Bingley looked relieved by the escape and grateful for the reprieve from further argument. “Of course,” he murmured.
Miss Bingley’s gaze followed Darcy as he left, sharpened with intent. Darcy did not look back.
As he walked from the breakfast room, he found his thoughts returning—unbidden—to a young woman in a country assembly, laughing as though insult were of no consequence. The memory unsettled him more than any of his companions’ contempt.
If she can bear my disdain with amusement,he thought,what does that make me?
“The evening was exceptionally enjoyable, was it not?” Charlotte Lucas grinned as she seated herself next to Elizabeth, settling her skirts with a practiced motion that spoke of long familiarity with drawing-room calls. Her eyes sparkled with amusement rather than naïveté. “Our new neighbors will provide you with plenty of character study.”
“I fear the study will be short-lived,” Elizabeth replied, making a small face as she adjusted her position on the sofa. “The newcomers’ characters are readily discernible. I am certain that if they knew how very transparent they were, they would be mortified.”
Charlotte laughed softly. “You are merciless, Lizzy—but I cannot say you are wrong.”
“Oh, to be sure,” Mrs. Bennet clucked her tongue in disappointment, folding her hands in her lap as though bracing herself against remembered affronts. “I fear that only Mr. Bingley had any good manners. It is a shame—I so looked forward to having more amiable companionship in the area.”
Lady Lucas, seated opposite with her posture admirably erect, nodded with measured approval. “We must remember that the others are guests of Mr. Bingley. It is that gentleman who will remain among us until his lease expires. As long as his manner is not lacking, I believe we may be satisfied.” She glanced slyly at Mrs. Bennet, her expression brightening. “You must be pleased—he danced with Jane twice!”
“It is flattering that he noted my daughter’s worthiness,” Mrs. Bennet said, unable to keep a trace of satisfaction from her voice. “Jane was pleased with the attention.” Jane’s cheeksturned a becoming shade of pink, and she lowered her gaze to her hands, twisting her fingers together. Mrs. Bennet went on, with an effort at moderation, “But they have only just formed the acquaintance. We must not assume anything.”
“Oh, indeed,” Lady Lucas agreed with vigor. “There are so many worthless young men who play with unsuspecting ladies’ hearts. If he proves such a scoundrel, we shall never acknowledge him again!” Her righteous indignation made the carefully arranged ringlets about her temples quiver.
“As Mrs. Bennet has said, it is far too soon to form a proper opinion,” Elizabeth interposed calmly. “Though Mr. Bingley’s companions showed disdain for our little gathering, we might perhaps see it as Jane does—that they were merely uneasy among strangers, unused to such company.”
“And no one can be introduced in a ballroom?” Mrs. Bennet rolled her eyes, her patience clearly exhausted on that score. “It is very good of Jane to wish to see the best in everyone, but one must acknowledge when behavior passes from bordering on uncivil to downright rude. And I do not approve of Mr. Darcy’s snub. Yes, Lady Lucas, hesnubbedour dear Lizzy. How can a man be called a gentleman when he is so careless with his words?”
Elizabeth felt a small warmth at her aunt’s defense. Truly, Mr. Darcy’s remarks had stung for no more than a moment; pride and curiosity had swiftly overtaken hurt. The gentleman thought more of himself than was warranted, and he would likely die of mortification if he ever understood how publicly—and foolishly—he had erred.
It will be an amusing story to tell Aunt Caroline,she mused.Though in truth, the princess would be furious on my behalf.Elizabeth suppressed a smile.Perhaps it is best saved for when we meet again—tempered with humor, lest it provoke a lecture.
Her thoughts returned to Jane. Mr. Bingley’s attention was promising, and not at all surprising. Jane was the handsomest woman he had likely ever encountered—her natural grace, quiet reserve, and unwavering inclination to see the good in others rendered her exceptional. Any gentleman would be a fool not to wish her acquaintance.
“You must promise me never to dance with Mr. Darcy, Lizzy,” Mrs. Bennet said suddenly, fixing Elizabeth with a firm look. “He does not deserve your notice.”
