Page 59 of A November to Remember

At one end of the table, Miss Bingley wore a satisfied expression over her plate of roasted mutton. At the other end, Charles Bingley appeared as though he were attending a funeral.

Darcy sliced his meat with meticulous care, observing his friend. Bingley had maintained this state of despondency for six consecutive hours. He pushed a piece of potato around his plate with the enthusiasm of a condemned man.

Robert leaned over his plate, pointing a fork at the host. “Bingley. I beg of you. Eat the mutton. You resemble a lapdog who has been left out in the rain. It is upsetting my digestion.”

Bingley sighed tragically. “I am simply thinking, Keathley.”

“Thinking?” Richard reached for the gravy boat. “A dangerous pastime. I advise against it, since you are not used to it.”

“I fear my brother is merely exercising caution, Lord Keathley,” Miss Bingley interjected, taking a delicate sip of her wine. “It is a heavy burden for a man of fortune to discern true affection from polite compliance.”

Robert’s fork halted midway to his mouth. He looked from Caroline’s smug expression to Bingley’s miserable one. “Compliance? What is this about, Bingley?”

Bingley dropped his fork and pressed his fingertips to his temples. He looked around, searching the dining room to make sure Miss Elizabeth had not appeared out of thin air. “Miss Bennet is an angel, and I care for her. She is perfect. But... she smiles at everyone. She smiled at the apothecary and the footman, we all saw it. How do I know she harbours any particular regard for me? Perhaps she is too polite to tell me to go away. A marriage built on mere compliance is a cold house, Keathley.”

Robert stared at Bingley thunderously, as though he wanted to reach across the table and shake their host by the lapels.

“You absolute blockhead,” Robert hissed, his voice dropping into a dangerously sharp register. “She is the most exquisite, genuine creature in this miserable county. She does not merely tolerate you. If you cannot see the preference in her eyes when you walk into the room, you do not deserve the eyesight God gave you.”

Miss Bingley bristled, sitting up straighter. “Lord Keathley, surely you must agree that a woman of her modest connections would naturally smile at any wealthy gentleman. It is her duty to secure her future.”

“Yes,” Mrs Hurst added unhelpfully, waving a hand. “They are trained to smile at fortunes. Like performing monkeys. It means nothing.”

“It means everything!” Robert snapped, turning a fierce glare on the sisters. He leaned forward, aiming his intensity at Bingley. “She is a gentle, delicate soul, Bingley, not a performing monkey. And if you allow a few whispered doubts to steer you away from her, you are the greatest buffoon in England. You must pursue her. You must secure her!”

“Keathley speaks the truth, Bingley,” Richard added. “When you spot the high ground, you take it. You do not sit in the valley wondering if the hill actually wants you there. You claim it.”

“But what if she does not care for me?” Bingley agonised. “What if she accepts me out of duty?”

“She is sweet on you,” a voice rumbled.

Everyone turned. Mr Hurst had paused in his consumption of the mutton, but did not look up from his plate.

“The girl is sweet on you,” he repeated. “A blind man could see it. She blushes when you speak. She ignores everyone else when you are in the room. Marry her, Bingley, and for God’s sake, pass the port. This melancholy is ruining my dinner.”

Darcy hid a smirk behind his wineglass and observed his cousin. The viscount was breathing heavily, his knuckles white around the stem of his glass. Darcy saw the intensity in his cousin’s expression. Robert was advocating for Bingley to claim the girl, yet the effort was costing him dearly.

“Listen to your brother-in-law, Bingley,” Darcy said quietly. “He is the most observant man in the room. When he is awake.”

After dinner, the company moved into the parlour. Darcy soon departed. He had no wish to be among them since Miss Elizabeth had stayed upstairs to dine with her sister. The parlour was suffocating, and the continuous sound of Robert listing Miss Bennet’s virtues to a bewildered Bingley was grating on his nerves.

He sought the quiet of the library, welcoming the absence of people and the low fire burning in the hearth. He poured himself a small glass of brandy, selected a slim volume from the nearest shelf without reading the spine, and settled into an armchair.

Ten minutes later, Miss Elizabeth walked into the room. She paused on the threshold, catching sight of him. She had changed into a dark blue gown, her hair pinned up, though a few stray curls had inevitably escaped.

“I apologise.” She took a small step backward. “I did not mean to intrude, Mr Darcy. I came to find a book for the night. Jane is finally asleep.”

Darcy stood up, setting his glass on the side table. “You are not intruding, Miss Elizabeth. Please. The library is at your disposal.”

She stepped fully into the room, moving towards the shelves. “I fear if I have to read another page of sermons my sister Mary provided for me, I shall throw the book into the fire. Or myself. I need something with a bit more substance. And sense.”

Darcy moved closer, leaning casually against a reading desk. “Substance. A dangerous request in this house. Bingley’s collection leans heavily to the agricultural journals Miss Bingley orders from London to impress me.”

“Does she succeed, Mr Darcy?”

“Certainly. They are insightful.”

She ran her fingers lightly over the spines of the books, her eyes scanning the titles. “I am glad. There must be something here. Ah.” She pulled an imposing volume from the shelf. “The History of the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire by Edward Gibbon. Perfect. Treachery, politics, and the collapse of civilisation. Exactly what I need to settle my mind.”