Darcy followed him, but his mind lingered—unwelcome—on the kestrels circling over Pemberley’s ridge, the jackdaws hopping strangely near the south fields.
Bingley pushed open the drawing-room door with the confidence of a man who had never once doubted the warmth of his reception. Inside, the scene was pleasantly chaotic. Caroline Bingley rose from a settee near the window, a volume of Cowper closing between perfectly gloved fingers. Darcy doubted she had actually been reading it. She was dressed for admiration—pale amber silk, an embroidered hem, and a posture that suggested the room itself had been arranged for her convenience.
“Mr Darcy! How fortunate. We had begun to expect you tomorrow.”
Darcy bowed. “Miss Bingley. It is a pleasure.”
“It always is,” she murmured.
On the opposite side of the room, Mrs Hurst lifted her head from a genteel recline. “Mr Darcy, how very good to see you again. Do come and sit. The journey must have been fatiguing.”
Her husband, Mr Hurst, acknowledged Darcy with a brief incline of his head before returning his attention to a plate of almonds on the table beside him.
“Were the roads very dreadful?” Miss Bingley asked.
“I assure you, it was quite a comfortable journey,” Darcy replied.
She crossed the room in such a way that the light from the window cast her figure into sharp relief. “Charles has been quite determined to have you here. I believe he has half the county prepared to celebrate your arrival.”
“That is not the case,” Bingley protested cheerfully. “Though I am delighted he came sooner rather than later. You will help us make sense of this place, Darcy,” Bingley said. “Caroline has already declared war on the draperies.”
His sister gave him a look. “I declared no such thing. I merely observed that the former tenant had a rather puzzling affection for mustard-coloured damask. It has all been removed.”
Darcy smiled. “A mercy to everyone, I am sure.”
Mrs Hurst sniffed lightly. “A considerable mercy.”
Darcy’s mouth tightened, but only slightly. “It seems pleasant enough to me.”
Miss Bingley brightened again. “Then we must show you everything. The library is smaller than you are accustomed to, of course, but the view from the south windows is charming. My sister has already claimed it for her morning room.”
Mrs Hurst smiled faintly. “The light is agreeable. And the roses look rather pretty near the window.”
Bingley clapped Darcy again on the shoulder. “Come, let me fetch you something to drink. Mrs Nicholls says the wine has been settling just long enough. And we have a few matters about the stables I want your opinion on.”
Darcy allowed himself to be steered toward the sideboard. Brutus came to sit neatly at his heel, drawing a mild sound of surprise from Miss Bingley. “You brought your dog, I see.”
Darcy glanced down at the hound. “He is well-mannered.”
“I am sure he is,” she said sweetly. “And I daresay the country will suit him.”
The room settled into an easy conversation—Bingley discussing repairs, Mrs Hurst offering opinions on the upholstery, Miss Bingley inserting herself into every topic. It was, on the whole, precisely what he expected of Netherfield. And precisely what he needed.
“Well,” Bingley said, handing him a glass, “what do you think? Will you stay long?”
Darcy considered the question only briefly. “As long as is useful.”
And Bingley beamed, as though Darcy’s presence alone guaranteed a season of prosperity.
Kitty burst into theparlour before the door had fully opened. “He is here!” she cried. “Maria and Charlotte are right behind me. You will never guess their news.”
Lydia jolted upright, nearly upsetting her embroidery frame. “What news? Do not stand there. Tell us!”
Kitty pressed a hand to the doorway. “Sir William called on Mr Bingley yesterday. He met his friend, whose name is Mr Darcy. And he said”—she paused for effect— “that Mr Darcy is the tallest man he has ever seen in a drawing room.”
Lydia gasped. “Taller than Mr Purvis?”
“Much.”
