Soup was served. Spoons moved. Chairs were adjusted. For several moments, only the muted sounds of cutlery and the faint crackle of the fire disturbed the room.
Bingley, determined as ever to restore cheer, smiled around the table. “I am very glad to see you below again this evening, Miss Bennet,” he said warmly to Jane. “You look quite yourself.”
Jane returned the smile, serene and gracious. “Thank you, Mr. Bingley. I feel much improved.”
Darcy observed the exchange with a touch of awe. Jane’s manner was unchanged by illness or insult; if anything, it was softened, as though she believed kindness might smooth over any roughness left behind.
“I told you she would recover quickly,” Elizabeth said lightly. “Rest, warmth, and broth perform miracles that physicians are sometimes inclined to overlook.”
Mrs. Hurst inclined her head. “I am relieved to hear it. Illness is such a dreadful interruption to the comfort of a household.”
“Particularly when one is unprepared for guests,” Miss Bingley added, her tone smooth, her eyes fixed on her plate.
Darcy felt the shift immediately. It was subtle, but unmistakable—the way Elizabeth’s posture straightened, the way Bingley’s smile faltered for the briefest moment.
Elizabeth met Miss Bingley’s gaze calmly. “Indeed. Though I have always thought that a household’s comfort is best measured by how it treats those who are least at ease within it.”
Miss Bingley blinked once, clearly uncertain whether she had just been challenged.
Jane said gently, “Mrs. Hurst, the soup is excellent. Please convey my compliments to the cook.”
Mrs. Hurst seemed grateful for the reprieve. “I shall,” she said quickly. “She will be pleased.”
Mr. Hurst, oblivious or unconcerned—Darcy knew not which—chewed thoughtfully and then said, “This beef is excellent, Louisa. Much improved upon what we were served when we first arrived.”
The remark earned him a brief smile from his wife and a visible flush from Miss Bingley, whose own culinary preferences had been loudly asserted upon their arrival. The hue clashed violently with her copper hair and orange gown, rendering her expression almost theatrical.
She tried again, to Darcy’s amazement. “Pray, tell me Miss Eliza—what is the fare like at Longbourn? With so many sisters, I imagine there areamplehands to assist in the kitchens.”
Elizabeth looked up slowly, as though considering the question with care.
“On the contrary,” she replied, her tone mild, “we find it far more efficient to leave the kitchens to those who are actually skilled in them.”
Miss Bingley blinked. “Oh? I had assumed—”
“That assumption,” Elizabeth continued pleasantly, “is rather common among those who were not raised in a gentleman’s house.”
Darcy pressed his lips together.
“Our cook,” Elizabeth went on, “has been with us for twenty years. She prefers not to be supervised by amateurs, and we prefer not to interfere. It creates a harmony most agreeable at table.”
Jane added gently, “We are quite spoiled by her talents.”
Miss Bingley’s smile tightened. “Still, it must be… lively. All those young ladies in one household.”
“It is,” Elizabeth agreed. “Lively conversation, varied opinions, and the great benefit of learning restraint when one is tempted to speak unkindly.”
There was a fractional pause.
Mrs. Hurst’s eyes flicked to Elizabeth with something very like admiration.
Miss Bingley gave a short, incredulous laugh. “How very… philosophical.”
Elizabeth inclined her head. “One must cultivate something, Miss Bingley. I find philosophy less taxing than malice. Then again, I am usually more occupied with the typical duties that come from being a gentleman’s daughter.”
“But notallyour family is of the gentry, if I am not mistaken.” The hateful woman’s voice was tinged with desperation. “After all, dear Jane told us that your family lives in Cheapside, do they not?”
Elizabeth’s response was immediate and deceptively gentle. “That is quite true. However, a gentleman’s daughter, after all, is raised to understand the value of labor, no matter where some members of her family originate from. I do not believe you will have had any such lessons, however. What a pity.”
