Elizabeth laughed. She could not help it. “Mama.”
“There are calls to make, and your aunt must know, and Lady Lucas—oh! Lady Lucas will be all astonishment. And your gowns, Lizzy! You cannot be courted by Mr. Darcy in that old muslin with the mended sleeve. Hill must send to Meryton at once, and we must begin thinking of—”
“It is a courtship, Mama,” Elizabeth reminded her. “Only a courtship.”
Mrs. Bennet waved one hand as though courtship were a minor obstacle on a very clear road. “Only a matter of time.”
“Mama, Mr. Darcy has not proposed.” It was not precisely a lie; he had proposed, but she had not accepted, and that was not a distinction Elizabeth intended to explain before Mr. Collins’s wounded dignity and Lydia’s delighted curiosity.
“He will,” Mrs. Bennet said with complete confidence. “A gentleman does not come at breakfast to ask permission to court a young lady unless he means something by it. Five thousand a year for Jane, and Mr. Darcy of Pemberley for Lizzy! Oh, my poor nerves. I shall never survive so much happiness.”
Mr. Collins cleared his throat with solemn force. “May I be permitted to offer my congratulations, cousin Elizabeth, though I confess the suddenness of this intelligence must naturally produce some astonishment in those who had understood—”
“Thank you, Mr. Collins,” Elizabeth said quickly.
Mary, perhaps attempting charity, added, “A courtship is not an engagement, Mr. Collins. There remains opportunity for reflection on all sides.”
“That is precisely what I have just said,” Elizabeth said, grateful for the support even if Mary’s tone made courtship sound like a theological examination.
Lydia bounced in her chair. “Lizzy, will you be mistress of Pemberley? Will you have a carriage? Will you give balls? Will there be officers in Derbyshire?”
“I have not the least idea.”
“There must be officers somewhere.”
“Not in the breakfast room, I hope,” Jane said, smiling softly.
Elizabeth looked at her sister then, and the warmth in Jane’s face nearly brought tears to her own eyes. Jane understood more than anyone else at the table. Not all, perhaps, but enough. Her joy was quiet, tender, and unselfish.
Across the room, Mrs. Bennet had already begun to murmur about calls, lace, new ribbons, and how Lady Lucas would never have expected such a thing. Mr. Collins sat stiffly, trying and failing to look benevolent. Lydia whispered something to Kitty that made them both laugh. Mary returned to her plate with the air of a person who would later extract a moral from all of it.
Elizabeth’s gaze drifted to the closed door through which her father and Darcy had gone.
Her laughter faded into a smaller, more anxious smile.
On this side of the door, at least, the news had survived its first storm.
She could only hope Darcy was faring as well in the bookroom.
∞∞∞
Darcy followed Mr. Bennet into the bookroom with a composure that was almost entirely external.
The room smelled of leather, paper, and old dust, with a faint trace of tobacco beneath it. Books lined the walls in careless abundance, some arranged by size, others by no principle Darcy could discern. A newspaper lay open upon one chair, a stack ofestate papers occupied the edge of the desk, and several volumes appeared to have been placed upon the floor with the confidence of a man who expected no one else to require a clear path.
Mr. Bennet went behind his desk and sat.
He did not invite Darcy to do the same.
Darcy remained standing.
For several moments, neither spoke. Mr. Bennet leaned back in his chair and regarded him over steepled fingers, one eyebrow raised in a manner so reminiscent of Elizabeth that Darcy might have smiled had he not been too aware of the importance of the interview.
At last, Mr. Bennet said, “I believe you were the one who requested this interview, Mr. Darcy, so it falls to you to begin. Unless you are of the impression that I can read minds, in which case you will be sorely disappointed. I have not yet developed that particular talent, thankfully. Otherwise, I should never have a moment’s peace from the silly thoughts of my wife and daughters. Though perhaps it is one you possess?”
Darcy blinked.
He had faced officers, creditors, tenants, tradesmen, and an earl displeased with the late actions of his brother-in-law. He had not often found himself addressed in precisely this manner.