“I can safely say that unless forced by circumstance or cruel design, I shall refrain from standing up with him,” Elizabeth replied with an easy smile. “I am certain he will find yet more to dislike about our society before his stay concludes.”
That assurance appeared to satisfy her aunt, and the conversation turned once more to the general proceedings of the evening. Lady Lucas, clearly relishing her role as purveyor of intelligence, leaned forward conspiratorially.
“I have plans for a small gathering at Lucas Lodge next month,” she announced, her eyes shining. “And I bring news besides—the militia will soon be stationed in Meryton.”
Mrs. Bennet drew in a breath of keen interest. “The militia?”
“It is not generally known,” Lady Lucas continued, her tone lowering just enough to heighten its importance. “My husband, being the magistrate, received a letter of introduction from the colonel of the regiment. It is essential for soldiers to enjoy the goodwill of the local populace.” She beamed. “The colonel himself, along with several officers, will attend our gathering.”
“We shall certainly attend,” Mrs. Bennet replied graciously, already envisioning the possibilities such an influx of scarlet coats might present.
The call extended far longer than usual, sustained by the abundance of subjects that demanded discussion, analysis, and speculation. When at last the Lucas ladies departed, Elizabethfound herself unexpectedly sorry to see them go. The room felt quieter in their absence—less animated, though no less comfortable.
As she rose to ring for tea at Mrs. Bennet’s request, Elizabeth reflected that if the arrival of new neighbors promised anything, it was this: life in Hertfordshire would not lack for interest.
Chapter Thirteen
After the local assembly, Mrs. Bennet informed Elizabeth, Jane, and Mary that they would call on the ladies of Netherfield Park. To call upon Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst on theirat homeday was only polite, and Mrs. Bennet—who understood the delicate balance between propriety and opportunity—would not hear of delaying it. The prospect of possibly seeing Mr. Bingley had its appeal as well, though Jane endeavored, with mixed success, to conceal her anticipation behind calm attentiveness.
When the time came to depart, the ladies climbed aboard the Bennets’ sensible carriage. It was not overly opulent, though its construction was sound. The springs were tight, and the journey in the conveyance pleasant, even over imperfect roads. The upholstery had been refreshed within the last decade, the leather well cared for, and the fittings polished but not garish. Though the Bennets possessed a family crest, Mr. Bennet had never seen a reason to have it emblazoned upon the carriage doors for all to gawk at; he preferred solidity to display, and Elizabeth had inherited that same inclination.
From the carriage window, Elizabeth glimpsed Netherfield long before the house itself appeared, announced first by the subtle ordering of the land. The hedgerows grew neater, the fields broader and more carefully kept, their greens deepened by recent rain. A pale ribbon of gravel curved away from the main road and wound through gently rising ground, flanked by young trees whose branches were just beginning to turn with the season. Sheep grazed at a polite distance, as though aware they belonged to a place not meant for disorder, and the lawns beyond them stretched smooth and unbroken, betraying the quiet expense required to keep nature so obliging. As the carriage rolled onward, the house emerged at last—solid, symmetrical, and pale against the sky—its windows catching the light and reflecting it back without warmth. Elizabeth noted the balance and restraint of it all, the careful dignity of a place designed to impress without excess, and she could not help thinking that Netherfield, like its present occupants, presented itself impeccably while revealing very little of what lay within.
The ladies spoke amongst themselves as they trundled down Netherfield’s drive. Mrs. Bennet speculated aloud on the arrangement of furniture in each of the rooms and the likely refreshments; Mary observed that the grounds were well laid out and wondered whether the new owner would add anything to the library worth examining; Jane listened with polite interest, though her gaze lingered on the front steps and the tall windows beyond. Elizabeth remained largely silent. This was the first time she would go inside the house she had inherited from her father. She had shown little interest in it over the years beyond what was required of her. Indeed, according to her uncle, she had never lived there with her parents. To her, Netherfield was simply another building—handsome, well situated, but devoid of sentiment.
