“I thought you said he was respectable.”
“He can carry on a real conversation, which is more than I can say forsomemen of my acquaintance. Come, Fitz. Smile a bit. Here we are.”
I fidgeted with my fingers as the footman opened the door. There were many things I would rather do than meet another of George’s friends. Shaving my eyeball or going for a dip in the icy North Atlantic seemed intriguing. I spared my brother a glance as he waltzed into the room and made his presentation with a flourish.
“Fitzwilliam Darcy, my friend Charles Bingley of Sheffield. Bingley? My brother.”
Bingley was a pleasant enough chap, I daresay. He did look perfectly respectable, and he lacked the overly polished look I had come to expect of George’s friends, which I thought promising. He did not smell as if he had bathed in milk and champagne, and I even detected a few hairs on his buckskin breeches from my pointer, Wellington. That meant he must have petted my dog, and any man willing—and able—to win Wellington's approval could not be all bad. I smiled tightly and inclined my head. “A pleasure, Mr. Bingley.”
“The pleasure is all mine.”
“Join us for a round, will you?” George beckoned, reaching for a glass. “Bingley has just returned from America, have you not, Bingley?”
“Oh, indeed? Were you there on business or pleasure?” I let George pour my glass and took a sip. And nearly gagged. Sothatwas why George said he got a good price on the bottle. It might as well be turpentine. I swallowed, but the ghastly stuff burned all the way down and rumbled about my innards like a firebrand.
“Business,” Bingley answered. “An ironworks in Pennsylvania—the fellow paid me a preposterous sum to look over his smelting process and help him make some refinements. My family’s mill…” He blinked and broke off, clearing his throat. “Well. That is probably of no interest to you.”
“Quite the contrary,” I assured him. “But will you excuse me for a moment?” I rang the bell for Huxley, and when he appeared, I went to the door to speak in a low voice. “Bring us a proper bottle of Scotch, will you?”
“Yes, sir.”
Huxley disappeared, and I returned to George and Bingley. “Forgive me. You were saying something about your steel mill?”
Bingley’s face flushed. “Well, I… I suppose it might not seem very genteel to you. My father raised me as a gentleman, but he also desired that I should understand the steel industry. Our mill, in particular, has perfected a process that yields high-quality cutlery.”
“Cutlery?”
Bingley shifted his feet, glanced at his glass, then George, and finally back at me. “Ahem… ah, yes. More, eh… economical than silver, do you see?”
“Yes, quite. Ah, here is Huxley.” I went to the sideboard as my butler presented my best aged Campbelltown. “Thank you, Huxley. Yes, a fresh glass if you please.” I glanced over my shoulder at George and Bingley, both trying not to look like they were watching me. I sighed. “And two more fresh glasses.”
Rather shortly, we were all suited with full glasses of my best Scotch, and I pretended not to notice the smug look on my brother’s face. Once again, he had charmed me out of a bottle. But I was rather more interested in listening to what Bingley had to say than scowling at George.
The chap was clever. Rather too modest, and I wondered how George had stumbled into his acquaintance, but I found him no punishment to speak with for a quarter-hour. Perhaps George had accidentally found a friend who could speak of something more serious than hunting hounds and racehorses.
Elizabeth
Wewereallwedgedaround Uncle Gardiner’s dining table, a scene reminiscent of a crowded market stall rather than a family dinner. I sat, half-listening to Kitty and Lydia’s animated chatter about their day’s conquests in Uncle Gardiner’s warehouse and half-wondering if it were possible to die of boredom induced by excessive talk of ribbons and hats.
Jane was the picture of polite interest, but I knew her well enough to catch the glimmer of amusement in her eyes. Unfortunately, it was not Lydia and Kitty who were the subjects of her amusement, but me, with the way my eyes were rolling and my head kept bobbing as I tried to keep from nodding off. Uncle Gardiner was pouring out what looked like his third glass of wine—a wise man, fortifying himself for the evening ahead.
“Oh, Mama, the ribbons!” Kitty squealed, nearly knocking over her water glass in her excitement. “Such colors! You would have thought we were in Paris! I’d no idea Uncle had so many new types of trim!”
“And the fabrics, Mama!” Lydia chimed in. “I found this silk that would make even a duchess green with envy! I told Lizzy it would look perfectly dashing on her, but she would not purchase any, so I took all of it.”
I couldn’t help but chuckle. “I do hope the duchesses of London can sleep tonight, knowing the Bennet sisters are on the loose.”
Mama was nearly trembling with excitement. “Mr. Bennet, did you hear? My good brother has been so kind. Why, each of the girls has new fabric to make winter gowns—for you know they are grown so tall, most especially my Lydia—andhe gave them each an allowance to find lace and ribbons! Our girls are always the belles of Meryton, you know, but now, even Mrs. Long will be forced to admit there is nothing to my girls.”
Papa, who had been trying to hide behind his newspaper, peered over with a look of feigned horror. “My dear, if you insist on discussing ribbons and lace any further, I may have to seek refuge in the library with a more sedate companion, like Gibbon’s ‘Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire.’”
I smirked. “I am sure Gibbon’s empire declined due to a severe shortage of ribbons, Papa.”
“No, as I recall correctly, one of the chief reasons for Rome’s decline was overspending.” Papa shot a significant glance at Mama before sipping his wine.
“I thought it was due to invasions,” Uncle Gardiner mused, scratching his chin. “The Huns and the Goths, was it not?”
Papa cleared his throat. “Ah, and speaking of invasion, I had a most interesting rumor before we left Longbourn. It seems that Meryton has been deemed a likely town to house winter training for the militia. Open fields, not far from London, you see.”
