“I’m heartened that Mrs. Bennet and her daughters enjoy their outings.” Bingley was already moving toward Jane with barely concealed eagerness.
“Come in, come in,” Sir William appeared to herd Darcy, Caroline, Mr. Hurst, and Mrs. Hurst into the drawing room. He leanedcloser to Darcy. “I must tell you, Mr. Darcy, of the most remarkable coincidence. When dining with Lord Metcalfe in Town last spring—you know his lordship, I presume?”
“By reputation,” Darcy lied, hoping to abbreviate the inevitable anecdote.
“Well, as I was saying to his lordship, just after the soup course—excellent bisque, reminiscent of what one enjoys at Carlton House?—”
Darcy allowed Sir William’s story to wash over him, offering occasional nods while his attention remained fixed on Elizabeth and Wickham. Her expression was animated, her eyes bright with interest in whatever tale Wickham was spinning. The sight filled him with a frustration he could neither justify nor suppress.
Why should he care if Elizabeth Bennet fell victim to Wickham’s charm? His father’s warning—never trust a Bennet—should have rendered her well-being irrelevant to him. Yet the thought of Wickham deceiving her, potentially harming her, created a discomfort that bordered on physical pain.
“—and so I said to the Prince Regent himself, ‘Your Highness, the honor is entirely mine,’” Sir William concluded with a flourish.
“Fascinating,” Darcy murmured, having lost the thread entirely.
“But I monopolize your attention! Please, circulate, and enjoy the refreshments. Lady Lucas has prepared her special ratafia—a family recipe, you know.”
Released from Sir William’s conversational grip, Darcy retreated to a quiet corner, where he could observe Bingley’s eagerness to circulate with the Bennets.
“Mr. Bingley! Such a pleasure to see you again,” Mrs. Bennet declared, her voice carrying clearly across the room.
“The pleasure is mine, Mrs. Bennet,” Bingley replied with his characteristic warmth. “Miss Bennet, you are looking especially lovely tonight.”
Jane’s smile was genuine, if reserved. “Thank you, Mr. Bingley. I hope you are enjoying yourtime at Netherfield.”
“Immensely,” Bingley assured her. “Though I had hoped to call at Longbourn. I understand Mr. Bennet has been… indisposed.”
Mrs. Bennet’s expression tightened momentarily. “Indeed. My husband finds social obligations taxing at times. His library provides sufficient company for his tastes.”
“I had hoped to discuss a matter of some importance with him,” Bingley persisted. “Regarding Miss Bennet?—”
“I’m afraid any such discussions must wait,” Mrs. Bennet interrupted, her voice sharp despite her smile. “My husband is quite adamant about certain matters.”
“Perhaps I might call upon him privately? At his convenience, of course.”
Mrs. Bennet’s laugh held an edge of discomfort. “Mr. Bennet’s convenience is an elusive concept, sir. But Jane is here now—surely that is pleasant enough for one evening?”
Darcy watched Bingley’s face fall slightly before rallying. “Of course. Though I confess, Mrs. Bennet, I am puzzled by Mr. Bennet’s sudden… reluctance regarding our acquaintance. Will you, madam, perhaps be able to intercede?”
“I suppose that would be acceptable,” Mrs. Bennet replied slowly, though her gaze drifted toward Elizabeth. “Though I must say, Mr. Bingley, that I hope you understand the… complications that sometimes arise in family matters.”
“Complications?”
“When one daughter’s behavior affects the prospects of another, a mother must consider all her children’s welfare. Some young ladies seem determined to create difficulties where none need exist.”
The comment was delivered with such pointed emphasis while looking directly at Elizabeth that even Bingley appeared taken aback. Elizabeth straightened slightly, her chin lifting with familiar pride, though Darcy detected the hurt beneath her composed expression.
“Mama,” Jane said quietly, clearly distressed by the uncomfortable undercurrents.
“I merely speak truth, my dear Jane. When that girl insists onputting herself forward and offending gentlemen of consequence, the consequences affect us all.”
Darcy’s jaw clenched at this casual cruelty. That Elizabeth should be blamed for his poor behavior seemed grotesquely unfair, particularly when delivered with such public humiliation. The urge to defend her was nearly overwhelming.
Before he could embarrass himself with an unwanted intervention, Sir William called for the company’s attention. “Ladies and gentlemen! With such distinguished company present, I propose an entertaining diversion. Lieutenant Wickham has suggested a most amusing parlor game.”
Wickham stepped forward. “Sir William is too kind. The game is a simple one, requiring no special skill, merely a willingness to share what might be called one’s ‘hidden identity.’”
What could Wickham be up to? No doubt, determining family connections in his search for an heiress. Darcy wondered about the size of Miss Lucas or Miss Bennet’s dowry. Wickham had to be down on his luck to consider such provincial beauties with their likely paltry pin money.
