“Thank you, sir. But I must own—the final touch with the sauce was Miss Elizabeth’s doing. She has a light hand with such things, and suggested just the proportion of cream to bind it perfectly.”
All eyes turned toward Elizabeth, who received the praise with composed grace, though her cheeks warmed faintly under the sudden attention. Mr. Darcy’s gaze rested upon her with renewed intensity, a flicker of astonishment—and something deeper, almost vulnerable—passing across his features.
Mrs. Bennet, sensing victory, pressed her advantage with complacent delight.
“Only think—my girls have learned a little of everything! Not only good manners and accomplishments, but a touch of housekeeping too. A true mistress of a great house must know what to direct her servants in, after all—though I am sure Netherfield will have cooks enough when the time comes!”
Mr. Darcy, his voice quieter than usual and betraying a rare tremor of emotion, addressed the table at large—though his eyes returned often to the dish before him.
“This… this preparation is truly remarkable, Miss Elizabeth. The balance of flavors, the care in resting the meat, the freshness of the root… it is a marvel few achieve.”
Mr. Bennet, presiding with dry amusement, raised his glass with mild irony.
“To lost arts revived—and to the skill that revives them.”
The toast was drunk with varying degrees of feeling, and the conversation resumed—though the moment lingered, a subtle turning point in the evening’s warmth, where simple hospitality had touched upon deeper currents of memory and possibility. The dinner continued, each guest reflecting privately upon the revelations, small and great, that the table had thus far afforded.
The latter courses—dessert with fruit, syllabub, and a modest remove of cheeses—passed in agreeable contentment, theconversation dwelling upon the merits of the dishes and the mildness of the season until Mr. Bennet, with a faint smile that betrayed his private entertainment at the evening’s progress, proposed they adjourn to the drawing-room for tea.
The party removed thither with that pleasant bustle which marks the close of a successful dinner, the ladies leading the way while the gentlemen followed at a leisurely pace. The drawing-room, already warmed by a fresh fire, appeared particularly inviting in the candlelight, the tea-table laid with delicate cups and the pianoforte standing open in readiness—as though Mrs. Bennet had anticipated the moment from the first.
No sooner had they seated themselves than Mrs. Bennet, her eyes bright with maternal strategy, turned to her daughters with eager animation.
“Now, girls—we must have some music! Mr. Bingley, Mr. Darcy—you are both, I am sure, fond of accomplishments. Jane, my dear, pray favor us with a little something upon the instrument. And Mr. Collins—you have such a fine voice, as we heard at Christmas. Perhaps a duet?”
Jane colored modestly but rose with gentle compliance, seating herself at the pianoforte with that serene grace which rendered every movement pleasing. Mr. Collins, gratified beyond measure by the request, joined her with earnest alacrity, selecting a favorite hymn whose melody was both solemn and uplifting.
As Jane’s fingers drew soft, harmonious notes from the keys, Mr. Collins’s rich baritone rose in accompaniment—clear, steady, and resonant, filling the room with unexpected warmth and power.
The Miss Bennets listened with varying degrees of pride and affection; Mrs. Bennet nodded in rapturous approval, while Mr. Bennet regarded the performance with dry indulgence.
Mr. Bingley’s countenance reflected open delight, his eyes fixed upon Jane with undisguised admiration; Mr. Darcy, however, sat in silent astonishment—his reserve momentarily shaken by the parson’s accomplished delivery, so far removed from the obsequious clergyman he had half-expected. A quick, conspiratorial glance passed between the two friends, Bingley’s brows raised in amused surprise, Darcy’s expression one of baffled reappraisal.
When the hymn concluded to polite applause—Mrs. Bennet’s the most enthusiastic—Elizabeth rose with lively grace, declaring that Mary must favor them with a song, as her voice was particularly suited to the Scotch air lately in fashion.
Mary, though solemn, complied with grave satisfaction, taking her place while Elizabeth accompanied upon the instrument. The air was rendered with precision and feeling—Mary’s voice clear if somewhat pedantic, Elizabeth’s touch upon the keys light and expressive.
Mr. Bingley applauded with genuine warmth, his gaze returning often to Jane with quiet enchantment; Mr. Darcy, however, remained in thoughtful silence, his earlier bafflement deepened by the unexpected display of talent and harmony within so unpretending a family—reflections that lingered long after the final note had faded.
The evening drew toward its close with that gentle reluctance which marks a gathering truly enjoyed. Mrs. Bennet, radiant with the success of her table and her daughters’ accomplishments, pressed for one more song, but Mr. Bennet, with a glance at the clock and a faint smile of indulgence,declared the hour advanced and the guests entitled to their rest after a long day.
The gentlemen—Mr. Bingley and Mr. Darcy—rose with due expressions of gratitude—Mr. Bingley warm and sincere, Mr. Darcy grave yet courteous—while Mr. Collins, as one of the family circle, remained seated with earnest pleasure, his countenance glowing with the happiness of having contributed to so agreeable an evening. Farewells were exchanged at the door, the carriage called round, and the visitors departed beneath a clear, starlit sky, each carrying away reflections suited to his particular temperament: Mr. Bingley with dreams of future evenings in similar company, Mr. Darcy with a mind more occupied than he cared to admit by the unexpected graces of a Hertfordshire family.
Within Longbourn, the family lingered a moment in satisfied review—Mrs. Bennet in raptures over the conquests achieved, declaring with fervent animation that Providence itself had sent Mr. Collins to their household, for who else could have brought two such distinguished gentlemen to their table, and with such happy consequences in prospect; his devotion to the Bennet family, she insisted, was a blessing beyond anything she had dared to hope, and she trusted he would continue to favor them with his presence and his invaluable connexions. The girls whispered of handsome strangers and forthcoming assemblies, and Mr. Bennet retired to his library with the quiet conviction that the neighborhood had grown considerably more interesting than he had anticipated. Thus concluded an evening whose simple pleasures had woven the first threads of connections destined to alter many lives in ways none could yet foresee.
***
The morning following the memorable dinner at Longbourn dawned clear and mild, the sort of autumn day that invited gentle exercise and agreeable reflections. Mr. Collins, who had passed a night of uncommon restlessness—his mind dwelling with alternating hope and trepidation upon the intelligence lately received—rose early, his thoughts fixed upon a visit to Lucas Lodge that he could no longer defer.
At the breakfast-table, amid the usual bustle of the Bennet household—Mrs. Bennet still in raptures over the previous evening’s successes, Lydia and Kitty whispering of officers and assemblies, and Mary absorbed in a volume of sermons—he addressed himself to Elizabeth with that earnest deference which characterized his manner toward his fair cousins.
“My dear Cousin Lizzy,” he began, his voice lowered yet vibrant with feeling, “I find myself desirous of paying my respects at Lucas Lodge this morning. Miss Lucas—your particular friend—has ever shown me great kindness in the past, and I should be most gratified if you would consent to accompany me. The walk is short, the air invigorating, and your company would render the errand infinitely more agreeable.”
Elizabeth, who had observed his heightened spirits with quiet curiosity and no small degree of affectionate amusement, regarded him with a smile that betrayed both comprehension and indulgence.
“I should be happy to walk with you, Cousin,” she replied with lively grace. “Charlotte will be pleased to see us, I am certain—and the exercise will do us both good after last night’s indulgences.”
Mrs. Bennet, catching the exchange, beamed with triumphant animation.
