“It seems,” she said with perfect composure, “that salt replaced the sugaraccidentallythis morning.”
Her tone remained gracious. Her eyes did not.
Elizabeth had rarely seen her mother look so displeased.
Mrs. Bennet resumed her seat and poured Mr. Wilson a fresh cup herself.
“My apologies, cousin.”
Mr. Wilson recovered quickly enough once assured the replacement tea contained no further surprises. “No lasting harm done,” he declared gallantly, though lingering suspicion accompanied his glance toward the bowl.
Conversation gradually resumed, albeit somewhat unevenly at first.
Elizabeth attempted to focus upon Darcy’s observations regarding estate roads while privately reconstructing the likely sequence of events upstairs.
Lydia’s suspicious composure. The twins’ disappearance. The timing of the sugar bowl. And most tellingly of all, Mrs. Bennet’s expression.
Her mother knew. Or at least strongly suspected.
The realization should have alarmed Elizabeth more than it did. Instead, to her own horror, amusement pressed dangerously at the edges of her composure.
From somewhere near the doorway came the sound of suppressed laughter. Elizabeth gaze shot up sharply. For one brief instant she caught sight of Thomas and Toby crowded together behind the partially open door.
Lydia clapped both hands over her mouth. The twins vanished instantly. Elizabeth stared after them slowly. Then toward thesugar bowl. Then toward Mr. Wilson, who still approached his replacement tea with understandable caution.
Suspicion hardened into near certainty at last. Her brothers—and possibly Lydia—were organizing themselves. And somehow—far more disturbingly—Mr. Darcy appeared to be the intended beneficiary of their schemes.
Dangerously Comfortable
Darcy began calling at Longbourn with a frequency that would have alarmed the matchmaking mamas of the ton if they knew. At first the visits appeared quite defensible.
Bingley wished to call on Miss Bennet with great frequency, despite his sister’s protests. Mrs. Bennet had extended invitations with genuine warmth impossible to refuse without discourtesy. Mr. Bennet proved unexpectedly engaging company during discussions of estate improvements, tenant management, and agricultural experiments, particularly when fortified with good port and an audience willing to appreciate dry wit properly delivered.
Then there were the boys.
Darcy attempted not to dwell overmuch upon the fact that Thomas and Toby Bennet greeted his arrivals with more enthusiasm than many gentlemen received from lifelong friends before they were ushered off to the nursery.
Still, the truth remained unavoidable. Longbourn had become comfortable. Dangerously comfortable.
Netherfield, though elegant and well managed, increasingly felt like a temporary residence occupied by restless people forever arranging themselves around one another’s expectations. Longbourn, by contrast, possessed the warmth of genuine family life. Tea was bustling noise without descending into vulgarity. Conversation moved naturally between subjects. Affection existed openly there, not performed but lived.
Darcy found himself observing it constantly.
Mrs. Bennet impressed him more with every visit. She governed the household with a steadiness both gentle and firm, managing daughters, guests, servants, and twin sons with remarkable composure even when chaos plainly threatened beneath the surface. She neither indulged foolishness nor crushed liveliness from her children. The result was a household far happier than many considerably grander ones Darcy had known.
And at the center of it all, whether consciously or not, stood Elizabeth, belonging so naturally to the rhythm of the family that Darcy increasingly could not imagine Longbourn without her within it.
She listened when Mary spoke seriously of books no one else had read. She steadied Lydia’s excesses with humor instead of sharpness. She teased Kitty kindly enough to avoid hurt. The twins adored her with absolute devotion, and Elizabeth loved them back with a warmth free from impatience despite the disasters they regularly inspired.
Darcy saw all of it. And every observation deepened the danger.
On a gray November afternoon scarcely a week after the infamous salted tea incident, Darcy arrived at Longbourn under the exceedingly reasonable pretense of returning a volume MissMary had lent him regarding medieval English history. The fact that he had finished the entire book in two evenings merely to justify a quicker return ought perhaps to have troubled him more.
Bingley accompanied him, naturally eager for any excuse involving Jane Bennet.
Mrs. Bennet received them warmly in the drawing room where Miss Bennet worked quietly beside the window while Miss Mary attempted embroidery with visible dissatisfaction.
“Mr. Darcy,” Mrs. Bennet said pleasantly, “Mary will be delighted to know her book survived your criticism.”
