The man in question raised his glass of wine in response as if saluting his wife, his expression wry and amused. They exchanged brief smiles, a silent understanding passing between them, and Darcy was once again forced to reconsider his opinion of the couple.Perhaps their marriage is more than just convenient.Hurst had proven himself more than met the eye—observant, measured, and not nearly so indolent as Darcy had once assumed. Who else had Darcy misjudged?
Miss Bingley sighed, the sound laden with martyrdom. “Very well, I shall pen the invitation to be sent on the morrow.” She fiddled with the edge of her plate, clearly displeased, before signaling the footmen to bring the next course.
Darcy straightened slightly in his chair, bracing himself. He hoped that whatever was being served would be palatable.
And though he would not have admitted it aloud, he hoped even more that the coming dinner would offer better company than the present one.
“Mr. Bennet, we have been invited to Netherfield to dine on Thursday!” Mrs. Bennet beamed at her husband across the dining table. “What an honor! I have it on good authority that the Lucases have yet to be invited.”
The breakfast room was bright with morning light, the windows thrown open just enough to let in a mild autumn breeze. Fresh bread, butter, and preserves lined the table, and the gentle clink of china accompanied the Bennets’ usual lively discourse.
“Perhaps they too will be in attendance?” Mr. Bennet peered at his wife over his spectacles, a hint of amusement in his expression.
“Do not be ridiculous. This is clearly in honor of our Jane. Even a blind man could see how smitten our new neighbor appears.”
Elizabeth struggled to suppress a grin. Her parents’ banter was a regular occurrence, and it pleased her to see them still so much in love after over twenty years of marriage. Their teasing was affectionate rather than sharp, born of familiarity and genuine regard.
“What say you, Jane? Is this invitation meant to single you out?”
Jane’s cheeks turned a little pink. “Mr. Bingley is a new acquaintance, Papa. And because he is new to the neighborhood, he will likely invite all the principal families to dine at one point or another.”
Her tone was gentle, conciliatory, and entirely Jane—always eager to see the best in others and to soften expectations before they could harden into disappointment.
“Ah, but we are the first.” Mrs. Bennet smiled smugly and then reached for a scone. “That must count for something.”
Elizabeth caught Jane’s eye and smiled reassuringly. If her sister felt any pressure from her mother’s enthusiasm, she bore it with grace.
“Are we to attend, Mama?” Lydia looked hopeful, and Elizabeth could practically see her quiver with excitement.
“I am afraid not, my dove. If it were the Lucases or the Gouldings or the Longs, it would be reasonable. The Bingleys are not so well acquainted with us.”
Lydia’s face fell, but to her credit, she did not argue. Even four months ago, she would have protested loudly and thrown hernapkin. Elizabeth noted the restraint with quiet approval; her youngest sister was learning, slowly but surely.
Pleased with Lydia’s show of self-control, Elizabeth reached out and patted her sister’s hand. “Will you help me re-trim my cream evening gown, dearest? No one is as talented as you at recreation.”
This cheered the young girl a little, and she nodded, her disappointment easing into eager anticipation of ribbons and lace.
Unprepared as they were with dowries for their girls, the Bennets had seen to their daughters’ education. Though their governess had left, Mr. Bennet had since hired tutors to cover any areas where the girls still lacked the knowledge. The lady of the house had learned along with her daughters, and as a result, all the girls knew not only how to behave with propriety but also how to manage a house with economy and fashion.
Elizabeth reflected that this subtle competence—so rarely remarked upon by outsiders—was one of their household’s greatest strengths.
“May I help?” Kitty asked timidly.
Elizabeth nodded, and both girls immediately put their heads together, planning what to do with Elizabeth’s evening gown. Their whispers grew animated as they debated ribbons, trimming, and what might best suit Netherfield’s elegance.
“How do you mean to spend your morning, Mary?” Mr. Bennet peered over his newspaper at his third child. “It seems you alone do not yet have an occupation.”
“Milton and my music call, Papa.” Mary was the most serious of the Bennet girls. She would be classified as a bluestocking by some, but that did not bother her in the slightest. She devoured books at a rapid pace and debated them fiercely with her father. Elizabeth participated and could hold her own against both…most of the time.
Affection bloomed within her as she examined her family. The easy laughter, the familiar rhythms, the small domestic plans—it all felt achingly precious. Then, she met her father’s gaze across the table, and her chest tightened.
The gold.
The great secret pressed in on her thoughts, unwelcome and heavy. The joy of the morning dimmed, replaced by a knot of unease she could not dispel.
Quietly, she excused herself and went to her chambers. Kitty and Lydia could find her when they were ready.
As she climbed the stairs, Elizabeth wondered how long such ordinary happiness could endure beneath the weight of an extraordinary secret—and whether the invitation to Netherfield would mark the beginning of solace…or of consequence.
