“Good night.”
She left as quietly as she had come.
Elizabeth lay back upon the bed, her thoughts settling as the room darkened.
Netherfield. A new master, a new neighbor.
It lingered for a moment longer—and then, gradually, gave way to sleep.
Darcy had not intended to be in Hertfordshire so soon. Circumstances, however, had a way of rearranging themselves without consulting preference. Engagements that had once seemed fixed proved unexpectedly flexible; obligations were postponed, invitations declined, and what had been a carefully ordered autumn shifted into something rather less structured. Bingley, delighted by any alteration that favored his own plans, had required very little persuasion.
“You must come with me without delay,” he had said, with all the warmth of his nature. “There is no sense in waiting for the Hursts and Caroline. The house will be no less agreeable for being seen early, and I should like your opinion before I commit myself to hosting my sisters.”
Darcy, who had already perceived that Bingley was all but committed, agreed with a readiness that surprised him.
Thus, they arrived at Netherfield at Michaelmas, the air sharp with the first suggestion of autumn, the landscape touched with change but not altered beyond recognition.
The house was well appointed. Darcy observed it first from a distance, his eye taking in its proportions, its situation, and the manner in which it sat upon the land. There was a balanceto it that pleased him—neither ostentatious nor neglected, but maintained with a care that suggested attention without extravagance.
“Well?” Bingley said, turning toward him with open expectation. “What do you think?”
Darcy did not answer at once. He allowed himself a moment to consider, to note the symmetry of the front, the approach, the condition of the grounds.
“It is a very good house,” he said at last.
Bingley’s satisfaction was immediate. “I knew you would like it.”
“You have chosen well,” Darcy added. “It suits you.”
“That is precisely what I thought,” Bingley said, with a laugh. “Though I cannot say I had such reasons in mind when I first saw it. It felt right. That is enough for me.”
Darcy bowed his head slightly. It was, he supposed, enough for Bingley.
They spent the next hour in a thorough examination of the interior. Rooms were opened, inspected, and discussed. Bingley moved through them with increasing enthusiasm, already imagining their future use, already assigning them a life that had not begun. Darcy followed at a more moderate pace, noting details that Bingley missed, confirming others that he did not.
The drawing rooms were well proportioned. Despite its limited size, the dining room adequately accommodated a small gathering. The bedchambers varied in size but were generally comfortable. There was nothing to object to, and much to commend.
“I shall be very happy here,” Bingley declared, as they concluded their tour.
“I have no doubt of it,” Darcy said.
“Caroline will have something to say, of course.”
“She always does.” Miss Bingley had never shied away from voicing her opinions.
Bingley laughed. “And Mrs. Hurst will find fault with whatever does not serve her comfort.”
“Which is nearly everything.”
“Precisely.”
Darcy allowed himself the smallest smile.
“They will not arrive for a fortnight,” Bingley continued. “Which leaves us time to settle in without interference. I cannot think of a greater advantage.”
“Nor can I,” Darcy said.
They stepped outside once more, the air fresh after the stillness of the house.
