They returned to the game for several minutes, each studying the board carefully. Mr. Bennet moved a pawn and said suddenly, “Now, tell me about your estate.”
Darcy stiffened instinctively and looked up, causing Mr. Bennet to chuckle.
“Do not worry, son,” Mr. Bennet said with a grin, “I am not attempting to weigh your worth. I already have a good measure from the neighborhood gossip.”
Darcy choked back a laugh. “Then I hope the accounts have been kind.”
“Oh, half say you are proud, the other half say you are merely shy. Between the two, I suspect you are neither—and both.”
They talked of land—of barley and sheep and late-season hail—and Darcy was surprised to find the conversation invigorating. Darcy asked nearly as many questions as he answered. Mr. Bennet knew his soil and weather well, and he had opinions—strong ones—on crop rotation and tenant housing. It was rare to discuss estate matters without pretense or flattery, and Darcy found himself enjoying the exchange more than he had anticipated.
Miss Bingley returned in a flurry of skirts and a tight, pained smile that was more of a grimace. “My hands are tired from the piano,” she announced, and with theatrical concern, added, “I do hope I was not gone too long.”
She frowned at the fireplace, where Jane and Bingley were in close conversation with one another, completely ignoring Mark and Elizabeth. Elizabeth stood at once and offered her chair, which Miss Bingley took with visible satisfaction—only to scowl faintly when Elizabeth crossed the room and joined the chess table instead.
Darcy was aware of her before she spoke—of the rustle of her gown, the scent of rosewater, the gentle weight of her presence at his side. It was as if the room suddenly grew ten degrees warmer. She leaned to study the board, one hand resting on the back of his chair, and he could not help but notice how near her fingers were to his own. The thought of shifting his hand just slightly—only a brush—was maddening.
He made a move—careless, without thought—and instantly regretted it.
Mr. Bennet lifted an eyebrow, then looked between him and his daughter with dawning amusement. “Well. That was generous.”
“Was it?” Darcy murmured, eyes fixed on the table but unable to comprehend what was happening on the board.
“It was.” Mr. Bennet slid his piece forward. “Checkmate.”
Darcy groaned. Elizabeth stifled a giggle behind her hand.
“I told you my father played well,” she said archly. “Better than I do.”
Mark bounded over and threw an arm around her shoulders. “She always beats me, you know.”
Elizabeth nudged him. “Because I am cleverer.”
“Indeed,” he agreed with mock gallantry. “She has the brains, but I have the face.”
She swatted his arm and laughed.
The bell rang to signal time to change for dinner.
“How sad,” Miss Bingley said with saccharine sweetness. “Such a shame we must end our lovely visit.”
Bingley stood. “Will you stay and dine with us?”
Miss Bingley sniffed. “I should think it would inconvenience the cook.”
“But—”
“Indeed, we must not put out the servants with such little notice,” Mr. Bennet interrupted rising to his feet and bowing slightly. “But you are most kind. Besides, my wife will want a full account of the day’s conversation—and I must leave time to embellish it to her liking.”
Darcy rose and bowed, feeling oddly warm with contentment. He watched as Elizabeth embraced her father and brother goodbye.
It was only when the door closed did he realize he had not thought of the letters once during the entire evening.
∞∞∞
The following two days at Netherfield followed much the same pattern as the first. Elizabeth tended to Jane, who was now able to come below-stairs for much of the day, and she continued her morning walks. Mr. Darcy joined her each time, and though they rarely spoke of the note again, there was a new degree of understanding between them. Something unspoken passed between their glances, a cautious trust forged in the shared shadow of unease.
At last, Jane was declared well enough to return home, and Elizabeth could not deny a certain reluctance to leave. Still, the warmth of Longbourn—with its chaos, its comfort, and its sheer familiarity—soon reasserted itself. Mrs. Bennet was beside herself with joy at the success of Jane’s stay, claiming prophetic insight all along. Kitty and Lydia, full of excitement at any news from Netherfield, hung on every word of the sisters’ account, observing that Darcy’s pride seemed less offensive than it had been previously.
