Elias turned his head sharply, a faint flush rising to his cheeks though his voice remained steady. “Don’t be absurd, James.”
The elder brother only smiled, his eyes twinkling with affectionate mischief as he regarded Elias with gentle insistence. “You spoke with rather more passion than usual,” James replied. “Even allowed yourself to speak elaborately of justice and principle.”
“I meant every word,” Elias said firmly, his tone conveying quiet conviction as he met James’s gaze without retreat.
“I know,” James answered softly, his smile deepening with fraternal warmth. “That’s why it mattered. And why she noticed.”
Mr. Collins, who had been listening with increasing animation, clapped his hands softly together in delighted approval, his countenance beaming as though the prospect fulfilled his dearest hopes. “It is precisely as I hoped!” he exclaimed. “A favourable impression, sensibly made, and not without reciprocity. Although I had rather hoped she would choose James.”
Elias sighed, a faint smile touching his lips despite himself as he shook his head in mild exasperation. “We drank tea, Mr. Collins. Nothing more.”
James looked at him, amused, his voice light with brotherly teasing. “And yet you spoke as though arguing before Parliament.”
The carriage jolted slightly as it turned into the lane leading to the parsonage. Behind them, Rosings rose against the night like a monument—unshaken, unmoved, its scrutiny and schemes still lingering in their wake. Ahead, warm candlelight glowed behind narrow-paned windows, a quieter place—but not without consequence.
Within the younger Bennets, something had shifted—not certainty, not yet, but possibility. And that, as always, was how the world began to change.
Five
The assembly at Rosings Park unfolded with the deliberate assurance that marked all undertakings personally supervised by Lady Catherine de Bourgh. Long before the full company had arrived, the principal drawing room had been arranged to admit movement without encouraging disorder, its furniture withdrawn or repositioned so that the open space at the centre might serve equally for circulation, observation, and, in due course, dancing. Chairs were set not for comfort, but for advantage: those nearest Lady Catherine afforded immediate access to her notice, while others were placed at a measured distance, close enough to be seen, yet far enough to be assessed without intimacy.
From the moment the first guests were admitted, the atmosphere was shaped by the steady presence of a small quartet, stationed discreetly along the far wall. Their music flowed continuously—soft, agreeable, and unobtrusive—chosen less for performance than for effect. It filled pauses without demanding attention, smoothing transitions and lending an air of cultivated animation to the room. No one was invited to listen; everyone was expected merely to benefit.
Colonel Fitzwilliam was positioned near Mr. Darcy and his family, a placement that spoke clearly of connection and alignment. His presence reinforced the sense of familial cohesion surrounding the Darcys, and his manner—courteous, composed, and restrained—invited respect without soliciting it. His movements were carefully observed, though with a different purpose: his steadiness and self-command were allowed tospeak for themselves. Lady Catherine’s evident pride in him required no verbal expression; it was conveyed instead through the frequency with which he was drawn into view, and the care taken to ensure that his service and prospects were widely understood.
Mrs. Darcy remained close to her mother, attentive and quietly observant, while Georgiana Darcy occupied a place of deliberate visibility, neither pressed forward nor allowed to recede. She was introduced with care, spoken of with approval, and observed with an interest that was unmistakably evaluative. Her manner throughout was composed and steady, receiving attention without seeking it, and offering civility without encouragement.
The Bennet brothers were acknowledged early and placed where they might observe without intruding. James Bennet bore himself with calm propriety, answering inquiries when addressed and yielding the floor readily when others claimed it. Elias Bennet attracted a subtler interest, particularly among those inclined toward intellectual or professional pursuits; his quiet attentiveness and measured replies did not go unnoticed, though no effort was made to draw him into prominence.
As the room filled, Lady Catherine directed the flow of introductions with unobtrusive precision, drawing guests together according to her design and allowing conversations to form and dissolve under her watchful eye.
Throughout it all, the music continued, its presence felt rather than heard, binding the evening together and lending an air of refinement that discouraged haste or excess.
Sir Henry Watkin Dashwood, Baronet, of Kirtlington Park, and his son were received with particular distinction. Their arrival altered the balance of the room at once, drawingattention not by flourish, but by precedence. Lady Catherine’s manner toward them was marked by an unmistakable warmth, and their placement ensured that they remained within her immediate circle throughout the early part of the evening. Sir Henry, long established and secure in his consequence, bore this attention with easy assurance; his son, by contrast, was more closely observed, his conduct noted, his interactions quietly guided, and his proximity to Georgiana Darcy carefully managed.
“Sir Henry Watkin Dashwood,” the footman announced, “Baronet, of Kirtlington Park. Mr. George Henry Dashwood.”
Lady Catherine advanced several steps to receive them, her manner expanding into unmistakable warmth.
“Sir Henry,” she said, offering her hand with marked favour, “I am most gratified that you have joined us this evening. Rosings Park is honoured by your presence.”
Her gaze then settled upon his son. “And Mr. Dashwood. You are very welcome. I trust you find Kent agreeable.”
Sir Henry bowed with practiced ease, while his son returned the greeting with respectful composure.
“It is a pleasure, Lady Catherine,” Sir Henry replied. “Your hospitality is well known.”
“I endeavour to make it so,” her ladyship said, with a nod that conveyed both courtesy and expectation.
She guided them forward at once, keeping them within her immediate circle. Several nearby guests paused their conversations instinctively, and Lady Catherine lost no time in ensuring that the Dashwoods were properly observed.
“You must meet my nephew,” she said, turning slightly. “Mr. Darcy—pray come nearer.”
Darcy stepped forward, bowing.
“Sir Henry. Mr. Dashwood.”
“My nephew has but recently returned to Pemberley,” Lady Catherine continued, with an air of possession. “His judgment in matters of estate and family is most sound.”
