Page 31 of The Engagement at Longbourn

Darcy looked at Elizabeth. She was sewing by the window, though the brightness in her eyes betrayed her. “Do not encourage her,” he murmured.

“I would not dream of it.”

She was encouraging everyone. The first week downstairs taught Darcy more about Longbourn than two months of assemblies and dinners had done. He saw Mrs. Bennet receive a tenant’s wife in the back parlour and quietly arrange for two sacks of coal to be delivered to a cottage where the husband had injured his hand. He saw her send broth to an elderly widow without announcing the charity to anyone outside the family. He heard her scold Mr. Hill for allowing a loose shutter to remain unfixed because “the servants’ rooms are not to be colder simply because no guests sleep there.”

Her manner remained excitable. Her voice carried through doors. She still spoke too freely about marriages and fortunes. But Darcy began to see the machinery beneath the noise. Mrs. Bennet remembered who needed what. She also remembered which of Longbourn’s tenants had paid late because of a sick cow rather than idleness, which girl in the village could sew neatly enough to be recommended for service, and how many blankets remained in the linen cupboard.

One snowy morning, Darcy watched through the parlour window as she stood on the front steps arguing with a carter. “What is happening?” he asked.

Elizabeth looked up from her book. “Mama is refusing a delivery.”

“Why?”

“The apples are frozen.”

Darcy listened.

“—and you may tell Mr. Saunders,” Mrs. Bennet declared, “that I have dealt with him since before my eldest girl was born, and I know a sound apple from one that will be brown by tomorrow. Take them back.”

The carter protested.

Mrs. Bennet folded her arms.

The cart left with the apples.

Elizabeth said, “Mama has a formidable understanding of fruit.”

Darcy gave her a look.

She smiled.

His education extended to Mr. Bennet as well. Darcy had liked Elizabeth’s father at first for his dry humour. The longer he stayed, the more complicated that liking became. Mr. Bennet was intelligent, observant, and often affectionate. He was also capable of retreating behind a book whenever domestic disorder became tiresome.

One afternoon Kitty and Lydia quarrelled over an invitation to dine with Mrs. Forster. Their voices rose. Mrs. Bennet intervened. Mary offered moral instruction no one had requested. Mr. Bennet opened the library door, surveyed the scene, and began to withdraw.

Elizabeth caught his eye. “Papa.”

He stopped.

She said nothing else. Mr. Bennet sighed as a man sentenced unjustly. “Lydia, you are not dining with the Forsters tonight.”

“But Papa!”

“You were told yesterday that you must finish the letter to Aunt Gardiner and spend an hour with Mary on your French.”

“La! Mary makes French sound like a funeral.”

Mary looked offended.

“Nevertheless, the dead may improve your pronunciation. Kitty, you may go if Mrs. Forster sends the invitation properly rather than through an officer who shouted it from horseback.”

Kitty looked triumphant.

Mr. Bennet pointed at her. “Do not look so pleased. You will be home by ten.”

The matter was finished.

Darcy waited until the girls dispersed.