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Nor was the rest of their conversation less engaging. Miss Darcy was devoted to music to a degree that went well beyond accomplishment into something more like true artistry. While Elizabeth could not claim anything like an equal level of proficiency, it was nonetheless a pleasure to speak with anyone about something they loved so much. And Miss Darcy was, if anything, more ready to listen than to talk. She asked Elizabeth about Hertfordshire with what appeared to be genuine interest rather than politeness.

They were deep in a discussion of the Netherfield library and the small but well-loved library at Darcy House in London when they were interrupted by the arrival of Mrs Pearce.

The addition was not entirely a welcome one, for Mrs Pearce was a notable gossip. Elizabeth was only too familiar with her propensity to enquire into everything — the more private, and the less it concerned her, the better. As Mrs Bennet also appreciated neighbourhood gossip, Mrs Pearce had been a frequent visitor at Longbourn.

Elizabeth glanced towards Miss Bingley. Such a visitor would not seem to be much in line with her carefully elegant tastes.

To her surprise, Miss Bingley looked very well pleased, like a cat that has caught a canary and looks forward to toying with it at leisure. Upon catching Miss Bingley in the act of a quick glance between Mrs Pearce and herself, Elizabeth understood. Miss Bingley did not like inelegant gossips — unless such a gossip might discomfit one she regarded as an interloper.

If Mrs Pearce felt any surprise at the invitation, she showed no sign of it. She greeted the room at large, accepted tea, and found a chair near Elizabeth and Miss Darcy with the ease of a woman who moves toward interesting situations on instinct.

“Miss Darcy,” she said, “how lovely to meet you at last. Your brother has been quite the subject of conversation in the neighbourhood, as I am sure you can imagine.” She smiled brightly. “We have all been very curious about the circumstances of his engagement. Such a sudden thing, and such an unusual set of circumstances. One wonders whether it would have come about at all under ordinary conditions.”

An uncomfortable silence fell. Miss Darcy had gone still, her eyes wide and her smile frozen. Clever as the girl was, it was obvious that her shyness left her unequal to deal with such an attack.

Elizabeth opened her mouth.

“It came about,” Mr Darcy said, from across the room, in a voice that was perfectly level and carried without being raised, “because Miss Elizabeth is a woman of excellent character and good sense, whose company I have consistently found more worthwhile than most.” He did not look at Mrs Pearce with any severity. He did not need to. “I do not find the circumstances especially mysterious.”

Mrs Pearce recalibrated her smile. “Of course,” she said, smoothing her skirt. “I meant only —”

“I am sure,” he said, and returned his attention to Mr Bingley beside him. Only that, and the conversation was closed in the manner of a door shut by someone who does not slam doors.

Elizabeth looked at her teacup. Her face was composed. Beneath that careful layer of composure, something shifted and settled in a way she did not immediately have language for. She could not have said anything she was feeling.

Georgiana Darcy, at her elbow, said in a voice pitched only for Elizabeth: “My brother does that sometimes. Says the thing no one else will say.”

“I have noticed,” Elizabeth said.

“He does not do it for everyone.” Miss Darcy looked at her brother with a slight tilt to her head, as one might examine some novelty. “I thought you ought to know that.”

Elizabeth considered this. Outside the drawing-room windows the afternoon light was going, the early dark of winter settling over the park. The fire was warm, and the room was full of ordinary noise. She thought about what it meant that he had said it, that Georgiana Darcy had thought to bring her attention to it, and filed it carefully away with the other things she was keeping.

“Thank you,” she said to Miss Darcy.

Georgiana Darcy smiled into her teacup, satisfied, and Elizabeth thought that she liked her very much indeed.

∞∞∞

The gathering at Netherfield that evening had included an invitation to supper. Though Elizabeth could not have relished accepting Miss Bingley’s hospitality, having Jane accept Mr Bingley’s was something else entirely. Then, too, Elizabeth found herself unexpectedly eager to spend more time with Miss Darcy — and with her brother.

Miss Darcy was placed across from her, between Mr Bingley and one of the Lucas brothers. Amused and approving, Elizabeth watched her navigate the supper conversation with the careful attention of someone still learning the instrument. She was better at it than she knew. Georgiana listened well, which was rarer than it ought to be, and when she spoke, she said something worth saying. Several times, she glanced down the table toward her brother, not seeking rescue, Elizabeth thought, but checking for his approval. She seemed to find her brother’s familiar face useful for calibration.

Mr Darcy was at the table’s far end. He, too, sought his sister’s gaze with a consistency that Elizabeth found entirely legible, now that Miss Darcy had given her the key to reading him. He was watching over her. Quietly, without announcement, without making his sister feel watched. It was a skill to care so visibly and invisibly all at once, Elizabeth thought. As an older brother, Mr Darcy was most respectable.

Elizabeth ate her soup and spoke brightly about things of little consequence. She talked to Charlotte on her left about the lending library’s new acquisitions, all the while instinctively aware that Mr Darcy sat at the end of the table.

The meal progressed without incident until the second course.

Elizabeth had been half-attending to a conversation between Mrs Hurst, who sat on her right, and Mrs Pearce, who had been placed on the other side of the table from her. Though she found herself more than a little amused by their passionate discussion of which London milliners were best, as though it were a topic of cardinal importance, it seemed at least a harmless discussion. Then Mrs Hurst shifted abruptly in her seat, her elbow catching the edge of a tray as the maid walked by.

The wine went across Mrs Hurst’s sleeve in a long arc, drawing a line of red. The girl left holding the decanter was one of the younger housemaids, brought in to supplement the supper service, and was no more than fifteen. She turned the colour of the tablecloth and stood frozen, her tray and the decanter clutched to her chest and her eyes wide with horror.

Mrs Hurst looked at her sleeve. Then she looked at the girl.

“You clumsy creature!” she exclaimed. “Have you no eyes?”

The girl’s hands trembled so violently that the decanter rattled against the table.