“You will thank me when this is over.”

The silence which followed was worse than her anger.

Then she spoke his name.

“Nicholas.”

He looked down. The key had left a red mark across his palm.

“You can open it,” she said. “You are standing beside the lock.”