Page 7 of The Crown’s Gift

"What friend?" Lady Bennet asked at once.

"His name is Darcy."

Jane looked up. "Mr Fitzwilliam Darcy?"

"You know him?" Elizabeth asked.

"Only by sight. He attended the same concert at Carlton House last year. Miss Grant said he owns a large estate in Derbyshire."

"Ten thousand a year," Lady Bennet said reverently.

Sir Thomas buttered his toast. "Then he may be trusted to feed himself."

Charles Bingley arrived at Netherfield two days later in a blue coat, a high good humor, and precisely seven minutes of nervousness. The nervousness vanished when Sir Thomas asked whether the chimneys at Longbourn drew properly.

"Perfectly, sir. Better than the house we had in Scarborough, and my sister says the morning room has the finest light she has seen outside London. I hope you do not mind that we shifted the pianoforte. We have not scratched the floor—I made Hurst help lift it."

"Then I am already indebted to Mr Hurst."

Bingley laughed easily. He was handsome without appearing conscious of it, with fair hair, an open face, and the habit of leaning toward whoever spoke as if no other person deserved his attention.

Sir Thomas liked him and therefore became cautious.

"A house is meant to be lived in, Mr Bingley. Within the terms of the lease, you may arrange it to suit yourself. But Longbourn is connected to my family in ways not stated in a solicitor's inventory."

Bingley's expression sobered. "I understand. Or I hope to. My father built his fortune in trade, and we never had an old family house to leave. I would not willingly treat yours carelessly."

It was a better answer than Sir Thomas expected.

"Come to dinner on Thursday. Bring your party. Lady Bennet will wish to welcome her former curtains and may consent to welcome the present inhabitants as well."

Bingley's grin returned. "We shall be delighted."

Darcy did not accompany him on the call, a fact Lady Bennet considered suspicious until the Longbourn carriage arrived for dinner and he descended from it.

Elizabeth watched from the drawing-room window. Bingley came first. Behind him was a fashionable woman in orange silk, another lady with an indolent expression, a broad gentleman already glancing toward the dining-room doors, and last a tall man in black evening dress.

He paused upon the gravel and looked up at Netherfield.

There was nothing offensive in the action. Any visitor might admire the balanced stone front, the lit windows, and the portico added under Sir Thomas's direction. Yet something in the stranger's stillness suggested appraisal rather than admiration.

"That must be Mr Darcy," Mary whispered.

"Because he looks so wealthy?"

"Because he looks as if he would rather be elsewhere."

Elizabeth smiled. "Mary, I begin to fear you have acquired discernment."

The introductions were civil. Miss Bingley took in Lady Bennet's rose-colored satin, Jane's beauty, Mary's quiet dress, Elizabeth's steady gaze, and the room's elegant furnishings in one comprehensive sweep.

"How extraordinary it must be," she said, "to live so near one's former home."

Lady Bennet's smile remained fixed. Ten years earlier she would have explained the entail, the rent, the income, and the number of bedchambers in both houses before drawing breath.

"It is very convenient," she said. "I may remember my happiest years without being responsible for the attics."

Sir Thomas's eyes warmed. Elizabeth wanted to applaud.