Longbourn
Elizabeth
TheNetherfieldpartycalledtwo days after the assembly. Elizabeth sat in her father’s study reading Wilkens’s latest report. The yield from the harvest had been more profitable than they had anticipated. The extra funds were to be devoted to repairs about the estate. Several tenant cottages required attention, and a broken fence needed repair before winter set in. The report contained a list of expenses and supplies awaiting her approval.
A knock sounded at the study door. Hill entered to announce the callers. Papa exchanged a glance with Elizabeth, and they both set aside their work. Mr Bennet took an eager interest in any gentleman who came through his door, and after hearing Mrs Bennet’s tales of their new neighbour’s interest in Jane, he resolved it would be prudent to take his place in the parlour whenever the residents of Netherfield came to call.
Elizabeth followed her father from the room, pausing at the looking glass in the hall. Her forest-green gown was a favourite; its long sleeves and simple ribbon pleased her far more than lace ever could.Why do I bother? she chided herself. She knew the answer: Mr Darcy. Despite her lingering distrust, she wished him to think well of her.
On entering the parlour, she paused to take in the scene. As was her custom, Mary had retreated to the pianoforte and played softly. Miss Bingley and Mrs Hurst occupied a settee near Jane and their brother. Miss Bingley’s lip curled as she watched him; Jane’s remained politely still. Mr Darcy sat beside Mrs Bennet, who plied him with tea and cakes while he bore the attention with good grace.
Mr Bennet crossed the room and took a chair near Mr Bingley and Jane. He greeted the guests with a nod, accepting a teacup from his wife, who had jumped to her feet to serve him. Elizabeth moved almost unconsciously towards Mr Darcy and settled in a chair to his left.
“Mrs Fiennes!” His voice rang with genuine delight. “I am very glad to see you.” The warmth of his smile matched his enthusiasm, and Elizabeth answered the sentiment with a shy smile of her own.
“Good day, sir.” She turned to the tea tray and began to prepare a cup. Stirring the cream, she took in his appearance—his hair fell in unruly curls across his brow, his bright eyes were merry. His blue coat and tan waistcoat were perfectly cut, and his cravat was arranged in a fashion far more intricate than Mr Bennet ever attempted.
“It has been a fine morning.” He raised his cup before continuing. “Bingley and I walked the estate and spoke with Netherfield’s steward. Mr Morris manages exceedingly well. Were I in want of a new steward, I might be tempted to poach him away.” His laugh was easy, and she could not but join in. Indeed, Morris was a master steward, and she would be quite put out if anyone sought to steal him.
“Then I hope he can impart some of his wisdom to Mr Bingley. Or is that lesson left to you?” Elizabeth flashed him a cheeky grin. “The owner of Netherfield appears remarkably attentive to its welfare, despite it being let for some years.” He did not need to know she herself—through her daughter—was that owner.
“It is abundantly clear the estate is well kept.” He took another sip of tea, then looked back at her. “How have you fared since our last meeting?”
The concern in his gaze made her glance away. “I am well.” Her fingers drifted to the pendant at her throat. “Elinor was waiting for me when I returned. She rises early—like her mama.” A sudden tightness seized her chest, and she forced the unwelcome thought aside.Fiennes is gone. Elinor is safe. I am safe.Lifting her eyes, she noted the furrow in Mr Darcy’s brow and attempted a reassuring smile. “Elinor is having her rest now. Her new governess is a marvel; with any luck she will remain with us for many years.”
Mr Darcy leaned forward. “Your daughter does not trouble you, I hope? I remember well how difficult it can be to guide the young. Georgiana is nearly twelve years my junior, and I often find myself uncertain how best to make decisions that will shape her life.”
“Oh, Elinor is no trouble at all.” Her eyes brightened with unfeigned affection. “But while I hope her good nature will continue into later years, I cannot but wonder whether she will undergo a material change—as all girls do at a certain age. Some years prove more trying than others.”
Her companion shifted, the movement slight. “I see. And when can I expect thistrying ageof my sister’s to pass?”
Elizabeth gave a delicate shrug. “I cannot tell you, for I am not at all acquainted with your sister. She is, as we discussed, of an age with my two youngest sisters. Kitty and Lydia are the best of friends, yet as different as two sisters may be. Kitty, being the elder, has always followed Lydia’s lead. I shudder to think where this might have led them had they not been taught proper comportment. When Kitty reached fifteen, she suffered an onset of extreme reticence. My poor sister’s complexion was greatly affected, and she could not bear to be seen by anyone. Lydia teased her mercilessly, which only worsened the matter.” Amusement touched her features. “Lydia hasbeen justly rewarded for her cruelty; her own affliction with spots was far worse than Kitty’s.”
She paused, tempering her mirth. “Forgive me, sir. I possess a lamentable tendency towards candour when speaking with you.”
“There is nothing to forgive. Candour is a quality I have ever valued.”
Elizabeth felt relieved. “’Tis refreshing, is it not? So many in society refrain from plain speaking and then expect the world to comprehend their meaning.”
He seemed on the verge of replying when a rustle of skirts drew their attention. Expecting her mother, Elizabeth looked up and instead beheld Miss Bingley. Her attire was far too fine for a morning call: a silk gown of the newest cut, its hue enhancing her dark hair, every detail contrived to perfection. It might have been a splendid sight had she worn a smile untainted by artifice. A quick glance confirmed that Mrs Bennet had joined her husband, so Elizabeth turned back to greet Miss Bingley with deliberate calm.
“It would not do for you to keep Mr Darcy all to yourself.” Miss Bingley’s simper was honeyed, yet the sting beneath it was plain. Seating herself at Darcy’s other side, she arranged her skirts with an air of superiority.
“Are you well, Miss Bingley? May I refresh your tea?” She ignored the barbed remark; if Mr Darcy preferred her company to Miss Bingley’s, that was hardly her fault.
“No, I thank you.” She set her cup and saucer on the tray with affected delicacy. “Mrs Fiennes, I must say, your gown is…lovely.” Her lip curled almost imperceptibly as her eyes travelled over Elizabeth’s attire.
“You are too kind. In truth, it is several years old and quite out of fashion. But it is a favourite, and I cannot bring myself to part with it.”
Miss Bingley’s brow creased. “Then you do not favour remaining current with fashion?”
“Fashion is fickle.” Elizabeth remained calm, her gaze steady. “It shifts with every breeze, and no one can keep pace with it. I consider it the height of folly to discard a sound gown merely to boast of wearing the latest design. If I can alter my gowns to suit the present mode, I do so; if not, I am still content.” She lifted her cup and sipped the now-tepid tea without apparent concern.
Miss Bingley’s frown softened to something more contemplative. “I must admit,” she said at length, “that I envy your ability to wear the bolder colours.” She brushed the pale-blue silk of her own skirt. “They are very becoming.”
Elizabeth regarded her thoughtfully. “You would look very well in the deeper shades,” she observed. “A darker rose, perhaps—or even this green. Your eyes would appear to true advantage. I know it is expected that unmarried ladies wear lighter hues—pastels and such—but it is hardly scandalous to distinguish oneself by another choice.”
The lady preened at the compliment, and Elizabeth hid a grin behind her cup. Mr Darcy, however, appeared wholly uninterested in the turn the conversation had taken; his posture was rigid, his gaze directed towards the window as if he longed for escape.
