“Parents should not have favourites,” he said before he could stop himself.
Miss Mary shrugged. “Lydia looks very much like Mama, so I suppose she cannot help herself. And Lizzy – Elizabeth – is Papa’s favourite for similar reasons.”
“Surely they do not look alike?”
“No, but they are alike in many ways.”
Mrs. Bennet then rose, signaling the end of the meal. Her daughters rose, as did Mr. Bennet and Mr. Darcy, and the ladies left the room, leaving the gentlemen alone.
“Peace at last!” Mr. Bennet proclaimed. “Sit beside me, will you?”
Mr. Darcy rose and made his way to the seat to Mr. Bennet’s right.
“I am sorry that my wife badgered you about your marital status, Mr. Darcy.”
“It is of no importance.”
Mr. Bennet chuckled. “You are quite wrong. She will have you leg-shackled by Christmas if you are not cautious.”
“To Miss Mary, no doubt.” Mr. Darcy’s voice was dry.
“Ah, you picked up on that, did you? Mary is a good girl, but not for you. I suspect my Lizzy would be more to your liking, though I shall not badger you on the subject.”
Mr. Darcy ignored the comment. “Miss Mary said that Elizabeth was your favourite.”
Mr. Bennet had the decency to wince. “I suppose she is, though it saddens me that Mary is aware of it.”
“And Miss Lydia is Mrs. Bennet’s favourite.”
“Well, that is no secret, though she is doing Lydia no favours. Will you have brandy?”
Mr. Darcy nodded. The two men sipped in silence for a minute. Then Mr. Bennet said, “It is true that Lizzy and I have a special connection. She has brown hair and brown eyes, like my family, and she is – well, I suppose one might saybookish.”
“She likes to read, then.”
“Yes, and she is voracious. She studies everything from poetry to Plato.”
Mr. Darcy now had a good picture of this missing daughter. She was another Mary, but a bluestocking to boot! Dreadful!. He had no interest in such a girl, and he changed the subject to the crops grown in the area and the border between Longbourn and Netherfield. Finally, Mr. Bennet rose, saying, “We must spend a half an hour with the ladies, but then we can retire to my study and perhaps have a game of chess.”
The two gentlemen went to the parlour, where the Bennet ladies sat. Mrs. Bennet was sitting beside Miss Mary; upon seeing Mr. Darcy, she poked Miss Mary hard. There followed a whispered conversation, after which the young lady rose and went to the piano.
Evidently, Miss Mary had been prompted to display her musical accomplishments, though Mr. Darcy rather wished that she had not. Of course, no one could impress the brother of Georgiana Darcy, who had a prodigious talent for the instrument, but even so, Mary’s performance was lacking.
Mr. Darcy sat back and listened, keeping his face carefully expressionless; he applauded politely when she was done. The entire evening had been rather absurd to Mr. Darcy, whose elevated tastes had been formed in London’s finest drawing rooms, but of course there was no way for Mrs. Bennet to know who her guest was. It was impossible for Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy to marry any of her girls, let alone tongue-tied and unattractive Mary.
When the room was silent again, Miss Bennet addressed him. “How are you finding Netherfield, Mr. Darcy?”
“I think it a fine estate for Mr. Bingley. His father always hoped that his son would become a landed gentleman; the lease at Netherfield will allow him to determine if he wishes to fulfill those hopes.”
“Does he not enjoy the country?” Miss Bennet’s lovely blue eyes were fastened on Mr. Darcy’s face.
“I think he does not yet know; he has spent most of his life in school and then London.”
“We understand that he has two sisters,” Mrs. Bennet put in.
“He does. The eldest is married to a Mr. Hurst, who will eventually inherit an estate in Somerset; the younger is not yet married.”
“How do you know Mr. Bingley?” Miss Bennet asked.
