Elizabeth grinned, barely holding back a laugh. “You heard what Papa said. It is not sporting.”
“Good morning, Darcy!” Bingleygreeted him with an almost indecent amount of cheerfulness, fastening his cuffs with quick, efficient movements. “I trust you slept well?”
Darcy glanced up from adjusting his coat, his expression carefully composed. “Quite well, though I might have slept better had we arrived before midnight. And if I had brought my valet.”
Bingley only laughed. “Ah, there it is. I know you are putting me on when you exaggerate like that. I say, this place—it is remarkable, is it not? A bit more… character than I anticipated.”
“That would be one word for it,” Darcy replied, casting a glance around the faded appointments in the sitting room. Despite the estate boasting “good bones,” as Bingley had put it last night, something about Netherfield felt slightly off-kilter, as if each item were meticulously selected but lacked the cohesion one expected in such a house. “Though I might prefer my adventures to occur at a reasonable hour.”
“Still so particular, I see,” Bingley teased, clasping Darcy’s shoulder with a friendly pat. “Come now, let us find breakfast. After last night’s welcome, I am more than ready to see what else the place has to offer.”
With that, he strode out the door, leaving Darcy to follow with a faint sigh. As they descended the staircase, Darcy took in the quiet morning light spilling through the tall windows, casting shadows across the walls and down the corridors.
When they reached the hall, a maid awaited them—a slight girl of no more than fifteen or sixteen, but she held herself with an almost startling composure for one so young. Her expression was one of polite reserve. “Good morning, sirs. Sir Thomas asked me to wait on you and show you to the breakfast room.”
“Oh, capital,” Bingley replied. “I daresay a bit of biscuit and cheese would not go amiss just now.”
The girl bobbed a curtsy and then led them down a hallway. As they entered the breakfast room, Bingley took an appreciative breath, his eyes lighting up at the sight of the long table laden with cold meats, cheeses, and pastries. With his usual buoyant enthusiasm, he immediately reached for a plate, piling it high with bread, ham, and a generous wedge of soft cheese.
“Do you know, Darcy, I am beginning to think this place has been waiting just for us,” he remarked cheerfully, adding a flaky pastry to his plate for good measure.
Darcy murmured a polite agreement, though his mind was elsewhere, taking in the quiet but unusual efficiency of the room around them. The young maid paused a few paces from the door, exchanging a few words with another servant—a girl who looked scarcely older than herself.
“Would you advise the master that his guests are at breakfast?” she said with an understated authority that Darcy found remarkable. Her tone was calm, almost… managerial.
The second maid responded with a quick nod. “Yes, Mrs. Jackson,” she replied, and hurried from the room, leaving Darcy blinking after her.
Mrs.Jackson? Darcy found himself looking back at the young girl who had led them here, assessing her with sharper scrutiny. Could she truly be married at her age? Or had he mistaken her age altogether? He could hardly keep himself from watching her, studying her demeanor for clues.
But if she noticed his attention, she gave no sign. With a brief curtsy, she left them to their meal, closing the door with a quiet click behind her.
Bingley didn’t seem the least bit perturbed by the unusual encounter, lifting his glass in a silent toast to the food before him. He took a hearty bite of ham, humming appreciatively, while Darcy approached the table more slowly, selecting smaller portions than usual, still feeling oddly unsettled.
“I must say, the hospitality here has exceeded my expectations,” Bingley continued between bites, his eyes twinkling as he glanced around the room. “It’s as if they anticipated our arrival all along.”
Darcy merely nodded, his thoughts spinning. He took a small bite of bread, chewing absently as his gaze drifted to the large windows overlooking the grounds. Something about Netherfield—or rather, something about the entire establishment—seemed… out of place. Every servant they had encountered thus far held an air of competency, even pride, that struck him as both unusual and strangely admirable. Yet it felt almost as though he were seeing everything through the wrong end of a telescope, the familiar shapes and functions of estate life slightly distorted, though the essence remained the same.
“Is it just me,” Bingley said suddenly, looking over at him with a grin, “or have you never been quite so preoccupied at a breakfast table before?”
Darcy tore his gaze from the window, giving his friend a faint smile. “I cannot quite put my finger on it, Bingley, but there is something… unusual about this place.”
“Unusual, perhaps, but in a refreshing way, I think. Everyone is positively delightful, and I’ve not yet seen one thing amiss.” He leaned in conspiratorially, dropping his voice. “Perhaps it is simply the presence of such agreeable company yesterday that has left you in this pensive state.”
Darcy gave him a quelling look, but Bingley only chuckled, undeterred, as he continued enjoying his breakfast. Darcy cast one more look around the room before quietly returning to his plate.
Perhaps five minutes later, Sir Thomas entered the breakfast room with a warm smile, his eyes lighting up as he greeted his guests. “Mr. Darcy, Mr. Bingley! I trust you both rested well?”
Bingley stood briefly to greet their host. “Very well, Sir Thomas, thank you. And might I say, we have not had such a breakfast spread since… well, since London, I daresay.”
Sir Thomas laughed as he filled his plate with some cold meats and bread. “I am glad to hear it. I must confess, this is the most pleasant company I have had in quite some time. My household tends to be… more reserved.” He took a seat, raising his coffee cup with a glint of genuine pleasure in his eyes. “It’s the bitter stuff for me. I trust you found a decent pot of tea, Darcy? You always were particular.”
“Indeed, very fine. My compliments on your selection.”
“Very good. Come, tell me—how have you both kept yourselves busy since I last saw you? I hear things now and then, of course, but my own time in London has been sparse these several years.”
Darcy inclined his head politely. “Bingley and I have… delved into business, as it happens. Investments, partnerships—keeping us both rather occupied.”
Bingley cut in with a grin. “Occupied? Good heavens, Darcy, don’t undersell us! Sir Thomas, Darcy is something of an alchemist. He has a talent for turning the driest of business contracts into gold.” He winked. “And I do my best to keep up with him.”
